Page 91 of Worth Every Game
Fuck. “Not yet.”
I hang up the call and wait for Kate to get off the phone. It feels like she’s taking ages, so I start getting dressed in the suit Nico left for me, shoving my arms through the sleeves of the shirt, pulling on the trousers.
It’s tight, but it’ll have to do.
Kate hangs up and paces towards me. “Elly’s angry and humiliated. She doesn’t want to see you.”
“Fuck that. Where is she?” I bark out.
Kate sighs, and I get the sense she never intended to keep this information from me. “South Kensington. In the Lamborghini show room.”
I leave the flat so fast, I can’t even make out what Kate is yelling after me.
32
ELLY
Idon’t know what propelled me here first thing in the morning. Maybe it was the aftereffects of Mrs Lansen’s cruelty, or the upset that Jack wouldn’t own his feelings in front of her.
Either way, when I woke up and saw Jack’s black card sitting on my dresser, I knew I was going to use it. And now I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of an orange Lamborghini. It’s beautiful. The most amazing car I’ve ever been inside. I might be a little in love.
But apparently, you can’t swan into the showroom and buy a Lamborghini off the shop floor like you’re picking up groceries. Especially if your name isn’t on the card you try to pay for it with.Who knew?
It’s annoying because Jack deserved to wake up to me having spent hundreds of thousands on a flashy car that he would never buy. He’s all class and subdued colours and sophistication. A sleek Bentley with soft leather and walnut interiors.
Not an orange Lamborghini. BecauseWho the fuck buys an orange car?
I snort at the memory of the night he picked me up in the rain, the two of us soaked by the water sprayed up by that orangecar. I clasp my hands around the steering wheel, imagining driving this bad boy around town with the roof down, throwing my middle finger up to all the well-dressed arseholes in West London, of which Jack is one.
I’d race through a puddle if he was standing at the side of the road, and soak him to the bone. I’d fucking delight in it.
I try my best to look calm and collected, as if checking out expensive cars is something I do every day, rather than an impulsive petty action I’ve taken to piss off my boyfriend.
Is he my boyfriend?
Movement by the door snares my attention. Jack’s here, striding towards me with an expression on his face like he wants to strangle me. My breath catches in my throat and my stomach flips—good flips—making me wonder if my fight-or-flight response is messed up.
Anyone else would be running from a man who looked likethat. But here I am, buzzing with excited anticipation.He came.
I focus on the car salesman, smiling at him as though he’s the most interesting man in the room, despite the fact my heart is hammering because of the furious man striding towards me.
“What the hell, Elly? A Lamborghini?” Jack says when he reaches me.
The salesman takes one look at Jack and scurries away to hide in the corner.Coward.
I try not to be affected by Jack’s frustration. He’s the one who messed up, not me. This—me being here, sitting in this car—is totally justified.
Isn’t it?
“I like it.” I flick my curls off one shoulder in an affected attempt at nonchalance. “It’s very me, don’t you think? Much better than that Bentley you’re driving around in.”
Jack mutters under his breath, then opens the driver’s door. “Get out.”
I stare at him. The air crackles. I say nothing, but my knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. I’m not following his orders. Not today.
When he realises I’m not going to move, he leans in and says, “Are we going to talk about last night, or are you just going to sit there, pretending you didn’t try to spend nearly a million quid on my credit card? It’s extremely passive-aggressive and potentially illegal.”
“Arrest me then.” I hold out both wrists and give him puppy-dog eyes.