**THIS BOOK IS ON HOLD UNTIL I'M DONE WRITING LOVE CONSEQUENCES** Linda Baxter's trust fund makes life easy, but she learned that things in pretty packages are not worth her time. By twenty-nine, she tried marriage, fabricated a fake relationship, a...
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My beef is not with Artem Serov.
Until last night at the auction when my sister Brenda kept raising her paddle any time anyone tried to bid on him, I had no idea who Artem Serov even was. I've recognized his face but wouldn't have been able to put a name to it. At least not his real one.
Another donkey kick intensifies the angry shudders in my thigh. Who comes up with these exercises? My gluteus maximus muscles-Artem informed me what they are called when I said ass-tremble, and I throw a glance at the timer that shows I have a minute till the end of this round.
"Keep going. Don't stop." He barks from behind me. Hopefully, he's taking pictures.
I need him to follow my instructions and be the pawn in my game. The game my sister and I have been playing ever since she became the poster child for the New York Baxters-my parents' pride and joy-and I became the Mouse.
Artem's the extension and the perfect visual representation of my sister. He's the male version of Brenda. Even though I can't deny the impeccably chiseled lines of his jaw and ogle the lips, no man should have. Even though I admire his absurdly dark eyelashes that shade gray eyes with ice-blue speckles that make them look like an impressionist painting I came up too close to. Even though I know what his naked chest looks like from one too many covers he graced: he is on the evil side. The 'perfect people' side. The side I'm going to never belong to. Not that I'd like that kind of attention.
"Done," he says as the timer beeps. I find my way back to standing and take my phone from him. My eyes linger a second too long on his, familiar to so many in the world, and the bit of para-social relationship we build in our minds with those we see on our screens is trying to trick me into thinking I know him. What I do know is that anything this perfect on the outside is rotten to the core on the inside. My sister is the glaring example.
She might fool others into thinking she's a fallen angel with a heart of gold. I know better. A devil is more like it. The look on her face when I outbid her-priceless. Brenda stole my husband, tried to mess with my friend, but this time I win. I wish I knew why she wanted to get the day with Artem, but even without that knowledge, the murderous stare she gave me last night when she didn't get what she wanted warms my broken heart. A million dollars was worth it. I unlock my phone.
