Ruined: An Ethan Frost Novel; A Loveswept New Adult Romance Read Free Page B

miles up the freeway, which means he went to a lot of trouble to get this gift here so quickly.
    The only question is why.
    Tori takes my silence as ignorance and starts poking around in the box. “Is there a card?”
    “I don’t see one.”
    But when I reach in and pick up one of the baskets of strawberries, I notice the ivory business card that had slipped between the pints. It’s embossed, with Frost Industries name and logo on the front. But the name listed directly below the logo is all wrong. Not that I know Juice Guy’s name, but I’m pretty damn sure that the surf bum I met today isn’t Ethan Frost. Except when I turn the card over, there’s a phone number scrawled on the back in bold black writing.
    “Ethan fucking Frost is sending you strawberries?” Tori demands incredulously. “How is that possible? He’s a legend. Not to mention the most eligible bachelor under thirty on the entire West Coast.”
    “He’s not. Of course he’s not. They’re from…”
    “Who?” She eyes me suspiciously.
    “Some guy I met today.
Not
Ethan Frost.”
    “You certain about that?” She grabs the basket out of my hands and whirls away. “Because it sure looks to me like he’s the one who sent these babies.”
    “Hey!” Still confused, I follow her. “Where are you going with those?”
    “Haven’t you ever seen
Pretty Woman
? Strawberries go awesome with champagne.”
    “We can’t eat them!”
    She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Why not?”
    “Because we don’t know where they came from!”
    Tori snatches the card out of my hand, waves it in my face. “They came from Ethan fucking Frost. That’s good enough for me.”
    “Well, it’s not good enough for me.
If
these even came from him—”
    “Oh, they came from him. See the watermarks on this business card? Plus the embossing? That’s a lot of money to shell out for a fake card.”
    “But why?” I ask again, appalled by the whininess that has taken over my normally cool tone. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
    It makes perfect sense,
a little voice inside me whispers. If I put the puzzle pieces together, if I let myself go there, I know exactly what this all means.
    “Well, the guy’s not known for being crazy. Brilliant? Yes. A little different? Sometimes. But out-and-out crazy? Not even close. Which means one of two things.” She uses a finger to tick off the first reason. “Either this is the same welcome-to-the-company gift he sends to everyone who comes to work for him…”
    For a moment my world levels back out as I think about the viability of that option. He’s a generous guy, so maybe—
    But before I can get any further than basic supposition, Tori continues, “But I’m pretty sure we both know that’s a bunch of bull. The other option—and personally, it’s the one I’m leaning toward,” she says while shooting me her version of the evil eye, “is that a lot more happened at work today than you told me about. If that’s the case, then you’re a bitch. And the only way I’ll be persuaded to forgive you is if you sit down right now with me—and these really delectable strawberries—and tell me everything.”
    I know I don’t have much of a choice, not with the way she’s looking at me. So I do what she asks, starting with the moment I met Juice Guy and not stopping until I get to the part where he actually makes me my smoothie. I leave out the rest—about how I drank that noxious blueberry thing—because I still don’t know why I did it. Nor do I know how I feel about the fact that I did it.
    Tori’s spellbound by my every word—but then she grew up in the most elite circles the West Coast has to offer, and as such is privy to all the inside gossip I don’t have a clue about. My family entered the world of the rich and notorious late, very late, and they did it in Boston, where it’s a whole different game. And since the only family member I bother talking to anymore is my brother, it’s not like I’m