Law #1: Never Bet on Love: A Sweet Billionaire Love Story (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (the beginning after the end novel read .TXT) 📗

Aha, I have it! I hold up my hand. “Wait here for a second.”

I step inside and shut the door behind me. I bolt into the kitchen and grab a small bottle of mineral water from our fridge. I jog back to the door and open it. “Here.” I hand the bottle to Nathan. “It’s sparkling. I hope you like it.”

Nathan seems at a loss of words. Then he shrugs and takes the bottle. “Thanks. I’ll go then. I’m going to….” He scratches his head. “To the city center.” He taps the pocket where he hid the diamonds. “Yes, I’ll go and return these. Don’t you want to come with me?”

His question catches me off guard, so instead of refusing immediately, I ask, “Why?”

“It might be easier to convince the shopkeeper to take them back if I have you with me.”

He accompanies his statement with that bright smile that makes me forget he’s a Montgregor and in an entirely different social class than I am. I do have two hours of free time so I could…

Just tell him no. It’s your safest option. Don’t forget La Mujer Sin Alma never sleeps.

My mother’s warning voice pops into my mind. Together with that scary folktale about the creature who feeds on the shattered hearts of betrayed women. Mom used to tell it to me, probably to hone my wariness about men who might exploit me. Men like my father.

I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Nathan. I can’t. I’m sure you’ll be able to bend the shopkeeper’s will on your own. I have to go inside now. My family’s preparing to go to church. Bye.”

I wave to him and retreat quickly into our house closing the door in his face again. I press my back to the door. My chest is humming with an unusual quiver, but I know I have done the right thing.

After a few deep breaths, I take a quick peek outside. Nathan is standing in the same position I left him in. Why isn’t he moving?

All of a sudden, Nathan shrugs, then turns and walks back to his Bentley. He waves to Señor Moreno, who exchanges his greeting with a loud, “¡Adios!”

I watch him drive away, glued to the window but still hiding behind Abuelita’s purple drape. Only when the Bentley has disappeared at the end of our road do I turn and saunter back to our kitchen.

I’m trying to convince myself that this brief chat hasn’t changed anything. Or if it did, then only after Nathan’s surprising effort to excuse himself. I may stop thinking about him as if he’s an arrogant moneybag. Or in any terms, really.

Yes, that’s probably the best course of action. Forget him. Period. I won’t be seeing much of him after I refused him twice. He won’t be back for a third time. Nobody can be that masochistic…

Chapter 8

(Nathan - Day 3)

The next morning, I’m in the spacious dining area of my condo with Murphy.

He’s sitting across me at the table, reading the newspaper. He came over to my place—unannounced. It’s the second unexpected visit he’s paid me in two days. So as much as he tried to sell the story that he just missed my company, I know his real reason for being here is to check up on my progress with Eva. He’s acting all natural, but I can feel the stolen questioning glimpses he’s throwing at me.

He seems pretty involved in my bet.

Is it because it was his idea? Or did Mother enlist him to send her daily reports about how I’m handling my task?

It’s a possibility. Even if, Mother has been unreachable every time I tried to call her last night. Though she could be too embarrassed to speak to me after backstabbing me the way she did.

“What’s the matter, brother? You don’t like the meal Tracy prepared?” My brother blinks up from his newspaper.

I realize that I’m digging around in my breakfast with my fork and I stop. “There’s no flavor.”

I’m lying. My reluctance to eat has nothing to do with my cook’s culinary skills. If anything, Tracy has outdone herself. The eggs glisten in a bright inviting yellow, the tomatoes couldn’t be riper, and the guacamole is as creamy as it can get.

No, the reason the food is tasteless on my tongue is caused by one person only. And she has mesmerizingly dark eyes and an infuriatingly undecipherable personality.

Murphy eyes me with a lopsided smirk, then neatly folds his newspaper and places it on the table. He refills his mug with coffee, then stands up and walks over to me. The chair screeches as he pulls it out.

I cringe at its sharp sound. “You could lift that, you know.”

Murphy shrugs and sits down beside me. “Do you seriously want to engage in a futile discussion about how I’ll scratch the floor of your loft? It’s Greek marble, Nate. I won’t leave a mark even if I hit it with a hammer. Why did you have to get these ugly, plain metal chairs anyway? They weigh like a ton. I think your place looked much nicer the way it did when you bought it.”

It’s again one of those points where my brother would score big with Mother if she heard him speak. Perhaps I shouldn’t wonder that she teamed up with Murphy, after all. I might be similar to her when it comes to our stubbornness, but my brother got the rest of her personality. Including her opulent taste.

“This house looked like the residence of a king. I asked a young designer to eliminate all the fluff.”

The sleek leather and simple steel I chose creates a cleaner space. One that allows me to live and work from home without distractions. The decorator did a decent job of respecting my preference for objects that actually serve a purpose. She rid my house of all the chandeliers, antique mirrors, and large-scale Renaissance artworks, as well as the ostentatious plush furniture. The only pictures I let her