Chapter 30

Sloane

Vance and I aren’t talking.

Correction—I’m not talking to Vance.

He cuffed me to his bed this morning, and now I’m fucking stuck on his plane.

And the audacity—the fucking audacity—of the man to sit there, legs spread, scrolling through engagement rings like this isn’t kidnapping.

“I’m not marrying you.”

“Again, did I ask?”

He doesn’t even look up.

“Take the cuffs off.”

“No.”

“Vance.”

That