by Violet Paige
“You’re asking me if a twenty-million-dollar investment share matters?”
Fuck. I had awakened the Russian dragon. Once she took hold of something she didn’t let loose. That tenacity was what made her so good in the boardroom.
“You knew I flew home to take care of family business. It was more complicated than I had expected.”
She had pale blue eyes. Almost pale enough to be translucent. It was an alluring combination with her creamy skin and blond hair. Right now it was as if those eyes were staring through me.
“You didn’t get the inheritance.” Her statement cut to my ribs. “That’s what happened, isn’t it? You didn’t get it and you’re trying to figure out a new investment strategy.”
“I don’t want to discuss my father’s will.”
“You can’t cut me out of that kind of information.”
“It’s personal, Sasha. Family business.”
“Bull shit.” She glared at me.
“Excuse me?”
“The Hartwell Global inheritance has always been a part of our financing plan. Since when did it become too personal for you to discuss with me? What happened? Why are you being secretive? What are you hiding from me? If there’s a new strategy, you have to tell me what it is. I need the details.”
“The money is still going to fund our project. You don’t need to worry. The time table has changed. It’s going to take a little longer, that’s all.”
“How much longer?”
I exhaled. I wasn’t about to explain that if we were lucky, nine months from now I’d have everything we needed to buy the team. I wasn’t ready to tell her I married Evie and spent the past twelve hours trying to knock her up, but Sasha was backing me in a corner. I never liked being pressured.
“Sasha.” I gritted my teeth.
“You can’t cut me out. Not like this.”
“I’m not cutting you out.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No.”
“Then talk to me. Why do we have to wait for the funding? Why were you late to the biggest investment meeting we’ve had all year? Something is different. I can see it all over your face.”
I smirked. “I doubt that.”
“Are you selling? Is that it? You found a buyer.”
“Selling?” I shook my head. “Why in the hell would I do that? We’re growing. I wouldn’t sell off what we’ve built. We’re creating a dynasty here.”
She shrugged. “Something is off. You don’t seem focused.”
“Not focused?” I was tired of the questions and the accusations. She interrogated me as if I was an intern who had screwed up an email instead of the owner of this company.
“You used to tell me everything.” Her voice was crisp.
“We also used to fuck. And we don’t do that anymore, do we?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Bastard.”
I sighed with resignation. I didn’t want to fight with her. I needed her to run the company. No one could bring people to the table like Sasha. I was on edge. I was exhausted. Alienating Sasha wasn’t smart.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“We agreed we wouldn’t let that interfere with our partnership.”
“We did. Sorry. I’m being a dick. I’m going to head out. Forget I said it.”
“I have no idea what’s going on with you. You never leave the office this early and you’ve been gone two days. I need to brief you.”
It was already dark. I had left Evie alone for far too long. I should take her to dinner. Do something nice for her first night in the city. That’s what friends did. I wasn’t sure about husbands and wives.
“Email me. I have dinner plans. I’ll see you in the morning. Early,” I added.
I could stay and argue with her the rest of the night. In most cases, I would. But not tonight.
My wife was waiting.
The apartment was dark when I walked through the door.
“Evie?”
I was going to be impressed if she had slept the entire time I was gone. I walked to the bedroom, expecting to find her curled up under the covers. I pushed the door open, fighting an ache in my cock. Just thinking about her in my bed did something to me.
I didn’t know why I kept the secret from Sasha. She would know soon that I had married Evie. She was going to be angry I hadn’t confided in her. She would take the information as a professional. It didn’t affect anything at the office. But I knew there would be a sliver of betrayal. She didn’t like it when I kept things from her. She never had.
I wanted to make the announcement to the press tomorrow. We needed to make the marriage public. My mother didn’t deserve the courtesy of a phone call, but the news would put her on notice. I was coming for my inheritance.
However, for one more night I could keep Evie to myself. One night before we were bombarded with interview requests and paparazzi scum on our heels.
I walked to the bed slowly, loosening my tie. Shit. I wanted her. I wanted to bury myself inside her. Fuck her for the rest of the night. Fill her until we were both exhausted and too numb to speak.
I patted the covers, but they were flat.
“Evie?” I whispered.
She wasn’t there. I turned on the light. The covers were smooth.
Where in the hell was my wife?
Eighteen
Evie
My shoulders ached and my thumb had started twitching involuntarily. It wouldn’t be long before my hands cramped up. I stared at the screen on my laptop. I was five cups of coffee in, and I had found my groove—finally. The coffee shop I discovered on my walk was adorable. The walls were covered in lending books. I didn’t think I could find something so cozy in the city. It was perfect. Exactly what I was looking for. I needed a place like this where I could write. Somewhere I could unwind and disappear in another world.
The exposed brick reminded me of Bella’s wine cellar. And the red lamp shades carried the same soft glow as the tables in the restaurant. I could probably write here the rest of the night if I gave my hands a mini-break and stretched my legs. I definitely didn’t need any more coffee.
Then I realized what time it was.
Shit.
