Please, Lord, give me strength to survive this idiot. “Aaron, there are other men in the world. You don’t have monopoly on my vagina.”
“You bitch! You cheated on me?”
My jaw drops. The gall. But wait, maybe he’ll dump me for cheating and get himself a new girl. But then I remember that he said his grandfather never liked his other girlfriends. Ugh. “We weren’t even dating. Actually, we still aren’t dating! And don’t even think about making our ‘marriage’ real. There will be no conjugal activities.”
“What? But you’ll be my wife!”
His indignation sounds so genuine…and he sounds so lost that I’m tempted to hire a therapist for him. But… Nah. There are better uses for my money. Like that cute purse I saw in Vogue a couple of days ago.
“Get rid of it!” he demands.
A murderous, protective rage surges inside me. I place a hand over my belly, willing the tiny new life to not hear the appalling evil coming out of Aaron’s mouth. My dear baby, you are totally wanted. Don’t listen to the psycho. “Aaron, listen to me very, very carefully. I’ve put up with you for Dad, but there’s a point beyond which I will not go. Threaten my baby again, and I will tell every one of my brothers and cousins what you’re trying to do. You might release the video, but you won’t live to gloat.”
“Fine!” he shouts like a five-year-old throwing a tantrum. “But this is bullshit! I’m telling everyone it isn’t mine, you ho!”
“Yeah, that’ll go over real well with your grandfather,” I shoot back. If Aaron thought I’d be a pliant, yes-woman blackmail mark, he has another think coming. “Why don’t you show him the porno video you made of us, too, while you’re at it? I’m sure he’ll appreciate the cinematography.”
“You can’t talk to me like that!”
“I can talk to you however I want. If you don’t like it, go get yourself another bride!”
With that, I hang up, panting with anger and adrenaline. That bastard. How dare he! Did he never learn how to persuade people? Step one would be making himself less hateful.
To be fair, he wasn’t this terrible before. He could be charming when he put his mind to it. The greed to get his grandfather’s money must be trampling what little decency and judgment exist in the cast-iron vault he calls a heart.
I place both of my hands over my belly protectively. Get rid of it. As if. The denim in his tuxedo must have colonized his brain. If he comes anywhere near my baby, I’m going to skewer his dick with a stiletto. That’s the least he deserves.
Chapter Thirteen
Jo
With the unpleasant talk with Aaron out of the way, I put on my best “don’t fuck with me” dress and “mess with me and you’ll die” stilettos. My makeup is what I call “my supreme bitch face.”
I study the power ensemble. Red, black, platinum with a touch of teal. The last one is essential. It’s what keeps everything from looking like a cliché. Now I project dominance radiating from an adamantium core. Not even my oldest brother Rafael would try to boss me around.
Tossing my hair over one shoulder, I grab a black Lady Dior lambskin bag and head to Jones & Jones. My baby cousin and I have a lot to discuss, including the document he apparently sent to Edgar. Actually, we have to talk about why Edgar thinks Hugo’s my lawyer…or any lawyer, for that matter. He hasn’t passed the bar exam yet.
Amazingly, the first person I run into on the law firm’s floor is Samantha, Hugo’s object of desire. She’s in a stern-looking black suit, which nonetheless manages to flatter her spectacular body. Her dirty blonde hair sits perfectly around her flawlessly made-up face, and she’s carrying a few accordion files, probably returning from court or something. She smiles when she sees me.
“Hello, Josephine.” She smiles. It’s not sharp enough to cut, which means she bears no ill will. Her “I’m going to rip your face off” smile can give you nightmares, or so I’ve heard. Hopefully, I’ll never have the opportunity to know for sure.
“Hi, Samantha.”
“We don’t have an appointment, do we?” She sometimes hires me for consultations. She’s a big believer in looking her best. One of her many mottos is that people who don’t look their best can’t win at life. I don’t know how true that is, but it helps keep me employed, so I approve of the attitude.
“I’m actually here to see Hugo.”
“Ah. He’s right at his desk.” She waves and disappears into her office, walking past said desk without a glance.
Hugo stares after her the way a starving dog would gaze at a prime rib. Then he sighs worse than a forlorn Romeo in a high school theater production.
“Hugo.” My voice is cool and flat.
He finally turns to me, then blinks, like he can’t believe it. “Hey, Jo. You didn’t tell me you were coming by.”
“Yeah, this was sort of unscheduled.” I shoot him a saccharine smile.
He blinks, lets his gaze roam over my face, my outfit, then back to my face. Feverish calculations are taking place in his eyes.