The Arrogant Artist : A Billionaire Boss Romance (International Bad Boys Set Book 2)

that question, but I know it’s important to ask how long he’s been deceiving me.
Toby lets out a heavy sigh. “Six months.”
My eyes widen. “Six… months!” My voice rises.
Toby frowns and checks around quickly to make sure no one is noticing our disagreement. His complete and utter disregard for my pain angers me even more—he’s more concerned with what strangers think about him than his own girlfriend.
I lower my voice because I don’t want to look hysterical. “I wish I knew we were allowed to screw other people while we were dating because maybe then I might have found someone who actually knows how to make me come, instead of having to resort to my vibrator to get me off. Every. Single. Time.” It’s a low blow, but it’s also the truth. Toby only ever cared about his needs, his pleasure, and ultimately, his satisfaction. His face pales.
“Emily, there’s no need to act like this. We’re both adults.”
My fist wants to show him how much of an adult I actually think he is.
“You’re a weak piece of shit,” I seethe between clenched teeth. “I can’t believe I have wasted five years of my life with you. Five. Damn. Years!” I’m angry at myself for falling for the fairy-tale ending. “I’m the best thing that will ever happen to you, Toby. And when you realize it, after the novelty of shagging some American Barbie has worn off, I’m going to be so far gone…” I waggle my finger in his face, “… you’re going to regret this day,” I tell him as if putting a hex on him.
“You were always overly dramatic, Emily.” He rolls his eyes, and damn him right to hell because a look of boredom falls across his face. “I thought we could have an adult discussion about this,” he hisses.
“You’re breaking my heart, Toby.” I look at him in complete and utter disbelief. “You have been cheating on me with someone else for six months.”
Hold in the tears, Emily.
Hold them in, I tell myself. This bastard does not deserve them.
Trouble is I fail miserably—stupid tear ducts are overactive.
“You know who I am, Emily. You know my family,” he whisper-yells at me. “I have a legacy to uphold.” My chest begins to tighten as I try to stave off a panic attack. He reaches out and touches my hand. “When I come back, Emily, you and I can be together.” Is he serious? “You’re marriage material, but only when you have a proper job.” The condescending, conniving, contemptuous prick.
“I pity your American girlfriend. I bet she thinks she’s struck it rich with some posh English guy. I wonder if she knows she’s not marriage material either.” I pull my hand from his, and Toby gives me another frustrated look as he draws his brows together so hard, they form a single line across his forehead.
“My family would never allow me to marry an American.”
I’ve had enough! Picking up my napkin, I throw it at him but wishing it was something much heavier like a crystal vase.
“We. Are. Done. I hope your new girlfriend has a powerful vibrator, she’s going to need one.” And with that last barb, I walk out of the restaurant with my head held high.
Only trouble is as soon as I’m outside, I burst into tears.

2
Emily
“That lying sack of shit,” Rosie yells, grabbing a bottle of wine from her refrigerator.
“I’d have thrown the glass of champagne in his face,” Ava adds.
“He actually thought you would take him back after he fucked some American bimbo for two years?” Georgia states.
I love my girls. When they got my SOS as I sobbed out the front of the restaurant, they launched into Operation Save Emily, calling me an Uber and making sure Rosie’s apartment was stocked with lots of wine and chocolate.
“Five years I’ve wasted on that man.” I throw back the third glass of wine without any regard for how I’ll feel tomorrow.
“I can’t believe he’s been cheating and for so long. No offense, Em… but seriously, the man is a bore,” Rosie tells me, and I giggle. “He has the personality of an ironing board.”
“It’s the accent, that’s all,” Ava adds. “Americans love the British accent.”
“She’s probably some boring accountant or something equally as dull,” Georgia muses.
“What am I going to do?” The tears start to fall down my face. “Toby’s right, I’ve done nothing with my degree. I work bullshit jobs. I’m not at all where I thought I saw myself when I graduated university…” I trail off as the girls all rally around me.
“Sweetheart, you’re the best human in the world. So what? You don’t have your dream job yet. That’s okay. We now make a plan for you to find you and your dream job. Between all of us, I’m sure we can find you something,” Rosie consoles me.
“Let’s have a look at what’s around. See if there’s anything you would like to do.” Ava waves her phone at me.
All I can do right now is nod my head.
“Look at this one,” Georgia calls out.
We have spent the past hour searching the local employment advertisements.
“Artist seeks an assistant for the summer to get ready for exhibition. All food and lodgings will be covered as well as a generous wage. Needs to be able to deal with unpredictable hours and travel. Must be able to speak French, has great organization and administration skills, and above all loves art. The job will be based in the South of France. Serious applicants need only apply.”
“That sounds fantastic,” Rosie squeals.
“The South of France for the summer, Emmy. This is exactly what you need. Spending your days sunning yourself with some hot French artist who’s going to want to paint you because you’re his muse, and then have hot, dirty sex with you under the stars.”
Everyone goes quiet at Ava’s comments, and then we all burst out laughing.
“What? A girl can dream, can’t she?” She smiles.
Ava, always the romantic.
“The job says only serious applicants need apply. I