It was close to nine o’clock. I reached for my phone, but remembered Jeremy and I hadn’t exchanged phone numbers. This was absurd. I didn’t have any way to text or call my husband. I quickly began to pack my laptop.
My phone startled me.
I looked down. Double shit. It was my mom.
Why hadn’t I called before now?
“Mama, hi,” I answered, cringing. I had to get this over with. One quick call and it would be done.
“How was your day off?” she asked.
“Good. It was really good.”
“I didn’t see the register report on my desk this morning. I didn’t want to call earlier. I thought you might want to sleep in and enjoy the day. Did you leave them somewhere? I can’t find them.”
I had been too preoccupied to run the register tallies last night. There were no reports. It was a miracle I had locked up Bella’s on the way out.
“Actually, I didn’t run through the close out.”
“Were the computers down?”
“No, no. Nothing like that.” I shook my head. I turned toward the wall of books behind me. Somehow this would be easier if I pretended no one could see me.
“Are you feeling ok? I can run some wedding soup over in a few minutes. Dad fell asleep on the couch watching the game. As soon as he starts snoring I’ll get some out of the freezer and I can drive it over.” Taking care of people was part of her DNA.
“No!” I quieted my voice. “I mean, no thank you. I don’t need wedding soup. I’m not sick, Mama. Forget about the freezer and the soup.”
“All right. I won’t bring any soup.”
She always got quiet like that when I hurt her feelings.
“Mama, I need to tell you something. And it’s not an easy thing for me to do. I’m struggling
with how I’m going to say this. I didn’t mean to snap at you, but maybe it’s better Dad is asleep.”
I exhaled. If I told her now, she could deliver the news to my father for me.
“Are you ok?”
“Yes. Yes. I’m fine.”
“Then you can tell me. You scared me for a second. I thought something had happened to you. As long as you’re all right.”
I felt guilt I was so many states away and no one knew. Should I start at the beginning? Did I tell her about the deal I made with Jeremy?
“Do you remember Jeremy Hartwell? I went to high school with him.”
I would start there. I could build a small foundation and create a connection, as if we’d had one for years.
“Of course I know him. He’s Sylvia Hartwell’s son. Everyone knows who he is, even though he seems to have forgotten where he came from. He hasn’t been to Newton Hills in ages.”
I rolled my eyes. There was already one strike against him. We never discussed the Hartwells. I had no idea my mom had an opinion about any of them. Even when the local news covered Eric Hartwell’s death I couldn’t remember a single comment about the oil and gas billionaire.
“I didn’t want to make a big deal about it, but we reconnected online. An old friends kind of thing.” I started with a lie and planned on ending with a version of the truth. It would make it easier for her, but I wasn’t sure it made it easier for me. “And things moved really quickly between us. I never said anything because I was afraid it was too good to be true. We were both surprised by how fast everything snowballed between us.” I sucked in a deep breath. “We eloped last night.”
“No.”
“It is sudden. I realize—”
“Marco! Marco, wake up,” she yelled at my father. He grumbled in the background. I pictured her poking him in the ribs until he was conscious. “Evelyn says she got married last night. Married.”
I covered my eyes with my palm and lowered my head. It didn’t matter that I was thirty. It wouldn’t matter when I was fifty. I was always going to be their child. That didn’t seem to fade with age. If anything, the older I got the harder my mother held on. I saw it with Frannie. I felt it with the daily phone calls. And in this moment, I had shattered something between us. I had stolen a milestone, and I couldn’t give it back. I took away a memory we could never share together. The elopement had taken care of that.
I started to speak faster. “I’m in New York with Jeremy now. It’s amazing here.”
“I’m putting you on speaker,” she announced. “It’s Evelyn, Marco. Wake up.”
I sighed. Shit. “Hey, Dad.”
“Did you get married last night?”
“I did. We took Jeremy’s jet to Asheville. And we’re in New York. He has work here that’s important.”
“More important than talking to your father and asking permission to marry his daughter?”
I flinched. “I’m thirty. I don’t need permission to get married. That sounds really sexist, Dad.”
“It’s courtesy, Evelyn. It’s a sign of respect. You know we value Italian tradition. Don’t call me sexist,” he barked. “Put him on the phone.”
“You want to talk to Jeremy?” I eked.
“Your father said to put him on the phone,” Mama echoed. “He needs to speak to him.”
“We’ll have to call you back. We have dinner plans,” I lied. “Reservations are a big deal in the city. So, I’ll call tomorrow? We can talk then. I really have to go. Love you both.” I hung up and turned my phone off immediately. I knew they would call back within seconds. If it wasn’t them, it would be Frannie. My sister was going to freak out. It wouldn’t take much nudging from them for her to start blowing up my phone.
The abrupt ending to the call made me feel uneasy, but so did lying about my relationship.
I threw my messenger bag over my shoulder and walked outside. I was only two blocks from Jeremy’s building. By the time I reached the penthouse all I wanted to do was crawl in bed and sleep. Crying wasn’t out of the question.
“Where were you?” His voice hit me before I had closed the door.
