Taming the Playboy

Roman Ashford had a motto. He'd say it with a straight face, one hand over his heart. "Out of all of them, I love you most." Out of all of them. Romantic, right?

Tonight, I was going to dump him. Roman was a player. The kind the whole city wanted a turn with, and nobody could keep. Me?

I was the girl who could outsweet, outpout, and outplay every last one of them, and I never once lost track of what I was doing. I had a motto of my own.

I used to purr it at him across crowded rooms: I can't sleep at night. Not with you still out of my bed. People called us a perfect match. They weren't wrong.

My mom raised me on one rule. Date the pretty ones, marry the reliable ones. So at twentyfour, I went out and landed the prettiest, most reliably unreliable man in the city.

To date. Obviously. Then, a month ago, my mom's scan came back. Earlystage lung cancer.

I spent the next week in oncology waiting rooms, watching old men sit alone in hard plastic chairs with nobody coming to fill the seat beside them.

Watching people face the worst day of their lives with an empty chair on either side. And something in me went quiet and sure. I wanted a home. The kind that holds when it storms.

So. Roman Ashford, love of his life, allegedly. I went to find him and end it. I figured it would take five minutes. God, I was optimistic.

Chapter 1 I found him the second I walked in.

Same booth at Halcyon he haunted three hundred and sixty nights a year, a full head above the crowd, midtoast with the girl in the next seat, their arms looped together, glasses tipped, her mouth about two inches from his.

He'd just lost whatever they were playing. Losers bought the round. The girl clocked me and smiled, slow. "Oh.

You must be Rome's girlfriend." She took a sip. "We're kind of in the middle of something. You don't mind, right?" "Not even a little," I said. "You're adorable, sweetheart.

You should move in with us. We've got the room." I gave her my warmest smile, the one I save for grand openings and open caskets. Her face curdled.

I turned to Roman and let my whole voice go soft and hurt. "Rome. Does your friend not like me? Maybe I should just go." I looked at the door.

Then at the college kid two stools down, all cheekbones and clean jaw and sleeveless shirt and arms for days. "It's still raining, though.

And I didn't bring an umbrella." I tipped my head at the kid. "Maybe he could walk me home." Roman's eyes slid off me and onto the kid.

Traveled down him, slow, unhurried, top to bottom. The kid's hands flew up. "Whoa. Don't put me in this, man.

Everybody knows Rome's crazy about his girl." Something in Roman's jaw eased. He liked that one.

He knocked back his drink, set the glass down, and pushed the girl beside him away without so much as looking at her.

Then he stood, hooked an arm around my waist, and tucked me into his side. "We're out," he told the table. "My girl's jealous. Gonna take her home and make it up to her.

Tonight's on me." "To Rome and his girl!" somebody whooped. He walked me out through all that noise like he owned the floor. He did own the floor.

In the car, he kept glancing over. "You're not actually mad." He said it like a fact. "You know I'm just messing around.

Out of all of them, I love you most." He rolled that one out at least once a month. I'd heard it enough that I could mouth it along with him. So I did. And rolled my eyes.

If I'd been even a little less weak for a face like his, we'd have imploded years ago. But that face. That was the whole problem.

He leaned in, warm against my ear. "What is that perfume, babe. God. C'mere. I want—" "I want to break up." He went still for a second.

Then the grin came back, slow and crooked, one brow lifting. "Yeah? What are we playing tonight, babe?" Because sometimes we did this.

Little scenes. "CEO and the bad little secretary?" he offered. "Pilot and the flight attendant? Patient and the pretty nurse?" "Roman. I'm serious." The smile came down.

He rolled his lighter across his knuckles, one hand loose on the wheel, and for a second the whole spoiledrichboy thing sat on him like a costume that fit a little too well. "Alright, Sloane," he said. "Convince me." "You've got too many women." "Did one of them turn up at your door?

Did you catch me in the act?" He flicked the lighter shut. "Give me proof, Sloane." Three years. And no.

I never once had proof. "I want to get married." They always say a player's terrified of a ring. I waited for the flinch. He didn't even blink. "Pick a date.

I'll drive you down to city hall myself." To Roman, marriage was two signatures.

All that throughthickandthin, tilldeathdouspart business was just a line in a greeting card. "My mom wants me to marry someone reliable," I said.

He tossed the lighter in the cupholder and smiled at me, wicked and completely unbothered. "Then I'll go ask Mrs. Marsh myself.

What exactly is unreliable about me." Chapter 2 My mom had just gotten out of the hospital. I didn't want to drag her into any of this, so I backed off fast. "Forget it.

I'm kidding." He pulled me back against him and kissed me, thoroughly pleased with himself. "See. Knew you were just playing with me." That night his phone lit up on the nightstand.

I glanced at it. Sera. The one who got away. His friends told me once that the only reason a spot ever opened up for me was that Sera left the country.

