Page 138 of Hate to Love You

I sort of collect them, the same way I collect pretty plants for my greenhouse.

In truth, I have no need to buy a new dress for this Gala, because I have plenty in my closet at home I could wear.

But I have Roman’s plastic…so why not?

“Mimi, can I ask you a question? And I want you to be completely honest with me.”

“Of course, you can,” she replies, her hand running down the front of her black dress pants.

“Is there a reason you’ve only shown me these specific dresses?”

“What?”

“Did someone call ahead?”

“Well…”

“Did a Mr. Antonov call?” I ask, crossing my arms.

“Um…”

She fidgets nervously.

In truth, we’ve already discussed this entire conversation, and I told her my plan to make Roman feel like an asshole, while also protecting her from his wrath.

But we have to put on a good show.

“Mimi, you said you’d be honest with me,” I say, tilting my head with a pout. “You’re known around town for being the best at your craft. It’s why I came here, because I trust your judgment. But I want to know, are you recommending these dresses to me because you honestly think they would suit me…or because someone else told you to recommend these dresses to me?”

Mimi says nothing, but dramatically glances behind me as if someone is listening to us. Exactly as planned.

Because we both know someone is.

I turn in the direction of her gaze and that’s when I see it. In the corner I notice a little red-light flashing on what appears to be a portable video camera. I feel the corner of my lips twitch.

That little fucker.

Roman is keeping tabs on me. On camera.

I look directly into the red flashing light before giving it a little wave and flipping it the bird.

Since my interview, it feels as if Roman and I have been locked in a game of chess, each move we make getting one step closer to checking the other.

Technically, it’s a game I should’ve already won, with the help of my Widowmaker. But I chose to skip my turn.

…And the bastard doesn’t even know.

Since then, each move has escalated. I taunt him with my skirts, and he responds by welding my desk down.

Deep down I wonder if the end result of this game is one where neither of us are going to win, no matter how much power we each think we hold.

He’s petty, possessive, and persistent.

But so am I.

An idea forms in my head.

He told me he wanted me presentable, and that this gala is business related.