Oh my fuck.
“I think I just lost my mind,” I mumbled, dropping my cell phone on the plain coffee table that sat in the middle of the living room like it was hot.
I just asked Andres Ramirez to marry me.
What the shit?
I can’t believe I did that.
What the hell was I thinking?
Okay, so I kind of knew what I was thinking. The crumpled up letter and envelope sitting on the tiny table where Sammy and I ate most of our meals glared at me in the dimly lit room.
Andres was a man.
Duh.
He was big, tall, strong, wealthy, and powerful.
I wasn’t mercenary. It was just, well, I grew up with money, so I recognized it.
He didn’t strike me as the kind of man who always had it. But his expensive clothes, the fact he worked for Volkov Industries and was crowned their prince of acquisitions told me everything I needed to know.
So, me asking him to marry me was more about having him in my arsenal as a weapon to use against my ex-husband than the fact I couldn’t stop thinking about him.