Chapter 5
Chapter Five
SIMON
It’s five after seven on Friday when I walk into Cave à Racines. I can’t stand being late. Nothing kills a boner like being lectured by someone who is paying for your time.
The hostess informs me that my party is already waiting, because of course they are. I resist the urge to brush at my suit. It’s a tell, and right now I don’t want to show my nerves.
Chin up, Simon. Walk in like you own the place.
The hostess gestures to a cozy little candlelit table in a darkened corner.
Night is falling outside the restaurant’s expansive windows, and the pink, purple, and gold in the sky add further to the ambiance.
The guy looks like he’s probably handsome, which is a bonus.
Looking at the menu, he has his head down, but I can make out a well-groomed head of dark hair and a stern-looking jawline.
“Hi, I’m Simon. I apologize for being late. There was a—oh, shit.”
The man looks up, and I freeze with my hand on the back of my chair. I know that scar. I know that face.
Sebastian. “Angry Husband.” Dammit, I said the wrong part out loud.
“Well, there’s a nickname I haven’t been called before. At least not to my face.”
I grit my teeth. “No? Well, how about Fuck Off?”
Because my brain’s already working up a list of reasons why Angry Husband would have gone to the trouble of scheduling a date with me, and none of them are good. He wants to confront me. He wants some sort of revenge. He thinks if he gets to fuck me too, it’ll make things even.
I turn to leave, ignoring the pinch of my toes in my too-tight dress shoes. Whatever this is about, I don’t care.
I’m not one to turn down a date. Money is money, after all, and the sooner I’ve paid Brennan, the sooner I can get far away from Belle Argo.
But being a tug-toy between a married couple is where I draw the line.
Brennan always tells us that staying allergic to drama will keep us out of trouble.
So I’m leaving before I break out in hives.
My steps are quick as I leave the restaurant—enough to ensure nobody makes the mistake of getting in my way or asking if I need help finding anything, but hopefully not fast enough to draw negative attention.
Clinking tableware and murmured conversations filter around me, barely white noise over the thudding in my chest and the rushing in my ears.
Part of me feels like Angry Husband is right on my heels.
Part of me insists there’s no way he’d bother to follow.
I’m not sure which option I want to be correct.
Just as I’m through the front door and gasping for fresh evening air, a hand wraps around my upper arm. Firm, but gentler than the last time. “Simon. Wait.”
He’s far too close when I turn back around.
If I took a deep breath and held it, my chest would touch his abs.
What are the odds he’s got a set of visible ridges hiding under that button-up shirt?
Judging by the straining biceps and pectorals I can make out under the fabric, I’d say they’re decent.
Honestly, I’m a little tempted to try and find out.
I make the mistake of looking into his face, and his storm-cloud eyes suddenly have me trapped. His chest heaves, and the masseter muscle jumps in his jaw. I’m not sure if I need to get out of here before he punches me or revisit that fantasy about him throwing me up against a wall.
Probably the first one.
Right?
“How did you manage to get a date with me? Your husband’s on the banned list. Brennan doesn’t like drama.”
He smiles slightly. “I’m not banned. And I had an acquaintance make the call for me.”
An acquaintance. A world in which you can call a person you only sort of know and get a date with a five-hundred-dollars-an-hour escort is so far from the one I grew up in, it blows my mind.
Then again, equally mind-blowing is the world where the pleasure of my perky ass and sparkling company commands those prices.
If my parents could see me now, they’d be horrified.
It’s a good thing my father can’t die of a heart attack twice.
“What? So you were just like, ‘Hey, bro, remember me? I bumped into you at Muffy and Miffy’s Baby Sprinkle. I was the guy who kept launching the kids right out of the bouncy castle right before I ate all of the crab puffs. Funny story, I happened to catch hubby balls deep in a divine piece of ass last week, and I just had to get a taste, but the silly wench scurried out before I could get his pimp’s phone number. What say you put me in touch, hmm?’”
“Uncanny. Except I don’t actually like crab.” Maybe it’s how the sunset frames his face, but I could swear I see a spark of humor in his eyes.
“No shit?”
“Also…” He leans in. Holy hell, he smells fantastic. Like…woodsy, and spicy, and rich as fuck. “‘Divine’ is not the word I used to describe you.”
No fucking doubt. He probably called me trash. Most people have. Even to my face. Even my own family.
The funny thing, though, is me being trash doesn’t seem to keep those rich-ass married assholes from wanting to fuck me. It doesn’t seem to be stopping Sebastian. This guy’s throwing out more signals than a train relay. Jesus.
He tilts his head to the side. “How would you know what a sprinkle is? You don’t seem old enough to have kids.”
I roll my eyes. Sebastian doesn’t look much older than I am. “They weren’t big on teaching biology where I come from, but I’m old enough to know people with kids.” Not that I want to have any of my own. The idea makes me ill. “A friend of mine is a single dad. He had one.”
“And what was your contribution?”
