Chapter 17
Nathan
"Where in the bloody buggerin’ hell are the P only, you still think they're wrong and keep denying it to yourself. Then, when you wake up and acknowledge your feelings, it’s too late. "
"First"—I hold up my own forefinger—"not a marriage of convenience."
"If you say so." He shrugs.
"And what do you mean by 'too late'?" I frown.
"You might have lost the love of your life by then." He lowers his forefinger, only to raise his middle finger. "Unless, of course, that's the point of this entire exercise?" He swipes his middle finger under his lower lip.
"You’re making no sense. Also, what are you? Ten?"
He continues, as if he hasn't heard me, "What’s not making sense is… Your fiancée is on her way to meet a man, while—"
I jump up to my feet. "What the fuck do you mean?"
"I mean, she’s in the lobby of The Dorchester, waiting for a man she connected with on an online app—"
"She’s on a fucking date?" I bellow. The sound is loud and harsh and echoes around the office with enough force, my headache turns up a notch.
"I believe that’s the technical term, yes."
"What the fuck?" I push back my chair, which tumbles to the floor, then race around the desk and past him toward the door, before coming to a standstill. I pivot and stab my finger in his direction. "How do you know where she is?"
"She mentioned it to her friend Zoey, who mentioned it to my wife Summer, who asked me to mention it to you. Her friends are worried about her. They figured if you knew, you’d intervene.
Speaking of"—he stabs his middle finger at the door—"you going there, or you going to stand here holding your dick in your hand while, right now, your fiancée might be in bed with—"
"Don’t fucking say it." The churning in my gut intensifies. I wince, then shake out another antacid and chew on it. I pocket the bottle, then glare at him. "If I find out you’re wrong—"
"I’m not."
"—I’m going to smash my fist in your face."