“star.”


    “I’m not epting rent from you. I want you to live here as my girlfriend, not a fucking tenant.”Upstodatee from Novel(D)ra/m/a.O(r)g


    “Ali.”


    “Stop fucking Ali-ing me,” he snaps.


    God, I turn back to my breakfast. Frigging hell, talk about overreacting.


    “You will be living here as my girlfriend. You will not be paying anything and I will not have it any


    other way. Discussion over.”


    I  raise  an  eyebrow  at  him.  The  bossy  bastard  is  peeking  his  head  back  in.  “Don’t  tell  me  the


    discussion is over, star. I’m not your daughter.”


    He pushes his food into his mouth from his fork. “I know that. So don’t make me discipline you.”


    I smirk around my fork. “Stop talking now. That big mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble.”


    “You stop talking.” He smirks.


    I roll my eyes. This conversation is going nowhere. I’m not going to win and he is not backing down. I


    will change the subject. “So, we are going to your parents this weekend still?”


    His face instantly softens. “Yes.”


    I smile. “Fun,” I whisper nervously.


    “It’s going to be cold. You will need to buy some warmer clothes.” He stands and goes to his wallet


    and retrieves a card. “I got this for you yesterday.” He slides it across the bench to me and I frown.


    It’s a credit card with the name Emerson Mathews on it. Huh?


    “What the hell?” I frown as my eyes meet his. “You don’t need to buy me things.”


    “I know, baby. I want to.”


    This is getting out of hand. “star.” He wraps his arms around me and kisses my face.


    “I have money. Please… let me,” he pleads.


    My eyes hold his and I slide the card back to him.


    “I don’t need nice things, Twinkle. I’m not materialistic.” I sigh.


    He kisses me gently on the lips. “I know you are not, and believe me, it’s such an endearing quality of


    yours. But I need you to have nice things. I want to spoil you. I don’t want you to want for anything.”


    “I can buy them for myself,” I reply.


    “I want to buy them.”


    “Why?”


    “I just do,” he replies. “I want you to stay here in London and I want you to be happy. You have left


    everything in Australia for me and I am going to make sure I look after you.”


    “I didn’t leave Australia for you. I came here with my own free will.”


    His face drops.


    I can tell this means a lot to him. I begrudgingly take the card and kiss him gently on the lips. “Thank


    you,” I whisper as my hands rub through his two-day growth. His beautiful eyes watch me. “Look after


    me. That’s all I want. The money means nothing.” I smile gratefully.


    He kisses me and his tongue sweeps gently through my mouth. “I do love you, Emmaline,” he whispers


    into my mouth.


    I smile broadly. “And I love you, my Irish Fiasco.”


    The day at the work is dreary until I am summoned to Mark’s office to see the detectives.


    Knock, knock.


    “Come in,” calls Mark.


    I swallow the nervous lump in my throat. The two men who were sitting stand to shake my hand.


    “This is Detective Peters and Detective Sloan,” Mark introduces them.


    “Hello.” I nervously shake their hands.


    “Please take a seat.”


    I sit down.


    “We have been investigating the artwork that you noticed was missing and have a few leads that we


    wanted to share with you.”


    “Oh, great.” I smile. I was hoping they would keep me in the loop. “What have you found?” I ask.


    “We agree with you. This is more than likely an inside job.” My eyes widen as Mark interjects. “You


    can’t think it is anyone from here, surely?”


    “Perhaps,” one of the officer’s replies.


    “Or perhaps it is someone that is circting the scene constantly.”


    I frown. “What do you mean?”