“Hi to you too.” I glanced up. I didn’t know Jeremy could look so tense. There was darkness in his eyes.
He scowled. “Where did you go?”
My shoulders slumped, letting the bag touch the floor. “I wanted to explore a little. I lost track of time.” I was almost too weary for words.
“There wasn’t a note. No message from you. Not even a trail of damn breadcrumbs, Evie. How was I supposed to know where you were?”
My eyes narrowed. “I didn’t realize you would worry. I also didn’t realize I had to check in with you, roomie.”
He groaned. “You can’t just disappear like that.”
“I didn’t disappear.”
“I came home to an empty apartment. What do you call that?”
I exhaled. “I’m too tired to fight with you. I’m also too tired to explain why I’m not going to stay up here in your icy tower like a prisoner.”
“You aren’t a prisoner.”
“Really?”
He followed me down the hall. I walked into the master bedroom, grabbed my suitcase, and rolled it out of the room into the hall.
“Where are you going with that?” he asked.
I opened the guestroom and tossed the bag on one of the folding valets. “I’m going to bed,” I snapped. “I’m exhausted. And suddenly somehow in a worse mood.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Come on. Let’s go to bed, together. We can solve this in about ten minutes.” He winked.
I spun on my heels. “No.”
“Fuck. Why are you so mad, Evie?”
“You aren’t going to control me. That’s not what I signed up for.”
His massive frame blocked the doorway. “I got home and you weren’t here. I didn’t expect my wife to roam the streets of New York alone. Yeah, it pissed me off. But that’s no reason for you to sleep in here. Stop unpacking your stuff and come to bed with me.”
I laughed. “See, this is something else we didn’t know about each other.”
“That you have a wicked temper?” he taunted.
“No, that you think sex can fix all problems.”
“It can’t?” He looked genuinely stunned. “I want you in my bed. I can turn that anger into something productive for you.”
“Not tonight you can’t.” God, why was I picking a fight with him? Was I really that upset I had scared him? Or was it his tone? His arrogance?
“I don’t want you to sleep in the guest room.” He cleared his throat. For a second I believed it was difficult for him to say those words. I was pushing him to ask for something he expected me to deliver on my own.
“Then stop treating me like one of your properties. Stop treating me like you own me.” I pulled my toothbrush from my floral overnight bag and stormed into the bathroom.
I looked up in the mirror as I brushed my teeth. Jeremy stood behind me. His eyes were dark and intense. He made me shiver, but I wasn’t falling for that smoldering stare. Not this time. I didn’t leave Newton Hills to be his call girl. I wasn’t a for-hire wife.
I spat into the sink and splashed my face with water.
If I gave into his bedroom eyes every time he wanted me, he’d lose respect for me. And damn it, I’d lose respect for myself. I hadn’t negotiated away my soul when I married him. Maybe I should put that in writing.
I twisted the faucet handle and looked up.
He was gone. I pivoted. The guest room was empty. I tiptoed to the door and pressed my ear against the cool surface. I held my breath, concentrating to listen. The door on the other side of the hall closed quietly.
I stood tall and pulled my shoulders back. Tonight, my husband was going to have to sleep alone. And I was going to convince myself I had won an important battle.
Nineteen
Jeremy
I flipped through every channel I had. Twice. Three times. The projections
for spring training weren’t enough to distract me. I tried to focus on what the commentators had to say about pitching recruits, but baseball was the last thing on my mind. I finally turned off the TV.
I stared at the ceiling. I threw off the comforter and ambled to the master bath. Which was better: hot or cold water? I took a shower. I shaved. I brushed my teeth again. There was no way I was going to fall asleep like this. Damn it. Evie was in my head. She had gotten under my skin. And apparently, the woman caused massive insomnia.
I opened the bedroom door and listened outside of Evie’s room. It was quiet.
I walked to the kitchen. I realized I hadn’t eaten anything since before the investment meeting. I was too distracted with Evie missing when I got home. Then the fight. It was my last hope for getting some sleep. I rummaged through the fridge. I settled on making a cheese and bacon omelet.
Why had I spent the last half of my day battling with two women? My day had started off spectacularly. The morning in the honeymoon suite seemed as if it had happened a week ago. I was hungover enough to think that every morning with Evie could start the same way. We could fuck each other breathless and then go about our separate lives.
I wasn’t prepared for pushback. I wasn’t ready for a fight. And I wasn’t ready to let her out of my bed.
I placed a carton of eggs on the counter. The fridge automatically subtracted the number I removed and added them to the running grocery list. If I wanted, I could have the replacements delivered by tomorrow.
The frying pans were in a low cabinet. I crouched to find the right size among the expensive French set, and reached for the bacon. The fridge chirped with another grocery item. I grumbled as I started the stove and watched the blue flame flicker.
I rotated to the kitchen island and began to whip the eggs and cream together. My eyes hit the box sitting on the counter. I stopped what I was doing.
My stomach growled and I knew I needed to make this omelet. The box didn’t matter. How and why I stopped to get it after work seemed even less important.