Hate Thy Neighbor - S.M. Soto Page 0,155

and would automatically know his name?

“It’s Baz.”

“Hmm. Interesting name.”

“So I’ve heard,” he replies nonchalantly. “Now, tell me about you, Mackenzie.”

The same hotel employee from earlier rolls in with a silver tray and stops the cart right next to me. The plate of food revealed is the same as what the man across from me is eating. The smell of the grilled salmon in a savory red wine with roasted vegetables on the side has me salivating as he slides my plate in front of me.

“Thank you,” I mumble, still feeling a bit out of sorts with the knowledge that this man has hotel employees at his beck and call. He didn’t even have to tell them to prepare me a plate or grab me a chair. They just automatically knew. If I didn’t know it before, I sure do now—this man must be someone with a lot of pull if he has these people scrambling after him.

The employee pours me a glass of wine while tall, dark, and handsome sips on what I think is whiskey in his tumbler. Or is it bourbon? What do rich people prefer to drink?

After taking a large gulp of wine for courage, I remember what Baz asked me before my food came.

“Well”—I clear my throat—“I’m from New York, and I’m a writer—well, sort of—just here on a small getaway with my friends.” He doesn’t need to know that this getaway is disguised as a plot with much more … cruel intentions. “And what about you, Mr. No-Company-for-the-Night? Tell me about you.”

Baz’s face shadows with confusion, but then it suddenly clears and morphs into a blank mask, save for his plump lips that are now pursed in a thin, grim line.

“I don’t like it when women play dumb, Mackenzie. It certainly doesn’t do it for me.”

My brows raise, my face colored in surprise.

What the hell is he talking about?

“Excuse me?” I ask, tone affronted.

He watches me carefully as I pause with my knife and fork buried into the salmon.

“You really don’t know who I am, do you?” he inquires, head cocked to the side as though he’s waiting for me to decide on the truth. I slow my chewing and stare at him more intently.

Absolutely no recognition.

Other than his eyes. When I stare into his eyes, I feel like I know him. There’s familiarity there. Whatever darkness lurks there mirrors mine as if we’re one and the same.

“Am I supposed to?”

I can’t possibly know him, can I? Surely, I would’ve remembered a face like his had I ever run into him before.

He watches me contemplatively for a moment, absentmindedly tracing his fingers through the condensation on his tumbler filled with amber liquid. “I suppose not.”

“Well?” I prompt, now growing antsy, wanting to know the truth.

“Baz Kingston, CEO of King Spas and Resorts.”

My mouth gapes. “You own this place?”

He smirks at my reaction. “I do.”

“Wow,” I breathe. “Was not expecting that.”

“Interesting.”

“What is?”

“Most people already know who I am. But you … you’re different. I can’t tell what your agenda is.”

My brows furrow. “Agenda?”

Baz smirks, but it’s not warm or sexy like all his other ones. This one is different. Darker. “Everyone has an agenda, Mackenzie.”

I blush at his words. I don’t even know why, but for some reason, what he says makes heat rise to my cheeks. Maybe because he’s closer to the truth than he realizes. Because I do have an agenda. It’s the whole reason I’m here in California. The whole reason I changed my appearance.

“The hotel is incredible. I mean, you should be really proud of everything you’ve done here.”

“I am, thank you. We’re set to open another chain in Fiji as well as in the Hamptons soon.”

“That’s incredible.” I force a smile, trying to ignore my clutch that’s currently burning a hole through my lap. Here I am, sitting across from a CEO millionaire, while I struggle to make enough money to scrape by on.

Sometimes, the universe can be a son of a bitch.

“Enough about me.” He leans back, tone indifferent. “Tell me more about you. What brings you to California?”

Vengeance.

Instead of saying that, I clear my throat, opting for a version of the truth. “My friend’s father got me a room here. You must know him, Mr. Van Der Pont? Well, his daughter is a good friend, so we decided to make this a weekend getaway. Just the girls enjoying their time away from work.”

His eyes are practically incinerating me with the way he’s regarding me. It’s like he’s searching for

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