to believe any more.
Why did he have so much information about my inheritance?
I had been wondering about that ever since I found the folder.
Should I have given him a chance to explain?
I let out a shaky breath, knowing I wasn’t ready. Even the thought of seeing him was unbearable; the risk of believing him even when he might continue to lie too high.
Gullible as I had been, I had to stay away, before my obsession with him morphed into something I didn’t want it to be, and I ended up getting even more hurt.
Deep down I had known right from the beginning that I shouldn’t trust him. I even knew instinctively that a man as hot as Chase might not be real. However, it should have been a marriage of convenience, a friendship with some great benefits, which is what made me sign up in the first place.
Setting aside the sheer absurdity of its background, I felt used.
Because somehow I’d thought there was—could be—more between us.
I’d thought we had something real going on.
My phone began to ring angrily. Sitting up with my legs pressed against my chest, I leaned back against the bedpost, and peered at my cell phone.
Twenty-three calls, and six text messages.
All from him.
Talk about creepy. Not to mention desperate.
And hot.
Most importantly, hot.
The kind of hot that made my heart race and left me in want.
To talk to him.
To confront him.
To see him—but I wouldn’t do any of those. I wasn’t a coward, but I wasn’t a fool either. I knew that every confrontation, as small as it might be, would be a mistake. Anything related to him would keep me from moving on. As long as I felt something for him, I wasn’t ready.
Stupid love.
If only I could renounce it, discard and live without it.
If only I could forget him...the man whose name had been a lie.
Someday, I promised myself, I would meet a man.
Someone with blonde or black hair, brown or green eyes, definitely no broad shoulders, a beer belly—the direct opposite of Chase.
Someone who might not make me forget him in a heartbeat, but who would be worthy of my trust.
My future boyfriend, I decided, would be a strong man with a great character not great looks; someone who would be a philosopher, maybe even with a focus on spiritualism; or maybe some boring guy with a business degree who’d have mostly numbers in his mind rather than chasing the next trophy. Then I’d take a few snapshots of us and post them online—just to show Chase what he’d lost.
But that was my fantasy talking because
a) I doubted Chase was the jealous kind. He told me himself that I was the laurel he liked to chase. He got me so the chase was over.
b) He was a goddamn liar who only cared about himself.
c) See b. All rather self explanatory.
Heck.
I really should call him Loki, I decided. Chase was definitely the God of deceit and lies.
Chapter 3
It felt like barely a few minutes had passed since I closed my eyes when a few knocks rapped at the door.
That would be my bags.
“Coming.” I jumped to my feet and crossed the room in a few hasty steps.
I threw the door open, ready to motion the bellboy in, but stopped in surprise, frowning.
The man in front of me looked nothing like a porter. He didn’t even seem to be local. Dressed in blue jeans and a beige tee shirt that said “Property of Acapulco,” he resembled a tourist or a student, judging from the “spring break” logo on his wristband. Judging from his body—lean with broad shoulders—he looked like he was in his early to mid-twenties.
He didn’t look bad.
In fact, he was attractive.
Not as hot as Chase, because I was a sucker for gray blue eyes, brown hair, and all the lying bullshit part that came with him, but attractive, nonetheless.
I regarded the guy intently.
His eyes were shielded by black sunglasses, like some cool rock star ready to party all night.
There was something about him that made him look interesting. Unique, I’d say, the way you would look at someone and think “This guy could be the next big thing.” Maybe it was his hair. Short, curly, dark brown—he was a less bad ass image of James Franco.
It was the attitude—a bit dreamy, like that of someone who’d spend the night in front of a fire, playing the guitar, enchanting everyone. His stance was relaxed as if nothing could bother him, making you feel you could find