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I cringe. “Not the same thing.” The monogamy part of the contract flashes before my mind’s eye. “It’s… complicated.”
Phoebe frowns. Those dark brown eyes of hers can be penetrating when she cranks the power up to full blast. “Complicated how?”
“You know how these things are.”
“I know how casual sex works, sure. But the whole pointof casual sex is that it’s not complicated.”She raises one eyebrow. “Unless…”
“Pheebs, don’t—”
“Unless you have feelings for this guy.”
“No!”
She sets down her espresso and leans back in her chair. “Well,thatwas certainly emphatic.”
“Only because I donothave feelings for this—”
Phoebe gasps. “It’s the bosshole!”
Fuck. Me.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” She laughs triumphantly and punches the air. “I fucking knew it! Something’s been brewing between the two of you for a while now. It was only a matter of time.”
“That is—”
“One hundred percent true, is what it is. You just didn’t want to see it because you hate him so much. Correction: youhatedhim so much.”
“Oh, I still do,” I admit before I tack on a reluctant, “… sometimes.”
Phoebe claps a hand over her heart and gives me a wistful smile. “I am so happy for you. I cannot even put it into words. Now, let’s get to the really important stuff: what’s he like in bed? He’s good, right? He has to be. With that face, that body, those juicy forearms—”
“Pheebs!”
“What?”
“You cannot tell a soul!”
Her eyes reach full-on Bambi levels of innocence. “Who would I even tell?”
“Just—anyone.This is secret information. As intopsecret. Classified. Area 51-type stuff.”
Phoebe sobers up just a bit. “Why do you sound so scared, Em?”
How on earth do I explain to Phoebe that I’ve just voided a legally-binding contract I signed a little over a week ago? How do I make her understand that one of the main conditions of my agreement with Ruslan is that I keep my mouth shut about it and that I’m already failing miserably? Of course, I can’t do that without mentioning the agreement in the first place.
I’m stuck between a place and a rock-hard—wait, that’s not how that goes.
“I just really want to keep this under wraps.”
“Was that your idea or his?” Phoebe asks shrewdly.
“We both agreed.”
She’s chewing on her bottom lip now. “You remember Edward, right?”
My mouth turns down at the mere mention of his name. “Oh, do I remember Edward…”
He and Phoebe were only involved for about a year, but it was an intense year. She was twenty; he was forty-two. At the time, she was a struggling college student and he was the owner of a chain of high-end spas and salons spread across New York. It was a match made in hell.
