Chapter 46
46
E zra
The last month has been a dream, no matter how sappy it sounds. Maeve has been coming to the office every single day, and we always end up making out or just having wild sex on one of the surfaces or on the floor.
Today I’ve had a particularly bad day, which became slightly better after her visit. I’ve got yet another denial from the city, and with this one I have a feeling that my days in the company are numbered. We’ve lost too much money and too many clients for me to remain in the seat; therefore the company will be transferred solely to other board members once they vote against me.
The only thing I’m looking forward to is coming home, knowing Maeve will be there, waiting for me.
That was, until I came home today.
I thought—no, hoped—that she’d be waiting for me as usual. But she’s not. I linger in the kitchen for longer than I normally would, waiting for her to come back from jogging. She’s been doing that a lot recently. Or maybe she went somewhere with George—the man has slowly transferred himself to her. Which I don’t mind; he has some sick tricks up his sleeves, so he also doubles as a bodyguard for my wife.
But she hasn’t come back.
I call her. Twice.
But she doesn’t respond. So I go to sleep.
In the morning, I wake up to an empty bed and her scent still lingering on the sheets. Which immediately triggers something sharp in my chest. Her avoidance. Secrecy.
So I decide to do something extreme and not go to work today. Instead, I decide to wait for her to come back.
I’m sitting in the living room, patiently waiting for her arrival. When the elevator doors chime, her voice rings through the suddenly cold space. She’s clearly talking to someone on the phone.
“No, I need Jeff to be comfortable.” A pause. “I know, but he’s very important to me. I need him to be there tonight so I can visit him anytime I want. Well.” A giggle. “At least when he feels like company. He’s so moody. Sometimes I have to wait for him forever.” An invisible hand squeezes my chest from the inside, breaking ribs one by one. “Yes, please. Yes.”
She’s so excited that she doesn’t even recognize my frozen presence while she runs to the bedroom. Granted, I’m hiding in the shadows in the corner in a perfectly placed chair, but we’ve always been attuned to each other. Always. I’ve always known when she’s in the room, and I thought she felt the same.
I don’t hear the rest of the conversation because a wave of rage envelops me in a fuzzy fog. It wraps around my mind and doesn’t let go until I’m in the elevator. Then in the car. I should have called George to drive me because driving in this state of mind is not fair to the people around me, but I take the sports car regardless. My tongue is too tied to even talk to him. I feel betrayed. It’s something I’m used to, but not on this scale.
Is my wife having an affair? So fast? I thought we had broken the ice a long time ago. I’ve been living in a dream for the past month, for fuck’s sake. Was she playing me all this time? Or was Jeff there before me? Did she plan to get comfortable and pay for their love nest?
Fucking hell. I didn’t know the feeling of internal pain until now. Why is it hitting me so hard? Why can’t I breathe when I’m thinking about my wife in the hands of this Jeff?
Why am I so jealous?
Why?
I let out a short exhale, and my mind sets in place. Everything does really. I’m in love with her. I’m in love with my fake wife who apparently loves Jeff.
I am fucked.
This is all I can think about while I drive myself to the office. I’ve been doing it a lot recently, enjoying the time off my phone. Early morning city streets are not so busy, and I’ve come to appreciate the sunrise. Not today. Today, I’m coming to the office much later when the streets are packed with cars and pedestrians running in front of them on red lights, aggravating my already pissed-off mood.
I stride past Martin without acknowledging him, which is a shitty move, but it beats saying something I’ll regret later. He regards me with a quirked brow and a silent salute and quickly goes back to clicking on his keyboard. This reminds me why I’ll never give him up to Noah.
I’m mulling over my newfound knowledge about my wife and Jeff when the intercom pings with Martin’s disgusted voice.
“Your father is on the line. I can send him to hell where he belongs if you want. ”
Just what I need today. He won’t leave me alone until I talk to him. Maybe he’s been sent to me to pour my frustration on him, so something good might come out of it.
“No,” I sigh. “Patch him in. Let’s get this over with.”
“Alright. I’ll have a bottle of bourbon waiting for you after the call.”
“Son,” my father’s voice booms through the speaker, “I’ve heard you found a way to trick me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His loud laughter etches on my nerves. “C’mon. I’ve raised you to be a conniving little bitch. Glad to see my lessons are paying off.”
I have so much to tell him, but it’s not worth it since it always falls on deaf ears. “What do you need?”
“Today we are having a ball for the old squad. You have to be there.”
“No, thank you.”
“I’m afraid, it’s not negotiable. The board will be there too. It’s your chance to prove yourself to them. Make sure that little wife of yours behaves.”
“Watch when you speak of her.” Even though I want to rage about her betrayal, it’s between her and me. He has bullied me enough, and I will not let him bully her.
His annoying cackle radiates from the walls of my office. “Make sure she won’t embarrass us. She’s a King now.”
Ignoring the expected jabs, I focus on the reason why he’s calling. “Why do you really want me there?”
His voice loses its humor. “To show everyone that I made the right decision by bringing the board in.”
Here it comes, the real father I’ve known my whole life.
“You still don’t think we’re capable of doing it ourselves?” I ask, meaning Noah and myself. If we hadn’t been fighting his fucking board half the time, the company would have been much further than it is now. Well, than it was before the fire.
“Do you still think you are?” He laughs. “The gala is at eight. Be there. Make your gate puppy call my assistant for details.” He hangs up after that, thank fuck.
Martin’s face pokes through the slightly open door. “Your gate puppy,” he presses his index finger into his chest, “can make his life a living hell. I’ve got some dirty laundry I can air on your command, Boss.”
“As appealing as that sounds, the laundry belongs to my family. Let’s keep it locked.” I wipe my face with my hand. “Fucking hell, it just keeps getting worse.”
