Dirty Beautiful Rich Part Five by Eva Devon

 
     
     
    Chapter 1
                  The club pulsed and Julie couldn’t draw breath. She walked blindly, only guided by Fion’s hand at the small of her back. She was going to be fine. It was going to be fine. It had to be. Somehow she was going to survive what she’d just done to Damian. To herself. Because god, it felt like she’d cut her own heart out when she’d said those cruel, necessary words.
                  Would she ever forget the look on his face? No.
                  “Julie, darlin’, ” Fion said right against her ear in the loud, packed in space. “We should leave. You’re in no state to keep on.”
                  She shook her head. “It’s your birthday. You shouldn’t go. But I think—I think I have to. Is there a back exit?”
                  There was no way she was going to chance that Damian was still out there.
                  Fion nodded and took her hand. But instead of heading toward the back, he took her to the bar on the ground floor. He gestured to one of the efficiently moving bartenders.
                  Within seconds, a bottle of Krug was passing over the bar accompanied by two glasses.
                  Fion gestured with his jaw to the back. “Come on then.”
                  She almost groaned. Tomorrow, she was going to want to die. She was already plastered. So, who cared then right? Her sorrows deserved a good drowning.
                  Fion took the lead, heading into a narrow dark hall.
                  Maybe she was being crazy. Fion was a stranger. But she didn’t fear him. There was nothing tigerish about the beautiful blond Belfast man. Oh no. He seemed as sweet and safe as a docile cat which one might keep tucked by the fire.
                  He shoved open a door and they stumbled out into a little alley. It was out of this world, from a different century even. Barely three feet wide, and paved with cobblestones, it was lined with boxes and packing cases.
                  Fion pulled up a crate. “A seat, my lady.”
                  She laughed and perched on it, her dress hiking up her thighs.
                  Fion poured champagne into the flutes and passed her one. He raised his glass. “To your independence.”
                  She opened her mouth to respond but then took a swig of champagne instead. She lifted her glass. “To your birthday!”
                  And they drank.
                  He fiddled with his glass. “You know, you were magnificent back there.”
                  She lifted her brows. “I was, was I? I felt a right —”
                  “Don’t.”
                  She sighed. “Don’t what?”
                  “Demean yourself. You stood up for you and that is a good thing.”
                  She tilted her back, eyeing her sandy haired companion. Why couldn’t she want him? Why couldn’t she want to devour Fion? Why did she have to want a man who had built her up, pulled her down, then showed up begging for more? She started to laugh.
                  “Oh dear… ” he teased. “The drink has taken effect. ”              
                  She nodded. “Yes. But also no.”
                  “Would you care to explain that?”
                  “I never thought much of myself, ” she said frankly. “Not until recently. I had big dreams. None of them came true and then all of a sudden things started to work out. You know? It was amazing.”
                  Fion waggled his brows. “And then he came along?”
               “Actually, no. He came along and then the dreams started to come true.”
                  “Oh. ” Fion nodded and braced a foot