Fraud

He bought her the house she lives in. Always insists she have a driver. Her bank account and credit cards are all tied to his name.

She does absolutely nothing for herself, and it makes me sick to think about it.

Even her social media accounts are a cure for insomnia, all her posts focused on clothes, food or her vacations to the usual places.

All the fire that used to exist in this woman has been expertly snuffed out by her politician daddy, and I grieve for who she used to be. Although I can’t begrudge how easy of a target that makes her.

Sadly, his plan to subdue his daughter for the purposes of protecting her - or maybe more to the truth, for protecting his career - has resulted in the opposite. She’s too simple now, a soft, fluffy lamb that doesn’t know to run when a wolf is stalking after her.

“Greenwood is nice,” I say, although we both know it’s bullshit. Not that it’s a bad neighborhood. The houses all cost in the millions. But it’s still not what most consider influential.

Even in school, we would refer to those outside our circle as the Greenwood kids, those who lived comfortable lives but still had no claim to fame. They were second tier to our first.

“That’s crap and you know it,” she says on a laugh. “Stop lying.”

Ivy’s shoulders relax on that response, the tension that existed between us bleeding away as she shifts her position enough that she’s turned toward me.

I grin as soon as her eyes lock to mine.

“We should just go ahead and get to what’s strange about this moment. We’ve always hated each other. And we’ve done some shitty things. But I like to think we can move past that now that we’re adults, right?”

Sure. Anything you say, beautiful...

Shifting in my seat so that I’m leaning a shoulder against the backrest, I intentionally face her directly, the space between us closing in tiny increments that won’t spook her like the skittish bu

“Age does have a habit of calming people down.”

Another laugh, her lashes batting over blue eyes that have rarely looked at me like I’m human.

It was a mistake on her part many years ago to believe I wasn’t fucked up enough to hurt her like I did, a momentary accident that we never repeated.

Our history isn’t only the pranks we pulled and the punches we threw, it also has regrettable moments where Ivy saw beneath my easy smile and witnessed what exists beneath.

I always hated that she knew what she did about me. And maybe it’s a large part of why she was my favorite target. It wasn’t the girl I wanted to destroy; it was the memory she carried in her pretty head.

I can still feel the rain from that night - that accident between us - every freezing drop stabbing my skin like knives.

Shaking it off, I focus on the present.

“My point is that we should start over, pretend like we never knew each other before this moment.”

She scoots closer, and so do I. It’s almost as if her polarity has reversed and instead of shoving away, we’re now pulled together like magnets.

Before I left the house, Ta

I think the bastard was too tied up in his bullshit with Luca to hear what I was telling him, making him wrong on all accounts.

That’s bad for Ivy.

But good for me.

The car takes a corner as it pulls into heavier traffic, the motion as good an excuse as any for me to slide closer. We’ll blame simple physics for propelling me toward Ivy and not my need to draw her into my orbit.

So easy, this task.

It’s almost boring.

But then, nothing is completely boring when I have a hot as fuck blonde staring me down, especially one as tempting as this.

“Anyway,” she says, a soft purr to her voice that rubs me in all the right places, “I’m hoping you have changed enough that you’ll help me with this thing with Ta

Interesting word choice, I think. It’s wrong that the thought of her obeying anyone turns me the fuck on.

It also turns me the fuck off because I’d enjoyed her spitfire attitude when she was younger. I prefer a woman who bites back.

“...he’ll kick me out of my house and never help me again.”

Pathetic.

Absolutely. Fucking. Pathetic.

She’s the Raging Bitch Formally Known as Ivy, and this replacement sitting in front of me is nothing more than a cheap imitation.

Honestly, if it were anybody else, I would open the car door, jump out at forty miles per hour or however fast we’re going and take my chances with the cement rather than endure any more of this conversation.

Still, I have a job to do.

And a score to settle.

So here we are.

Our bodies scoot closer again as the car veers into a parking lot. It sucks that the seatbelt keeps me from getting too close for Ivy’s comfort, but it’s not the end of the world.

Thankfully, the car pulls to a stop just outside the doors, the car door next to me opening so fast that I briefly wonder if Scott actually walks like a human being or simply warps himself from one point to another like a cyborg.

Our eyes lock, his with the promise to murder me and mine with the dare that he fucking try it. I can’t be entirely sure, but I think I hear Ivy laughing softly behind me.

No wonder her life for the past ten years has been led according to the Etiquette Handbook for the Modern and Trendy Nun. This son of a bitch means business.

It makes him a bigger problem than I initially thought and one I can’t ignore. He’ll have to be dealt with.

Unbuckling my seatbelt without ending the stare down I’m having with the Terminator, apparently, I flash him a wicked grin and ask, “Are you going to let me out, or are you pla

His eyes narrow and nostrils flare just as Ivy sighs at my back. “Scott, it’s fine. Gabriel is never serious about anything.”

I’m serious about destroying this girl, and by the looks of her babysitter, he knows it.

He definitely needs to be dealt with. Scott elevates the term cockblock to an entirely new level. Not just the type that prevents me from scoring, but the kind that will literally rip my dick from my body for even thinking about trying.

I wouldn’t be surprised if Ivy is wearing a state-of-the-art chastity belt with an alarm wired directly to this man’s head every time someone so much as breathes in her direction.

Needless to say, I don’t like him. And judging by the way he is still assessing me with the very real threat of the slow death I’d imagined earlier, he doesn’t like me either.

At least we can agree on that.

“Scott,” Ivy warns, “we can’t go inside and eat if you’re blocking the door.”

His eyes slide past me to look at her, his body eventually moving aside to let us out.

Cautious, I slowly step out of the car and push to my full height next to him. It would definitely be a fair fight, our size easily matching, although I have a feeling this man leans more on the psycho serial killer side of the bad attitude spectrum.

While I’m not exactly i

It takes effort to break the stare down and turn to offer Ivy a hand as she steps out of the car. The instant our skin touches, I feel the usual spark up my arm that happens with her.