“We didn’t know each other then. I just know he had one. Why the fuck do you care?” Those steel eyes are studying me a little too closely. What the hell is this guy’s deal?
“Getting to know each other is what people do on dates.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes again.
It’s immature as hell, but it’s also my favorite way to be an asshole now that I’m no longer in a position where I’ll be whipped or made to do push-ups if I’m a disrespectful shit.
Turns out, I like being a disrespectful shit.
And I don’t need this guy’s money that badly.
“Why am I here? You don’t strike me as a guy who needs to pay for a dinner date.”
That muscle jumps in his jaw again. “Tony’s refusing to sign off on the divorce.
I need someone to state in court that Tony was cheating, so I can invoke the infidelity clause in our prenup.
Otherwise, the whole thing could drag out for months, even a year.
He could wind up with half of everything, including the consulting business I started while we were married. ”
At least I’ve got to respect that the man got straight to the point. “Why not just kill him? Then he gets nothing.”
I expected a laugh or maybe an eye roll, but I get a cold, flat expression instead. He reaches forward and strokes a finger along my jaw and for some reason I let him. “Let’s call that plan C.”
A funny shiver rushes up and down my spine. I tell myself it’s the breeze picking up as the sky darkens. The thick clouds tell me there’s a storm brewing overhead.
“Right. Well. Usually, people don’t ask me to help take their husbands to the cleaners on dates, so you’ve already broken protocol. I can’t help you. And you don’t need to know anything about me. So how about you fuck off, huh?”
I manage a step away before a strong arm snakes around me, turning me a bit so my back faces the restaurant. Then he bends his head so far that he looks like he might be going in for a kiss.
“What are you doing?” I meant my words to sound forceful and all “get the hell away from me, you dick.” I’m sure I did. That’s not how it comes out, though. I’m clutching his upper arms and spitting breathy whispers like some swooning maiden.
Fuck this shit. I straighten up and move to push him away, but his arm tightens more. Unless I want to fight him off, I have no choice. I hate how much I like not having one. I hate how much I like the way he feels against me.
“The hostess and manager are watching us from the door,” he murmurs. “I don’t want them to think there’s a problem. Do you?”
No, I really don’t. God forbid law enforcement happens to show up. If they figure out what kind of “date” this is, one of us stands a good chance of getting arrested, and it isn’t the rich boy.
What doesn’t help matters, though, is the crackling energy flowing between us where our bodies touch, which is practically everywhere. He’s so close I can feel him hardening against me. I wish I could say I wasn’t responding, but I’d be a filthy liar.
I hate lying. But I do love being filthy.
“Look, Brennan has a reputation for confidentiality.” I manage to put a little more power in my words than before.
“Even if I wanted to help—and I’ll be honest, I don’t—he wouldn’t be cool with me tattling on one of his clients.
I owe him too much for that, and I can’t risk getting on his bad side. ”
Angry Husband seems to consider this. Without letting go of me, he eases back and looks toward the sky full of menacing gathering clouds that match his eyes. Thank fuck I’ve got my old Jeep closed up today.
“What do you think would happen if I put a call in to law enforcement? Gave them your name and description. Right down to that crazy back tattoo.”
It takes a second for what he’s saying to sink in. This fucking guy. I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that he’s threatening me or the fact that his threats are doing nothing to take the edge off my erection.
Nor his. He’s enjoying watching me squirm right now.
I jerk backward but don’t manage to go anywhere. He’s holding me tight, but it’d probably be easier if I let go of his biceps. I’d bet all the money in my savings account that he can feel how hard my heart is beating.
“If you get me arrested, Brennan will get me out. And you won’t want to be around when he’s looking to place blame.”
Probably. Hopefully. Brennan’s gotten some of the other guys out of scrapes. The trouble is, it’s a risk I really don’t want to take. Nursing jobs require a background check, and having an arrest on my record could derail all of my future plans.
“Are you sure about that, Simon?” Angry Husband’s knowing look makes me wonder if he can read minds.
“Are you fucking serious? You’re actually trying to blackmail me right now. Why don’t you talk to the guy who cheated on you?”
And why does it feel so good to have his palm pressed between my shoulder blades right now? Part of me wants to rip this guy’s face off for being such a dick, and then there’s a part farther south that wouldn’t mind settling this another way.
“We’ve talked. He seems to think I overreacted, and that him occasionally screwing other men shouldn't be a deal-breaker. On the other hand, I think his actions show a complete lack of the loyalty he promised when we agreed to marry so he can go straight to hell. At this point, we’ve reached an impasse. Not that it's any business of yours.”
Impasse. Fucking rich people and their big words.
“Right, so you’re trying to force me into helping instead—”
A loud clap of thunder is all the warning we get before the sky opens up.
“This way,” he commands. Before I even process it, he grabs my hand and drags me toward the parking lot.
My car is in the other direction, in the back corner. When I open my mouth to say so, nothing comes out. This man is marching me to my doom as if he has the right to command me.
His hand feels good gripping mine. Warm, firm. I should pull away; I know I should.
But I don’t.