Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 148184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
I shrug, still typing on my phone. “I’m not the one who paid her. You did. And I won’t be touching any other woman but my woman.”
Emma grabs her bag and shifts uncomfortably. “Do you need anything else or…?”
I wave her away. “You can go, but don’t tell anyone about this. The last thing I need is the working girls thinking they don’t have to work when called.”
She bobs her entire body in assent and rushes out of the room.
I close my phone and slide it onto the desk. “I didn’t touch a single hair on her head, and still she flees like I spent the last half hour torturing her. I guess my reputation still stands, even after getting married.”
I rub my hands over my head, mussing my hair. “I’m ready to go home now. You driving or…?”
“No.” Kai braces his knuckles against my desk. “You need to burn off steam, like I said.”
I stand and match his pose. “You don’t fucking tell me what I need. That’s not how this works. I tell you what I need, and then you run off and take care of it. There is no other dynamic here.” Though my tone is even and clipped, there’s no doubt he understands how close I am to giving him another beating. Deserved or not. Or maybe that’s the plan… rile me up enough to take out my anger on him again since I didn’t go for his plan A.
“If you aren’t going to drive, I’ll take myself.” I dig around in one of the drawers for a set of keys. Ignoring Kai, I grab my phone and go hunt down one of the cars we keep on-site.
It’s a little conspicuous, a cherry-red Corvette, but it’ll get me home, so that’s all I care about.
When I climb inside, I expect Kai to already be gripping the other door handle, but he didn’t follow me this time. I don’t know why it makes something in my chest hurt… Is he giving me space because he thinks I need it, or because he’s given up on reaching me? Either way, he and I will need to discuss some things soon.
I peel out of the garage, my thoughts already on getting home, into my own bed, and seeing Val. We have a lot to go over, but she’s there… waiting… exactly where she should be. I won’t give up that gift, even if it’s got Trojan stamped across its forehead.
It takes no time to get home. The traffic of the early morning has already dissipated. The guards at the elevators snap to attention, but I ignore them and punch the penthouse button.
For the first time, it occurs to me that maybe Val wants her own house. A place like her father had. Sprawling stone, old woodwork, something classy.
The thought of a home like that makes me feel like a caged animal. I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from fidgeting at the idea. Maybe there’s a middle ground. A way to keep everyone I care about safe while not forcing my wife to share her home with my business enterprise. I’d never considered it before.
The elevator dings open, and I step into the foyer. There’s no one around, and as I stalk toward the bedroom, I hope the cleaning crew is already finished in there.
When I push the door open, I sigh. It’s spotless. Even the bed is perfectly made with hospital corners at the edges.
Val, dressed in one of my shirts, is sitting on the edge of it with something white clutched in her hand.
“Angel?” I cross the room and kneel to catch her eye. “What is it?”
She folds my hand around the piece of plastic, and I glance down at the pregnancy test with a blue cap on one end.
“This is why I left… and we need to talk about it.”
46
VALENTINA
He looks stunned. Even more so than the night we met outside the bathroom at the season-opening ball. Not struck by lightning stunned but got hit by a Mack truck and run over stunned.
I swallow hard and wait for him to say something. He clutches the pregnancy test in both of his hands, staring down at the printed words on the tiny screen. I’m shaking, dying for him to speak, to react, anything, because if he doesn’t, I might explode from the tension.
I tuck my shaking hands under my thighs and try not to squirm. In my head, I’m praying he understands what I mean by “the reason I left,” and it doesn’t start an entirely new fight with him. I’m so tired of fighting.
After what feels like an eternity, he whispers, “Angel.” His tone holds a note of reverence I’ve only ever heard in church. Not a prayer, but a supplication.
He finally meets my eyes and slides the test to rest beside me on the bed. His hands curl over my knees and up my thighs to grasp my hips. It puts him in a crouch, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he gazes into my eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me the minute you found out?”