That I got the promotion. "Rome. Your phone." He came out of the bathroom with a towel slung low, water still tracking down his throat and lower, not yet wiped away.

He had the face and the body both. That was the whole reason I'd lasted three years.

I swallowed, pulled the blanket up over my chin, and aimed my ears at him like a satellite dish. "Yeah?" A pause. "Tonight?" Another pause. "Okay.

I'll come get you." He hung up and kissed my cheek. "Something came up, babe. Be good. Stay home." A man. One in the morning.

On the phone with the one who got away, then out the door. Yeah. I was absolutely going to go catch him. He'd barely cleared the garage before I was behind him.

I made it to the building, then made myself wait a full hour before I went up and knocked.

The girl who opened the door had on a white slip dress, one loose braid over her shoulder, sweet as a milk commercial.

And there I was, playing the jealous lunatic in someone's soap opera, a phone camera shoved right at her face. "Sloane.

Are you out of your mind?" Roman stepped out of the bathroom, still in the exact clothes he'd left the apartment in. Not one crease in them. I frowned. That was wrong.

The Roman I knew needed two hours, minimum. And that shirt looked like it had come off the hanger five seconds ago. Something didn't add up. "Sloane.

Delete it." He held his hand out for the phone. I hugged it to my chest and shook my head. "You told me I needed proof." "That's not proof." "It's the middle of the night.

You're not in her apartment to use the bathroom." Right on cue, Sera started to cry. I almost laughed. Excuse me. I'm the actual girlfriend here. If anyone gets to cry, it's me.

She caught the cuff of Roman's sleeve, her voice going tiny. "Rome, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to be any trouble for you." Oh, honey.

I was running that exact routine before you knew what a slip dress was for. I took hold of his other sleeve and let my chin wobble. "Rome. Hit me, yell at me, I don't care.

I just want to know. Me or her.

Who do you actually love most?" He peeled out of Sera's grip and gathered me in instead, one hand splayed hard at my waist, his mouth dropping to my ear. "Babe. Stop it.

Delete the video. Be good." And there it was. I thought I'd been winning. Turned out he just wanted the footage gone.

I squeezed out a couple of tears anyway. "So you're picking her. Got it." I could see it.

His patience, wearing down to the wire. "Go home," he said. "I actually have something to handle." I pressed in harder, all sugar. "I'm sorry. I got too clingy.

It won't happen again, I swear." His fingers closed around my wrist. Tightened. Sera hovered nearby, playing peacemaker. "Rome, maybe just take her home.

I'll be okay on my own." He turned his head to me. Slow. "Sloane." The easy thing had drained clean out of his voice. "Messing around is one thing.

Tonight you've gone too far." I'd pushed Roman Ashford a hundred times before. I'd just never watched him run out of room to be pushed.

Chapter 3 Turns out the slickest performance in the world can't compete with one word from the girl who got away.

I shook his hand off, deleted the video right in front of him, and walked out without looking back. I moved back into my own place that same night.

And still, something sat heavy in my chest. Maybe he'd told me he loved me best a hundred times, worked the spell so many times that I'd started to believe it.

But it was clear enough now. He loved Sera. At least a little more than he loved me. My mom was thrilled we'd split. After the surgery, all she'd wanted was to see me settled.

She marched me into a matchmaking service that same afternoon. "Ms.

Marsh, this is our $1,888 package, this is the $3,888 package, and this is—" "Give my daughter the most expensive one you've got," my mom said. "Mom.

You've still got chemo to pay for." "At my age, I've made my peace with living and dying. Your future matters more than any of that.

We'll take the best one you have." She slid her card across the desk. Her hand wasn't quite steady. The matchmaker smiled so wide it looked like it hurt.

She took the payment and fanned out a stack of profiles. "These are all our very finest, Ms. Marsh." The photos were mostly unlookable.

My head was still full of that ruinous face of Roman's. "Ms. Marsh. Your phone's ringing." Roman lit up the screen. "Yeah?" "Sloane. You told me you deleted it.

Goddammit." Listening to him lose it was deeply satisfying. I had deleted the video last night. But then I'd gotten too angry to leave it at that.

So I dug it out of the trash, and I sold it to a gossip site. For a couple hundred bucks. Not for the money. For the principle.

By morning it was everywhere. [Ashford Heir Caught in Secret Midnight Rendezvous] [The Ashford Scandal Everyone Got Paid to Forget] Turns out Sera wasn't just the one who got away.

She was the name at the center of some old scandal that had brushed the Ashford family years ago, the kind of thing that gets buried with a lot of money and a quiet oneway ticket overseas.

No wonder Roman had been frantic to delete it. And no wonder he'd torch a whole night to protect her. Whatever she was to the family, she was clearly still worth something to him.

