Ruthless Love by Lexxi James

Author:Lexxi James
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lexxi James

Chapter Twenty-Three

EVIE

Dallas, Texas

After a day at the office that feels like it would never end, I’m already missing the weekend. The fun. Austin.

The sun’s still out but fading fast as I get home, taking a long look at Austin’s before I pull into the garage. Dimitri’s daily texts are getting old, and I’m a thousand percent positive he’s doing it out of some antiquated sense of possession or ownership. Or worse, an obligation reminiscent of a ball and chain.

The ring that’s been heavy in my pocket has only been there so I can return it if he dropped by. Which he didn’t. Of course. Because as usual, he’s the king of timing, and manages to make himself scarce right when I’m ready to break it off. For good.

Swallowed by doubt, I stare at the heavy cushion-cut diamond set in platinum. What if I try and fail? Again? But I can’t break things off with a man whose very touch keeps this ring on my finger.

Eff that.

Shoving the ring in the nearest drawer, I can’t help but notice the blinds closed across the street, but the lights glowing from behind them mean Austin is clearly home too. A smile pulls up my cheeks, because even without seeing him, it’s so easy to escape into the distraction of him. Too easy. Maybe . . .

My heart races, and I’m seconds from implementing the most insane idea I’ve ever had.

I take a sweeping glance at my reflection in the bedroom’s full-length mirror. The skirt is sexier than I intended for work, and manages to hug a rounded ass built from pure yoga. The blouse is way too fussy, and I strip it off, trying a few different options. Thoughtfully, I’m ashamed to admit I half consider just the bra before tossing on a thin button-up cardigan that’s perfect, considering I won’t be wearing it for long.

My makeup has just enough give-a-damn that I bypass fixing it or I’ll completely chicken out, and I don’t bother with lipstick because if all goes well, it, too, will be gone soon enough.

I race into my walk-in closet, slide my hand in place, and my safe opens with a loud clack. I grab a grand. Not exactly sure of the going rate, I grab another one just to be safe. Or to cover the tip.

Momentarily, I flip-flop between the shoes I have on and something strappy.

Fuck it. With this money, I could have a bushed-out bikini and be wearing Birkenstocks, and it had better not make a damn bit of difference.

Totally disregarding my logic, I switch to the strappy Manolo Blahniks, because I’m the first-timer idiot who wants to make a good impression with a male hooker.

Taking the bundles of cash and roughly an ounce of pride, I muster up the courage to march my desperate ass and aching feet straight to his front door.

Why the hell did I switch shoes?

Squaring my shoulders, I ring the bell. It lights, and knowing he might be watching me right

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