Page 83 of Modern Romance January 2025 5-8

“It was... It was thoughtless. I... I have been playing this part long enough that sometimes I forget.”

She shook her head. “I just... The problem is, if we pretend to get engaged, and then eventually we break up, how is that going to reflect on Your Girl Friday.”

“We will part as I always do with my exes, Tesoro. Amicably. I remain friends with every woman who has ever graced my bed. I like women. I don’t use them out of an abundance of disdain as many do.”

“How nice of you,” she said.

“Are you mocking me?”

“Yes,” she said. “I am. Because you’re trying to paint this... This confusing thing that you are, that you’re doing, as something that is perfectly normal when it is absolutely not.”

“I don’t care what normal is,” he said. “It has always been about revenge. Always. Do you know what my father wanted from his children? Compliance. He wanted us to be perfect mirrors of him. His daughter had to be angelic and feminine, pure in all ways. And I was to be his right hand. We were not raised with love, affection or care. We were raised under the iron fist of his authority and that does not make for a normal childhood. Therefore, it does not lead to a normal life.”

Her eyes darted away from his. “I can understand that.”

He very much doubted she could understand it. At least to the degree that she thought. She had no idea what it was like to grow up with a father like his.

Perhaps that wasn’t fair. But he did not traffic in fairness.

Also, he trusted her. Even if it made no sense. But she’d seen him. In more unguarded moments—even if not many—than any other person had in years. She was here. She knew him. She knew this. It had to be her.

“We have to negotiate the terms of this,” she said.

“You have already signed an NDA,” he said.

“And you will have to sign one as well,” she said, her dark eyes boring into his. She was a tiny little thing, but she was determined. He had always seen that quality in her. He had... Liked Auggie from the moment he had met her, though he refused to refer to her by the nickname he had heard the other women at the company call her.

It was a strange name for a small, cute woman. And yet, in some way she exemplified it. But nicknames implied an intimacy that he did not experience with... Anyone.

“If you insist,” he said.

“I do. Because if the truth of this came out, then it would be seen as entirely unethical. Already, we are walking a fine line. Because my clients will think that it’s possible for me to become sexually involved with them. And...” Her cheeks went scarlet, and when she looked up at him then, he felt an answering tightness in his stomach.

Ridiculous. He’d had sex not twelve hours earlier. With a woman who had betrayed him, no less. Why should he get physically excited by the woman standing in front of him?

Because she interests you. Not the you that you pretend to be. The one that exists underneath.

He ignored that internal voice.

It was true, he was the living embodiment of the duality of man. But he didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about that.

It was his ruthlessness that propelled him, it was his charisma that kept him afloat.

There was that very old concept. Being like a duck. Calm on the surface, paddling like hell underneath. He wouldn’t compare himself to a duck. Perhaps a shark.

Though the media had chosen to compare him to a golden retriever.

“That’s why you call me the Pitbull,” he said, suddenly realizing. “Because you know that I’m not what they say.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I know that. Do you really think you seem like a golden retriever? Like a happy, biddable, people-pleasing family pet?”

“The press seems to think so.”

“You’re a handsome man. And people love to apply positive qualities to men, particularly when they’re handsome. But I’ve never thought the description of you seemed at all legitimate. Not even close.”

“What is it you see?”

She drew back, just slightly. “I think you’re dangerous. I haven’t decided quite in what way.”