Arrogant Bastard - Julie Capulet Page 0,34

that I’m ranting.

Gage is staring down at me from his six feet and possibly three or four inches and there’s something in his expression that could almost be mistaken for empathy. I’m five-six on a good day so the height differential is noticeable. He’s big and sexy as hell and sort of intimidating, even though I’m not a person who gets intimidated easily. Why does he have to be so damn beautiful? It’s only making this whole thing harder. “What happened to the guy?” His voice is low and has a husk to it that has no doubt caused legions of supermodels to drop their panties on the spot. He doesn’t rise to my rant. At all. Of course he doesn’t. He probably deals with ranting women every day of the week. Because he’s a philandering, self-important prick, that’s why.

“What guy?”

“The father of Josie’s babies.”

“Oh. He— ” I pause because … should I tell him the truth? Then I remember that he knew the exact value of our freaking chattels so he could probably find out anything he wants to know. It doesn’t really matter now anyway. “It was a one-night stand. She never found out his last name and by the time she discovered she was pregnant he was gone and we couldn’t find him. All we knew was that his name was Noah and he was from California.”

“Do you think she’d want to find out who he is?”

“Of course she would. She was devastated that we couldn’t find any trace of him. If nothing else, she just wanted to tell him. She said he was a really nice person. He seemed kind, she said.”

His eyes narrow like he’s making a mental note of something. He opens one of the rear passenger doors of the limo. “You can still be there for Josie as much as you need to be. Our budget includes upgrades to all the latest devices as well as travel accounts and the use of my private jet. You can visit her whenever you want. Put her on video conference 24/7 if that makes this easier. We’ll fly her to Key West after the babies are born and you can be there for her every step of the way. It’s not hard to communicate hourly these days, if that’s what you want to do. As for the part about the perfect stranger … ‘perfect’ might be mildly overstating it, but close enough.”

I’m sort of reeling from all the things he just said. It takes me a second to realize … is that a joke?

Gage laughs, so I guess it is. “Get in,” he says.

“No.” I’m still pissed off for ten different reasons. Top of the list is that my fury is so damn entertaining to him.

“I’ll double my investment in bio-fuel next month so I can offset both our carbon footprints if it makes you feel better. A glass of champagne might take your mind off the ecosystems for an hour or two, let’s try it.”

Let’s try it? He really is a high and mighty piece of work. “I don’t want to try it. And I don’t drink champagne.”

“Why not?”

“It’s … expensive.” Shit. Why did I admit that?

Another smile. “I’m buying. Come on, we have something to celebrate. And when I celebrate I do it properly.”

At this point I feel like arguing with him just for the hell of it. How does he get under my skin so easily? I have an uncontrollable desire to rile him, like he’s doing to me. I exhale a cynical laugh. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please spare me your sanctimonious M.O. Your way of doing things properly has basically destroyed my life. What looked like paradise just a few short days ago now looks more like a steaming pile of … rubble.”

“I haven’t destroyed it. I’ve enhanced it.” His ego might as well be Mount Everest.

“Of course. Now that you’re in it, my life is suddenly overflowing with unicorns and butterflies.”

At this he laughs. Goddamn him, he’s gorgeous. “I can arrange butterflies. Unicorns is a big ask, but I’ll see what I can do.”

Jerk! He loves that he’s winding me up. He’s rolling around in my rage like a pig in springtime mud, enjoying every minute of it.

I take a deep breath, willing myself to calm down. For two years I’ve meditated and practiced yoga every morning, so I’m usually pretty good at steadying my nerves when I need to. But right now it hardly helps. “Listen—” I almost call him Mr. McCabe