And it’s not stopping me either.

“Really?” Rose asks cautiously.

I can’t tell her. Not yet. I should keep this my little secret for a while longer. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since Zachary and I split and I’m already thinking of someone else. Rose will freak. Or think I’m having a mental breakdown. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m sticking to it. I won’t take him back.”

“No matter how hard he tries to win you over?” Rose sounds skeptical, not that I can blame her. I’ve given in before, though we’ve never really split up, so this is a new development in our history.

“No matter how hard he tries,” I promise. “Not that he’ll try. He’s leaving in less than two weeks. It’s temporary, but I’m assuming Father will give him this promotion. He’ll move on. I’ll move on. It’s over.”

“If you say so. I think the idiot will realize what he’s lost and come back begging.”

I laugh. God, I hope not. He is the last thing I want to deal with. I’m so over him. “I doubt it.”

“I’m so proud of you. You sound so strong, so sure of yourself,” Rose murmurs. “You can do this. I know you can.”

“I know I can, too.” I do. And I think using Ryder as the perfect distraction will help.

Or hurt. I can’t tell yet.

But that doesn’t scare me enough to stop me.

Chapter Eight

Ryder

Anticipation hums through my veins as I watch Violet exit the building, that sexy-as-fuck dress she’s wearing standing out amidst the sea of black and navy and gray that passes by between us. I’m standing on the edge of the sidewalk waiting for her and it’s getting colder by the minute. No one can count on spring in New York. One day—yesterday—it was a perfect high of seventy-five degrees. Today’s high was sixty and the temperature is dropping at a rapid rate. Violet is wearing the short-sleeved dress with no coat or sweater, a black Chanel bag slung over her shoulder, her hair still as sleek and perfect as it was when I saw her first thing this morning, and all I can think is how vivid she is. How startlingly beautiful and perfect.

And how badly I want to mess her up. Tug the band out of her hair and watch as those long, dark waves fall around her face. Place my lips on the spot where her pulse throbs at the base of her neck and suck there. Nibble her skin. Lick her. Learn her taste. Let my hands wander, memorizing every curve …

She catches sight of me and the shy smile that lights up her face sends a buzz of awareness straight through me. She pushes her way through the crowd until she’s standing directly in front of me, the scent of her, the heat of her lithe body despite the cold surrounding me, drawing me in. Her lipstick is as red as her dress, reminding me of the shade she wore last night, and I have the sudden urge to kiss it right off of her. Smear it, get it on my lips, let her mark me.

If I have my way, I will definitely mark her. In primitive, sexual ways that she’ll keep hidden beneath her clothes. I’ll know those marks are there, though.

I swipe a hand across the back of my tense neck. Jesus, something about this woman fills me with confusing, possessive thoughts. Thoughts I don’t normally have. I don’t care about anyone but myself. I’ve had to be this way. It’s the only way I survived when I was growing up. I raised myself for the most part.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she says, sounding breathless. Can’t help but wonder if she’d sound that breathless just after I make her come. “I had a last-minute call and it took longer than I expected.”

“It’s fine.” She’s five minutes late, tops. No big deal. Funny how she acts like she’s committed an unforgivable sin. “I haven’t been waiting long.”

“Good.” The relieved smile she sends me makes my own lips curve without thought. “Are you ready?”

“Absolutely.” I take her elbow and steer her to the car, opening the door for her so she can climb inside. I let my gaze drop to her ass, watching the way the thin red material hugs her curves, and I quell the lust that rises within me as best I can.

But it’s difficult. Having her close, all of my senses focused on her and no one else, I feel almost overwhelmed—or more like a beast ready to rut. Not the usual experience I have when in the presence of a beautiful woman. They’re the ones who slobber all over me, not the other way around.

I climb into the backseat of the car behind her and pull the door shut, indicating to the driver that he should get going. We have less than fifteen minutes to get to our destination in time for our reservation and there’s no way we’ll make it. They won’t give up our spot, though. I guaranteed the small private room for Violet and me with my credit card. We’ll be alone all night. I’ll start working my magic on her the minute we’re behind closed doors and she’ll be ready and willing within the next few days, if not by the end of the night.

I’m that confident in my abilities.

“I can’t wait to see your ideas,” she says, her voice holding a tremor of excitement. She curls her hands together in her lap, her body angled toward mine. “I’ve been looking forward to this dinner all day.”

Her admission surprises me. Violet’s usually so reserved, holding her feelings, her opinions, close to her chest. But I think back on those emails we exchanged earlier. I read more into them and I think she did, too. I was taking a risk, sending her innuendo-filled emails. Not that I meant to at first. And given that she dumped Lawrence only last night, I’m surprised by her behavior.