Cruel. Coldblooded. Hades in a Brioni suit.
Cillian Fitzpatrick has been dubbed every wicked thing on planet earth.
To the media, he is The Villain.
To me, he is the man who (reluctantly) saved my life.
Now I need him to do me another, small solid.
Bail me out of the mess my husband got me into.
What’s a hundred grand to one of the wealthiest men in America, anyway?
Only Cillian doesn’t hand out free favors.
The price for the money, it turns out, is my freedom.
Now I’m the eldest Fitzpatrick brother’s little toy.
To play, to mold, to break.
Too bad Cillian forgot one, tiny detail.
Persephone wasn’t only the goddess of spring; she was also the queen of death.
He thinks I’ll buckle under the weight of his mind games.
He is about to find out the most lethal poison is also the sweetest.
Excerpt . . .
Get that checked. If you drop dead from a heart attack at forty, you’ll have no one else to blame. She winced, looking like I physically slapped her.
“Veitch,” she corrected, just to spite me.
“Not for long,” I noted dryly. “A word?”
“I know many. My favorite one right now is—leave.”
“You want to hear me out.” I cracked my knuckles. “Now say goodbye to your little friends.”
She looked back and forth between the kids and me, then turned and murmured something to the teacher next to her, and hurried my way, dunking her head down. “What are you doing here?”
She closed the door behind her, whisper-shouting.
I’ve been asking myself the same question since bailing on Keith and his snooze-fest speech. What the hell was I doing here?
About the Author . . .
She lives in California with her husband, son, cat and eccentric fashion choices, and enjoys good wine, bad reality TV shows and catching sun rays with her lazy cat.
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