Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus)

Chapter 487

Victor couldn't help but find her words amusing.

How did women come up with this kind of logic, anyway?

"Piggy Vaughan, what wild ideas are you cooking up in that head of yours?" he teased, half-grinning. "Is it so hard to believe I just want to do something nice for you?"

Isadora met his gaze, catching the playful glint in his eyes. She felt her own confidence waver, so she flopped back into her seat and deliberately looked away.

"Men always want something in return. I don't want your shares," she huffed.

Victor massaged his forehead, his tone shifting to something gentle and coaxing. "Why not take them? I'm offering them sincerely, you know."

She only scoffed, "I said I don't want them!"

"Then what would make you take them? Do I have to beg?" Victor couldn't remember ever lowering himself like this-pleading with a woman to accept his money.

Isadora had to bite back a smile. After a moment, she replied, lips pressed together to hide her amusement, "It has to be your choice, not because I forced you."

"Yes, yes," Victor relented, giving in with exaggerated earnestness. "I, of my own free will, am offering twenty percent of The Fitzgerald Group to the beautiful and kind Miss Vaughan."

She lifted her chin with a sly little smile. "Well, I suppose, seeing as you're so sincere, I'll just have to accept-though it's such a hardship."

Victor arched a brow, eyes narrowing with bemusement. Why did it feel like he was the one getting swindled here?

home, Isadora's stomach started to

nightlife they used to frequent. Turning to Victor, who was

popped open the center console and handed her two chocolate bars. "We'll be home soon. Have a snack to tide you

How utterly uninspiring.

looked at

your thing?" Victor asked, eyebrow

produced a small bag stuffed with snacks—crackers, a carton of milk,

much

hungry. I had

closed the bag. "I don't

window, catching the glow of a row of upscale

drew the attention of

here. Tell me what you want and

already unbuckling her seatbelt.

out, Victor noticed her veering toward a lively market street,

he followed her without

into the heart of the night

windows blazing with light. The place was bursting with life-crowds pressed shoulder to shoulder, laughter and chatter blending into a lively din. Everyone seemed to be carrying some delicious

Vol

dancers in elaborate Renaissance costumes performed for the

two strides, draping his arm over her