She looks at me, her eyes flaring with anger as she clenches her hands into fists. Standing like she is in just her black lacy underwear, the fury and frustration pouring off her in waves, I can’t help but think how beautiful she looks.

Beautiful and super pissed.

“There’s more to it than that,” she says. “This isn’t just about Pilar.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

Her jaw drops open for the briefest moment before she snaps it closed. “Why are you being such an ass?” She goes to the closet and yanks a black dress off the hanger almost violently, shaking it out so the fabric snaps. “You don’t know what it’s like to be me. What I have to deal with. It’s really unfair that you sit and pass judgment on me when you have no clue what you’re talking about.”

A strangled sound leaves her as she tugs the dress over her head, working her arms through the sleeves, then shoving the skirt down past her hips. I don’t say a word; I hardly react, and I think that only makes her angrier.

Which will only make it easier when I have to walk away from her. She won’t mind as much when I go if she’s mad at me.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

“They won’t miss me when I go.” She reaches behind her to zip the dress up and she’s having a hell of a time. She isn’t asking me to help her, either. “Trust me. No one cares about my pitiful contributions at Fleur. I’m more of a figurehead than anything else. Violet is the one who’ll take Daddy’s place when he retires. Unless Pilar pulls a fast one and somehow takes over, snagging the position from Violet. Not that I want to be there and witness that mess go down. Ugh.” She yanks on the zipper but it’s not budging.

I go to her, batting away her hands and pulling the zipper up into place with one smooth tug. I trace my finger across her nape and she steps away from my touch, glancing over her shoulder to glare at me. “You needed help,” I say with a shrug as I take a step back.

“My anger has nothing to do with you helping me with my dress and everything to do with how … unsympathetic you’re being toward my problem,” she explains.

“I don’t really think you have a problem at all. That’s why.” I go to her, kiss her cheek and give her shoulders a squeeze. She shrugs out of my touch and I let my hands fall, irritated. “Your pity party isn’t getting you anywhere, Rose. Before you make such a life-changing decision, talk to Violet. Listen to her. Listen to Ryder. Get their opinions on what you should do.” Listen to reason, I almost add, but that would really infuriate her.

“‘Pity party.’ God, you’re rude.” She reaches for the pearl earrings resting on the dresser and puts them in. “I’m tired of listening to them. I need to listen to my instincts, and trust me, they’ve been screaming at me lately.”

I say nothing again and she glares as she shoves her feet into those incredibly high, sexy-as-hell black stilettos she wears. I need to watch what I say before she kicks me square in the nuts with one of those things.

“I’m going with my gut on this one,” she says. “And my gut is telling me to leave. For good.”

“And what are you going to do after you quit Fleur?” I ask. “What then?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Hang out with you? We can stay here, in London. Together.”

Yeah. That is the last thing she should want and I know it. But how can I convince her otherwise?

Chapter Twenty

Rose

Hours after my discussion with Caden I’m still fuming. He was just so smug. So rude. Completely lacking any sort of understanding of my feelings, acting like a typical asshole guy.

And I didn’t really think he was that way. Yes, those first few encounters with him he’d been a complete ass, driving me insane but in a frenzied, angry, almost sexual way. Yes, definitely in a sexual way because though he made me angry, he also made me yearn.

Earlier today, though? He’d been almost condescending. Awful.

Worse? He never said a word when I mentioned I wanted to hang out with him once I quit Fleur. Acted like I’d never even said it. All of a sudden he was all smiles and kisses on the cheek as he said he needed to go. Who does that?

Whatever. Men. At the moment, they suck. I’m also blaming my irate, irrational anger on PMS. That has to be a contributing factor.

“You look ready to tear someone apart,” Violet says as she enters her office. I’m sitting across from her desk, trying to read over a report on my iPad but failing epically.

We’ve been sharing her office since I’ve been in London. Today she had a marketing meeting to attend, and I’m tempted to ask if Hugh was in the meeting with her—why I don’t know—but she would jump on my question and tell me I needed to go on a date with him or something equally insane.

Though maybe I should consider going out with Hugh because clearly, Caden is leaving. And Caden is an asshole.

He is not an asshole. You’re just hurt because he didn’t acknowledge your girly feelings. Get over it.

I don’t want to get over it. The anger is fueling me and I like it. It makes me feel strong.

“I’m grumpy,” I warn my sister. She settles behind her desk, her expression impassive, and when her gaze meets mine I know there’s something on her mind.

“Maybe that’s the mood you need to be in when I tell you what I’ve just discovered.” Violet rests her hands on top of her desk, clasping them together.