It was Miles Farley.
He looked even better than his photos.
Sword-straight brows, bright eyes, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, and skin clean and fair — better-looking than the top faces in the entertainment world.
The face really wasn't bad.
Pity the heart was black, and the man was a bit stupid.
A perfectly good shell, wasted.
I lifted a brow. "Miles Farley?"
I was about to tell him to deal with that gutter-trash songbird of his.
Before I could finish, he waved me off. "Enough!"
"We've met. I'm not interested in women who've clawed their way up from the bottom like you."
"You've seen for yourself. My woman has to be at least as beautiful and capable as Violet. A backwater striver whose only trick is passing exams? Crawl back to whatever hole you came out of."
I glanced down at my own white tee and jeans.
A little casual, sure. But showing up at all was already doing him a favor.
Clearly old Mr. Farley hadn't told his son a single word about who I was.
Made sense. My father lined up fifty suitors for me, and the moment they heard who I was, they were on their knees kissing up.
Exhausting.
The old man had probably done his homework on my tastes and simply left out my identity, betting that his son's natural charm would set him apart.
Too confident by half. He had no idea what his son's face really looked like in private.
I gave Miles a cold, sidelong look.
"The Farleys are supposed to be old money. You don't even know basic gentlemanly manners?"
"Talking to me like this, aren't you afraid you'll offend the wrong person?"
He looked me up and down and laughed with open contempt.
"You think you're fit to talk manners with me? Manners are for well-bred socialites of our class. Failing that, at least a nine-out-of-ten beauty like Violet. A dirt-poor climber like you? Fit for what?"
"Out the door, turn right, go find a mirror in the restroom and take a good look at yourself. A country hen like you wants to marry up into the Farleys? Keep dreaming!"
"Honestly, I have no idea what the old man sees in you. He called me twenty times, practically forced me to meet you."
I flicked a glance at him.
Before I came, my father had said the Farleys were badly strapped for cash right now.
If I happened to take a liking to the Farley boy, well, I'd bought a batch of islands a few years back. I could just hand the Farleys a few.
The five billion the Farleys owed the Sinclairs could be written off too.
Call it a meeting gift.
I offer face, he throws it back.
Let's see exactly what class he belongs to tomorrow.
I couldn't be bothered with him. I pointed at Violet.
"This woman started a fight on my turf, and a few cups on the table got smashed in the process. How do you plan to settle that account?"
The words were barely out when Violet, tears welling, covered her face and rushed to Miles.
"Miles, this woman hit me, and she hurt my friends too. It hurts so much…"
Seeing her all delicate and tear-streaked, Miles's heart ached for her.
"Some worthless piece-of-junk cup — you dared lay a hand on my woman?!"
I looked at the blue-lotus glass bowl shattered across the floor and sighed inwardly.
The junk cup he was ranting about was a treasured relic handed down from the Yuan dynasty, the only one of its kind in the world.
Its market price could buy the entire Farley family, except there was no price for it, since no one would ever sell.
I'd heard the Farleys were negotiating a partnership with the Joyces. They'd been grinding over the terms for two months, and Melvin Joyce wouldn't budge an inch.
Melvin was obsessed with antique vessels, and he'd had his eye on this blue-lotus glass bowl for ages.
But I was of the younger generation, so he hadn't felt right competing with me for it.
I'd only brought it along because Miles was good-looking.
I wondered how Melvin would react if he knew Miles not only failed to recognize the piece, but let his kept songbird trash a handed-down treasure he'd longed for, smash it to pieces.
I took out my phone, snapped a few shots of the shattered blue-lotus glass bowl, and sent them to Melvin.
I'd just tapped send.
Pain flared across the back of my hand as my phone hit the floor with a crack.
Miles exploded.
"Anna Sinclair, are you deaf? Can't you hear me talking to you?"
"I think you're tired of living. You touched one of my women, and you've still got the nerve to act this cocky!"
