As I climb down the stairs, I try to muster some kind of excitement about the fact that I’m going apartment shopping with Lawrence’s money, but my chest remains as calm as the sea on a summer night. I glare at an unlucky painting and wonder what’s wrong with me. I should be giddy with excitement at the prospect of finally owning an apartment without having to rely on a man to pay my rent. And, yes, I’m aware that Lawrence is still buying it for me, but it doesn’t take away the fact that it will be mine after he’s gone. Yet I feel nothing.

I must be more tired than I originally thought.

I walk out of Lawrence’s townhouse and see Ronan reclining against the car. He’s wearing a different black suit. This one fits better than the one from yesterday, molding perfectly to his lean body in a sinful way. With his Ray Bans on, a light scruff covering his jaw, he looks confident and cool and beyond untouchable. I sigh as I glance at the clear blue sky. It’s time to get this over with. We better get used to the fact that we’ll be stuck together for a while.

I’ve got this.

I won’t be tempted by Ronan, the forbidden fruit in my own twisted version of the Garden of Eden.

But it hurts. So fucking much.

The moment he sees me walking toward him, our eyes lock and he peels himself away from the car to open the passenger door. My heart is beating against my chest, but I disregard my body’s response to him, or the way my fingers itch to tame the familiar wild golden brown hair framing his boyishly handsome face like I’ve done before. Mind over matter, Blaire. Mind over matter. He’s part of the past. You can’t have him.

The cool air smells like autumn. Cold, I rub my arms chasing a shiver away, or maybe I’m just nervous of what’s to come. His unwavering gaze remains trained on me, holding me captive as I close the distance between us. I lift my chin and pick up the pace. I won’t cower in front of him, even when I’m quaking on the inside, even when his eyes roam my body slowly, unabashedly, making me feel exposed and dirty.

As I’m about to get in the car without acknowledging him, he drawls, “Nice to see you too, Blaire.”

I stop walking, pointedly looking at him. “I wish I could say the same, but I’m not a liar.” Then, I slide across the beige seat, look out the windshield as I cross my arms, and wait for him to start driving.

“Guess that makes me one then,” he says bitingly before closing the door behind me. Anger gathers in my chest. His answer hurt, but I deserve everything I have coming my way.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him make his way toward the driver’s seat as he removes his sunglasses. My thirsty eyes drink him in after going for so long without seeing him. He’s even more beautiful than I remembered, but he looks different, too. Older. Harder. There’s a dangerous edge in his face that wasn’t there before, and it only makes him more attractive.

Once he’s behind the wheel, he starts the car and pulls away from the curb. “Where to?” he asks rudely.

“The Plaza. And if I were you, I’d watch your tone. Because remember, Ronan,” I pause, “I’m fucking your boss and I can get you fired.”

He chuckles. “I don’t give a fuck, Blaire. But I’m pretty sure that Mr. Rothschild doesn’t give a shit how I treat you, or talk to you. To him, you’re just another pussy amongst many. And trust me, I’ve driven many before you. So you better enjoy it before he gets tired of fucking you and discards you.”

I laugh, crossing my legs. “You didn’t.”

We stop on a red light, our eyes connecting in the rearview mirror war wordlessly.

“That’s because I was a fucking idiot, too blinded by your beauty and your lies to see that there wasn’t anything worthy underneath your flawless exterior other than just a good fuck. And, yes, you hurt me, Blaire, but in the grand scheme of things you were just another pussy I had and got over.”