“What a pretty name. Now, darling, give us some time because Elliot and I have some serious business to discuss.”
Before I can say a word, my wife gives me a cold glare and slips back into the penthouse, slamming the door behind her.
Damn it. Even as I curse inwardly, I feel the cold crusting over me like a layer of frost. It’s as though my wife’s taken the world’s warmth and sweetness with her.
I start toward the door, but Annabelle puts her body between me and where I want to be. Her perfume drifts toward me, and I sneer. “Get the fuck out of the way. I don’t have time for your bullshit.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I talk to you. You owe me that much after ignoring my emails and calls.”
“Don’t forget the texts,” I add harshly.
“Exactly.” She narrows her eyes. “You can’t ignore me forever.”
“Just watch. You’re trespassing.”
She faces me, her hands on the doorknob behind her. The pose is not wholly uncalculated. It thrusts her tits forward. A wasted move. I’m not looking below her neck.
“Remember what you did to me at the reception?” she asks, her voice going low and husky. “You liked it. Liked to be forceful…to bend me to your will…” Her lips curve, and her tongue darts out to wet them.
Most men would find the move seductive, and maybe I might have once upon a time. But now my skin crawls. “Shut up.” The nasty memory burns through me, and it’s all I can do to breathe normally. Did I really think I loved her at some point? Just how stupid was I?
She changes her strategy. “Come on. Think of Marlin.”
It’s one thing to tell her to go fuck herself, but another to express the same sentiment toward her uncle Marlin Graham. My twin Lucas and I owe a great deal of our success to Uncle Marlin’s guidance. Without his assistance, we probably would have been squeezed out of the lion’s share of the profits from our algorithm. We were too young and inexperienced.
“You have five minutes,” I say.
“Not here.” She looks at me through her long lashes. “I haven’t had coffee yet.”
“I’m not inviting you into my home.”
She shrugs. “Like your hooker’s going to care.”
“She’s my wife,” I grind out, curling my hands so I don’t throttle her.
“So it’s true? You’re married?” If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s surprised. Or maybe she’s just improved her acting. “Take me to Starbucks at least.”
I glance at my watch. “Four minutes and forty-two seconds left.”
Anger tightens her face, then abruptly vanishes, leaving her skin smooth again. “I need to divorce my husband.”
I snort. “What does that have to do with me?”
“He doesn’t want to let me go.”
“Talk to a lawyer. Chicago’s full of them.”
“No one will take my case.”
“That’s really sad, but your marriage has nothing to do with me.”
“Yes, it does. You promised Marlin you’d help me.”
I glare at her. I made that dumb mistake three years ago. I couldn’t tell him no; the man was dying of cancer. “Only once. Are you saying you want to cash that in now?”
“Yes.” She pulls her right sleeve up. “Look.”
I glance down. Dark bruises cover her upper arm. I inhale sharply. “What the hell?” My gaze rises back to her face. “What happened?”