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And me?
Fuck revenge. I’ve had nightmares, dreams of killing her father. Being soaked in blood and then finding out he never touched my mother. I’ve dreamed of killing Grant. Loving every minute of it, watching the life drain from his eyes.
Right up until Scarlett wakes me.
But when my eyes open, I realize I’m alone.
My phone rings the moment I cross the living room floor to get a drink.
“How was New Orleans?” Mercer asks.
“I got that ingredient you wanted.”
“Good. I have a message from Smith. He had to take off to visit an old friend, but he told me Jones needs something that’s in your safe at the SoHo place. Something to do with the UR Fantasies job.”
“I handed everything over.”
“Your funeral.” He hangs up.
My fucking phone pings with a text.
Tonight.
“Fucker.”
I might as well get it over with. Heart heavy, I down my drink and head out the door.
The last place I want to go is the SoHo place where so many memories live. Why the fuck people are into love is beyond me. It’s pain. Torture. Utter shit.
Three weeks, and not one fucking woman has interested me. I went to some of the kinkiest places in New Orleans and nothing moved me. At all.
I get in my car and drive to the building, parking in the first spot I see. I’m not going to be there long.
Maybe I’ll fucking pack up shop here. Work from Europe for a while. There’s always shit going down there. It isn’t like I need to worry about money.
The elevator opens and I get out, crossing to my door.
I swear to fucking God the ghosts of cupcakes past are haunting the air.
Punching in the door code, I open it and step inside.
And…
The aroma’s stronger.
Everything in me freezes.
I’m not alone.
Someone steps into the living room, long dark hair up in a ponytail, apron on like Betty fucking Crocker.
My heart goes crazy.
Scarlett.
epilogue
SCARLETT
