My Dark Desire: Chapter 64

Eileen’s eyes clung to me as I stopped by Farrow’s table on my way back to mine.

The fact that our union was an ongoing farce of Monty Python proportions was becoming more and more apparent. Unnecessary pain must be avoided.

In fact, the only reason I’d agreed to this dinner was to cancel the engagement and map out damage control.

The dudebro in the Lacoste polo peered up at me from his pasta dish, grinning with tomato-stained teeth.

“Shit. It’s you.” His eyes lit up. “Man, I’ve been following your career for a decade. Tried to get an internship with your company when I graduated. I’m a true fan.”

I towered above him, cataloging his face and reassuring myself that Octi could never find a man like this truly desirable. “Unfortunately, I cannot say the same.”

The linguine noodle fell from his lips.

I buttoned my blazer with one hand. “Now, let me tell you how the rest of your night is going to unfold if you wish to conduct business in the state of New York. Your date will return, and you will take her home, driving below the maximum speed limit. You will walk her to her door but won’t go inside. You will shake her hand—briefly— and tell her she looks lovely and is the most enthralling date you’ve ever had, but due to the fact that she is severely out of your league, you will bow out and make way for someone who actually deserves her. Then, you will disappear from her life permanently. Now, do you need me to write that down for you?”

His fork fell from his fist to the plate with a clatter.

He opened his lips but couldn’t manage to speak, confirming my suspicion that nothing existed between his ears other than get-rich-fast Bitcoin schemes and fetish porn .

I snapped my fingers in front of his eyes, losing my patience. Eileen was staring, and I didn’t want to prolong this more than needed.

Now that I’d discovered the pleasures of sex, I figured I’d be doing her a disservice by trapping her in a marriage without it. She could find her own Octi to cure her (best of luck—mine was one of a kind).

“Am. I. Clear?” I repeated.

He gulped. “Y-yes.”

“Good.” I brushed lint off my shoulder, a cold smile playing on my face. “Remember, Oatmeal—if you hurt her, if you offend her, if you try to hit on her, I’ll know, and I’ll retaliate.” I adjusted the collar of his shirt without touching him. “Enjoy your baked pasta dish.”