The Art of Marrying Your Enemy (The Richmond Brothers #2)

38. Aaron

38

AARON

M y eyes burned as I sat at my desk, trying to close out as much work as I could before the inevitable happened.

Her parents were probably there already.

She would have called Reese first, though, who would have gone ballistic.

I felt sick thinking about Mrs. Coleman heartbroken and hating me. She had been so nice to me, kinder than I had deserved. In repayment, I had turned around and treated her daughter like shit, had used her, like she was just an object.

“At least I won’t have to do Friday night dinners in prison.” A laugh escaped my throat.

“Were you here all night?” Wolf stuck his head into my office. “And why are all your blinds down?”

I hissed as Wolf hit a button that raised the blackout shades, and bright sunlight entered my office.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Aaron?” He peered at me. “I got a very concerning call from Grayson yesterday, you know.” He grabbed my chin. “Are you on something?”

“Caffeine withdrawal,” I rasped. “The coffee cart closed early yesterday.”

“Dude, you have a fucking problem.”

I set down my pen. Cleared my throat.

“I need to inform you as the CEO that I will probably be arrested today.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Wolf sat down heavily in the chair across from me. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I… am not exactly sure.”

“Fucking hell.” Wolf jumped up. “Where the fuck is Betty?” He paced, agitated, to the door, running his hands through his dark hair.

“Coffee, sugar?” Betty ambled into my office.

Wolf grabbed the cup from Betty before I could take it then slammed the door behind her.

“People who are getting arrested don’t get coffee,” he snarled. “Holy fucking shit, was this what Grayson was hinting at?”

“You want me to activate the kill switches, Aaron?” Betty asked me.

“ Kill switches ?” Wolf demanded. “Aaron, I’m seriously regretting giving you so much free rein.”

“We had a good run.” Betty patted Wolf on the back.

“A good run?” Wolf was losing it.

“Glad to go down with the ship, captain.” Betty saluted me.

“Do you know what he did? Never mind.” Wolf threw up his hands. “I don’t want to know.”

“Plausible deniability.” Betty shot him a thumbs-up.

“You can activate the kill switches when you see my mugshot posted,” I told her solemnly, turning back to my paperwork.

Wolf grabbed me by the shirt collar. “No. You need to be arrested at your own house.”

I swayed on my feet.

“Jesus Christ,” he swore. “I’m driving you. Out. And if for some godforsaken reason you’re not in jail, don’t come back to work tomorrow.”

I felt oddly free when Wolf dumped me on the doorstep of the historic manor.

This was what I had feared my whole life, the dark shapeless specter that I’d forever been running from. Now it had happened, just like Bill and Michelle and the FBI and my mom and everyone else had always secretly believed. I had inevitably devolved into an evil man like my father.

Worse than my father.

As much as I loathed myself, I took some comfort in knowing I didn’t have to worry about it anymore. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder constantly, didn’t have to keep up the unrelenting pace to stay ahead of the real me. The evil me.

I was lighter, freer. Could be the sex, but who knew?

“I am a monster,” I said aloud then turned the key in the lock and went upstairs.

I needed coffee and another shower.

As I’d sat in the dark office, hunched over the blue light of my computer screen, I was very aware that I’d never washed her off me after the last time.

The cold water of the shower rinsed the grit out of my eyes but couldn’t wash away the sin, the sin of enjoying tormenting Daisy, of using her body purely for my own twisted pleasure.

Should I try to run? I wondered, a little surprised, now that I thought about it, that the police hadn’t been waiting for me at my house.

Or maybe I should just wait in my study for the FBI to show up. Would the agents be the same ones who’d rescued me? I didn’t have to be an English major to recognize the poetic synergy of that turn of events.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, feeling the carpet plush under my feet, I wasn’t alone. But it wasn’t the authorities.

The bedroom lights were dim, the sheer curtains drawn, letting in a gauzy light. Daisy was standing there, her brown eyes wide, wearing nothing but a vintage bright-yellow bikini with ruffly bottoms, which made me want to eat her like a banana split.

“What the fuck are you doing, Coleman?” I forced out.

Silently, she stepped up and dropped a stack of papers on the floor in front of me.

“I signed that and backdated it,” she began, “and changed three hours to five. You undersold yourself, by the way. I initialed next to the change. You can too.” She tossed a pen on the floor beside the papers.

Another stack of papers landed on the floor with a thud.

“This one’s for today.”

“Coleman.”

I stepped back from her, but she advanced slowly across the carpet, a final sheet of paper in her hand, the ruffles on the little yellow panties flicking enticingly.

She slapped the paper on my chest.

“Per the contract that you signed, Mr. Richmond, when your wife wants you to spill your seed in her, you can’t refuse.”

“Coleman…”

“I want my husband to fuck me.”