Page 7 of Off Limits Mogul

Perhaps I confessed too much to her.

She grabs her glass, wraps her lips around her straw, and sucks on her mango juice, her smiling green eyes locked onto mine.

She’s so smug.

“Thank you, Dr. Knight, for your insightful assessment,” I say.

“I might not hold a PhD, but I’m a great listener… and you’ve had a lot to say about sexy Rhys in the two months we’ve known each other.” She grins around her straw.

I’ve told her too much. “Rhys must have a girlfriend or a fiancée.” It’s not something I want to think of, but I have to face reality.

“Your brother would’ve told you,” she says. “Not to mention, when the press labels you Luva Boy Rhys, chances are, variety is your middle name.”

I’m sure he has them lined up.

The parade of women hanging from Rhys’s arm in photos on the internet is dizzying.

“Even if your idea wasn’t preposterous—which it is, just so we’re clear—Rhys would still reject me. I’m not subjecting myself to that again. His loyalty to Noah is unwavering, almost etched in his skin, tattooed in blood. The way I trip his bestfriend’s kid sister meter has been the bane of my existence.” I huff in frustration.

Mirth dances in Mikki’s eyes. “Perhaps you need ammunition.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“You might want to buy a bottle of‘Eau de Vage’at the airport and spray it on from head to toe to drive the message home that you’re ready and willing. Think about it, perfume that smells like a narcissistic celebrity’s private parts will help you seal the deal. What red-blooded man doesn’t want that?”

She dissolves into giggles.

I can’t help but do the same.

Our joyous outburst elicits suspicious glares from patrons trying to enjoy their meals.

I pray most of them don’t speak English because our conversation is over the top and inappropriate.

It takes both of us a while to find our composure.

“Heck, I might have to take a page from that celebrity’s book,” I say. “After all, she sold out in a matter of hours. Since I have nothing to fall on when I land in LA, bottling my feminine scent and selling it to the masses might be my second wind.”

“I can see it now,” Mikki says with an exaggerated hand gesture. “Think bigger. Think a whole line of products—shower and bath gels, soaps, body creams… and even candles.”

I play along. “Now you’re talking.”

Mikki taps her chin with her finger, her eyes lifted to the ceiling. “I wonder if you’ll have to stamp a ‘use by’ date on your products? I’m sure over time, that shit smells nasty.”

Her comment makes us lose it again.

More and more patrons glare at us.

It’s a struggle to stop laughing.

“Seriously, Keira,” Mikki says when she’s able to talk again. “I’m jealous. I have to endure my stepmother while you get to play house with a dangerously hot artist-turned-billionaire.”

She makes it sound like a fairytale.

It’s anything but.

I haven’t told her the whole story.

No amount of‘Eau de Vage’will help Rhys warm up to me. Not after what I did.