His Inspiration by Ava Lore Read Free Book Online Page B

any quarter.
    “And I have no reason to trust what you are saying.
You're just a gold-digger.”
    Now I was so shocked I couldn't even speak. Was that why he was
such a terrible person to me? Don seemed to take my silence as an admission of
guilt. When he spoke next I heard his smile.
    “He's not crazy, you know,” he said. “It's all an act. You can't
get his money by duping him.”
    I felt cold. “I know he's not crazy, you ass. I'm not after his
money, either.”
    “Sure you aren't,” he said, his voice brimming with smugness, as
though he knew all my motivations. I'd have had no problems marrying someone
for their money as long as we were perfectly honest about our relationship...
but this wasn't like that.
    “Good luck getting a hold of him when I accidentally drop his
cell phone in the toilet,” I said and hung up before I became the target of any
more invective.
    Sobered, I stood in the bathroom and stared at myself in the
mirror. I hadn't put on any make up and my hair was loose, but the clothes I
wore were beautifully made and they mostly hid my tattoos. I didn't look like
someone who would sleep with a guy for the money... did I? And I certainly
wasn't the sort of person who would take advantage of a crazy person for
monetary gain.
    That dickhole knows nothing about you, I thought
fiercely. Leaning over the sink, I splashed some cold water on my face and, feeling
a bit more clear-headed than before, I turned and strode back to the table
where Malcolm was speaking with Dominic.
    “Sorry about that,” I said, settling back down in my chair.
    “Who was it?” Malcolm asked.
    I shook my head. “No one important.” Just your secretary,
telling me you're wanted for questioning by the FBI. Oh yeah, about that...
    He held my gaze for a little longer than I would have liked, but
after a moment he turned back to Dominic and spoke again in rapid French.
Dominic smiled and laughed, left and then returned almost immediately bearing a
loaf of crusty bread, olive oil and vinegar, and a smattering of herbs on a
plate. With a flourish, he poured out the oil and vinegar onto the plate,
somehow managing to create a pool of oil with a perfectly-formed black-vinegar
heart in the middle. Malcolm shook his head, but it was indulgent.
    “Dominic claims we are destined lovers,” he said as the old man
bustled off, presumably to get the rest of our meal ready.
    “You said that we might be the day after we met,” I said. “Don't
you remember?”
    His eyes softened. “I do, but I said it was the red thread of
fate, which ties together those who are destined to meet, not necessarily
become lovers. So the red thread of fate connects us, perhaps, and even if it
were to designate us as destined lovers that is not necessarily a good thing.
Often lovers in Eastern mythology are tragic figures.” His eyes twinkled, as
though he thought being a tragic figure would be quite a lark. “Dominic doesn't
mean it that way, but he's a remarkably optimistic man.”
    I tilted my head, “And you aren't?”
    He seemed surprised that I had misread him so badly. “Me? Oh,
no. I'm far more fatalistic. The Buddha himself tells us that suffering is
inevitable. It must be true.”
    He was getting mystic on me again, and I was no longer in the
mood for his whimsies. “I know you're not crazy,” I blurted suddenly.
    Silence fell across the table.
    Me and my stupid drunk mouth.
    His eyes hardened and he leaned back in his chair, and I
suddenly realized that there was another side to him. The side I'd seen when he
commanded me to submit to him. The side of him that had made him a formidable
businessman and a billionaire at a relatively young age. Mastery. Dominance.
Implacability.
    I gave an involuntary shiver and forced myself to not look away.
    He steepled his fingers in front of his mouth, every inch the
CEO. “And how would you know that, Sadie?” he asked. “Does it have anything to
do with the scars hidden beneath the ink on your