Page 53 of Vengefully Matched

“Agatha get you hooked on those, did she?” Victoria Starnberger smiled at her, green eyes dancing mischievously.

Priscilla raised her eyebrows at Vickie, who stood with a hand on her hip and an accusatory smile on her lips.

“I didn’t realize you were well acquainted.” Prissy tapped at the glass, which was patterned with black roses.

“She’s been coming around a lot in the past few weeks.”

Since Hank had asked her why Priscilla’s girlfriend didn’t know Victoria, she realized with a flutter of guilt.

Here she was, contemplating stealing her fake girlfriend’s assistant, in part to stave off the threat of real feelings, all the while her fake girlfriend was going out of her way to get to know her family.

Vickie watched her, smiling.

“Bring her around the manor soon?”

Kevin scoffed. “I still can’t believe that she’s dating you. I’m sorry to say it, Priscilla, but Agatha Vanderbilt Voisin is far out of your league. You’re an excellent councilwoman, to be sure, but too young to satisfy a woman of that caliber.”

Well then. It turns out she was not wrong to be annoyed by his niceness. Kevin was secretly a dick. She hated Kevin.

That was a relief, at least.

Vickie gave him a long look and then walked away, muttering something that sounded a lot like “Sour grapes.”

Priscilla stared daggers, the kind she hoped he knew meant business, like maybe she’d wither him into raisins and not just sour grapes.

“I didn’t come here to discuss my sex life,” she said coolly, and she was pleased when Kevin frowned.

So it was a bit of a fib to suggest that she had one of those beyond a very well-used array of toys and a now–frequently exhausted right hand. He didn’t need to know that.

“Fair,” he said. “What I wanted to make absolutely clear is, my situation has… changed. I want to make sure my finances are squared away.”

Ah. It was a shakedown, then.

“I enjoy the proximity to power with Agatha, I’ll be honest. It would take a lot to tempt me away from working so closely with the president. But I’d be happy to come work for you if you, say, tripled what Agatha is paying.”

“Tripled?” She gripped the edge of the table, nostrils flaring. “Tripled?”

Kevin shrugged. “I’ve met with a financial planner to help with some of my long-term goals for retirement, and it’s time to think smart.”

Priscilla’s eyes narrowed. Kevin did seem to like nice things; she recognized the brand of his watch, and his clothes would not be out of place had they gone to a nice restaurant instead of the local tea shop.

Perhaps he’d grown concerned about his expensive taste.

Something about him bothered her. She couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe just his existence.

“I can’t triple anything,” she said flatly, still turning his words over in her mind.

“You’re a Hart. You live in a literal mansion.” He crossed his arms, sipping on his stupid decaf. What even was the point?

“It’s a manor. Do you have any idea what the property taxes are like for a two-hundred-year-old Victorian manor on that much land?”

“I’m sure you could figure it out.”

She stared at him. “My brother is a public schoolteacher, and I am a public servant. We get by on a two-salary income, but there’s no hidden cache of gold beneath the grounds or anything.”

Kevin pouted. “Fuck. You’re serious?”

“As the dead.” She sipped at her latte, angry once again that people made assumptions about her family based on their house. People always wanted the chutes and slides of the Addams family, leading to a treasure trove buried deep below. All that was buried in the basement of the house were a few spare bedroom suites that disappeared and reappeared as they pleased, a storage closet the size of a small apartment, and the home gym that had once been her parents’ sex dungeon. The level below that was the burial grounds, but the catacombs held no secret wealth.