I went sweet and helpless. "Rome, I only just saw the news. But I definitely deleted it, I swear. How did it even get out?" "I'm so useless.

I can't even do one little thing right." "Now I've gone and made you worry again." He laughed on the other end, furious, and forgot entirely that we'd broken up the night before. "Where are you.

I'm coming to get you." "Rome. We broke up," I reminded him. "And honestly, I'm really busy right now." "Sloane. I never agreed to that breakup." Classic.

Pining after the one who got away, and still greedy enough to keep me on the hook.

When I didn't answer, he pushed. "Busy with what?" "Busy with a date." I hung up and stabbed a finger at the profiles at random. I booked the date at Roman's favorite spot.

No particular reason. Purely to ruin his week. The man across from me had fine, precise features. On par with Roman, honestly. Something about him even a little reminiscent. "Hi.

I'm Sloane Marsh." He shook my hand, smiling. "Theo." Theo? The name rang a faint bell. He stood, every inch the gentleman, and pulled out my chair. Easy, polished manners.

I sat, and got right to it. "Sloane Marsh. Twentyseven. Grew up with just my mom.

Own my place, own my car, money in the bank, three exes." "So Roman wasn't your first love?" How did he know about Roman?

Back when I lied to Roman, told him he was my first love, how did this man know about that too?

Chapter 4 I was still sitting there, confused, when Roman came tearing out of nowhere and grabbed Theo by the collar, the veins standing up on the back of his hand.

I tried to stop him, and caught the tail end of it. "The Sera thing. I already explained it to you. I'll get the video killed, I swear it." Well.

And here I'd thought he came charging out for me. Nope. Still cleaning up messes for his old flame. I'd flattered myself.

I sat back down, sipped my coffee, and watched the show until it finally clicked. I'd sat at the wrong booth. Mine was 608. This was 806. Theo was Roman's brother.

No wonder the name rang a bell. Just my luck. I grabbed my bag to slip out, and Roman caught me redhanded. "Roman, what are you doing?

I have somewhere to be." He ignored me squirming and put me in the car. His hand on the wheel, knuckles gone bonewhite, gripping like he wanted to crush it.

And for one second the lazy, careless thing he wore like a second skin cracked open, and something else showed through. Sharp. Controlled. Colder than I'd ever seen on him.

It wasn't pointed at me. It was pointed at the whole situation, and it was a little unnerving how completely in command it looked.

Like there was a different man in there, one I'd never actually met. "Sloane. You're dumping me over my brother?" As God is my witness, I just sat at the wrong booth.

When I stayed quiet, he kept going. "I'm not your first love? You lied to me?

That's bold." He was answering his own questions now. "A first love is someone you actually loved," I explained, awkward. "Before you, I was young and stupid.

It doesn't count." "Well. You live and you learn." The car surged forward. He knew I hated it when he drove like this.

Just one more line in the growing case for why he'd make a catastrophic husband. We came to a smooth stop outside the café where we'd first met.

I had no idea what he was after, but I trailed after him anyway, like a duckling. "How long have you known him?" I blinked. "Who?

Theo?" At the name, he lit a cigarette, impatient, trying to cool himself down, and gave a short, flat, "Mm." "I sat at the wrong booth.

I knew him for five minutes." Distrust all over his face. He tossed the lighter onto the table. "Him or me. Who's better." I told you it was the wrong booth.

And now he wanted to play these tedious little who'sthebiggerman games. I rolled my eyes. "Obviously nobody compares to you, Rome.

You're gorgeous, you're generous with your women, and—" "Sloane. I want the truth." The truth? Fine. "Theo's not badlooking. Successful. Refined. Mature. Steady." Crack.

He slammed the coffee cup down hard enough to shatter it. See. Ask for honesty, and then you can't stomach it. "Sloane. Great. That's great.

You're really something." "Get this through your head. I dumped you." Dripping with sarcasm and fury. Excuse me. He dumped me? On what grounds?

Every last one of his side pieces, the sainted Sera included, I never breathed a word about. I played it a little sweet and sneaky, sure. I never actually cheated.

He turned to leave, and I couldn't help myself. "Roman. Wait." His expression shifted, his mouth curling around something. "What?

Ready to get back together?" I smiled. "You misunderstand. Breakup fee." He went off. "Sloane. You—! Fine!" He pulled out his phone and made the transfer. One tap. That fast.

I counted the zeros. Ten million.

A man who supposedly did nothing but drink and burn through his family's money did not have ten million dollars sitting in an account he could move on a whim.

And he certainly wouldn't hand it over without so much as a blink. I filed that away for later. For now: not bad. Chapter 5 "Sloane.

You're going to regret this." I dropped the act completely, stood, and patted him on the shoulder. "Relax.

I'll regret it the second I find myself a husband and finish spending all your money." Roman's face went a shade of green I'd never seen on a living person