Martin edges inside, leaning his shoulder on the doorframe. “What’s so bad about going to a gala with that beautiful wife of yours on your arm? I thought you’d be happy if she went to a grocery store with you. Plus, she knows how to have fun.” His eyes move up and down over me. “God knows you could do with some of it.”
“My wife?” I smack my hand on the desk, making Martin raise his brows. “My wife turned out to be a deceiving little thing who has a little too much fun.”
He blinks fast, pushing away from the support of the wall. “Is that doubt I’m sensing?”
I level him with a stare. “I don’t pay you to be my therapist.”
“Yeah, you actually do.” He takes a seat across from me, completely ignoring my stare.
“No, I don’t,” I growl back, annoyed that even my own damn assistant is defying me today.
“What happened? I’ve seen how giddy Maeve looks when she comes here. She’s watching your mouth when you speak for fuck’s sake. That woman is head over heels. Or the way you watch her in your kitchen. I swear I can see little cartoon hearts around your head when you do. And your place turning into a chaotic bazaar?” He makes a gesture with his hand, showing a chef’s kiss. “What’s come over you?”
I’m watching Martin’s face and wondering if I should ask for his help with this because he knows pretty much everything about everything in this company. During these four years he’s been working for me, he’s proven his loyalty. He knows about the company. About my forced marriage plan with a dowry of shares. About my mutual hatred with my father. He’s seen Maeve in the intimacy of my home. So why can’t I bring myself to tell him about what I’ve found out about her?
“Mr. King?” he reminds me he’s still in the room. When I don’t respond, he adds quieter, “Ezra?”
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes and groan. “It’s nothing. I need to be sure before I talk.”
“O-kay. Just so you know though,” he says, standing up, “I think your somewhat ‘forced marriage,’” he makes quote marks in the air, “turned into a very willing one. At least on her end.”
He leaves me with a pounding headache and racing thoughts. I’m trying to figure out if I gaslighted myself when I heard her talking on the phone? Or am I gaslighting myself while I’m trying to come up with excuses about why she’d need to rent an apartment for a guy named Jeff? Or why she’d need to visit him so often.
I call Noah to discuss if he found out anything from his reporter from Maine. She helped him the last time for a personal issue, and I hoped she might be able to find some dirt on one of the board members. At this point, I’m willing to work from any possible angle. Even if the opening is slim.
“Leila’s looking into that. She said she doesn’t like digging old graves with this sort of shit, but she’s doing it for me for the last time.”
“Why is she doing that? ”
He’s reluctant to answer, which means it has something to do with that old story. He hates being reminded about that.
“Because of her husband, I suppose.”
“The dude you hijacked the helicopter for?”
He chuckles. “I didn’t exactly hijack it.”
“Except you did,” I say back.
“But it was worth it though.” He doesn’t sound remorseful. And he shouldn’t.
“I guess it was.” Saving a life is worth it for sure. Even though I remember how much that situation cost us.
“She’ll let me know if she finds something. It might take her some time though since she’s a law-abiding citizen.”
“Why do you make it sound like an insult?”
“Do I?” he laughs, not exactly responding.
“Then why are we asking her to do that? We should hire a PI who will get it done faster.”
“Already done,” he replies.
“Fuck, Noah. I don’t have time for riddles. Why do we need her then?” I have no idea why we need this Leila and her law-obedient nature. I understand that my brother feels like he owes her something, but I don’t know that story fully, so I don’t get involved.
“Because she feels like she owes me, Brother.” He’s silent after that. “And it’s a very shitty feeling.”
One day, he’ll tell me the story. But for now, I’ll have to accept his decision.
“Okay,” I agree with a sigh. “I guess it won’t hurt to have two people looking into that.”
“It sure won’t,” he agrees with a much lighter mood.
It’s time to change the subject and move on to the issue of the day. “So, daddy dearest wants us to be present at some gala tonight where we can royally fuck up to prove him right. ”
“Well, this is an interesting way of reuniting the family. Is he going to be there?”
“Yes,” I sigh. “You know what annoys me the most? That this fucker hasn’t done a thing to grow this company. Not a fucking thing. He just got it from his ancestors and rolled with it. But when we’re trying to take it back and actually do something good with it, he resurfaces like a bad rash.”
“Ezra,” he starts carefully. “It’s time to let it go.”
But I can’t. I am the eldest. I always had something to prove.
I still remember our parents’ wedding anniversary. I was fourteen. That day I was doing everything wrong. I dressed wrong. I spoke to him wrong. I got an A-minus at school. I performed poorly at football practice. And then I didn’t look happy enough at the evening of fake happiness.
As soon as my father grabbed my shoulder and walked me behind the nearest corner, he smacked my face and ordered me to smile. I remember someone grabbing his arm when he wanted to deliver the second blow. I think it was a musician from a jazz band my mom used to love, but they were located somewhere in the south.
My father had ordered the band to appear in New York at the celebration as a good husband would. Of course, he talked about it with everyone who’d listen. But that man saw my shame, saw that I couldn’t do anything to my father. I was fourteen, old enough to stand up for myself.
Yet I was quiet. I still hate myself for that. And I hate my father for making me feel that way. And I hated that man for witnessing my moment of weakness and being the first one to ever say anything. With time, I came to realize that it was a brave move, considering how powerful my father was. I still wonder what happened to that man. I know my father didn’t let it go—he’s not that type of person to just let any disrespect slide .
“I can come today too,” Noah offers through the phone.
“Yeah. That’d help. Martin will send you the info.”
“See you there.”
Now, I have to go home and figure out how I can try not to strangle my wife when I’m alone with her.
Contemplating if I should call my own PI who does personal cases for me and ask him to follow Maeve, I decide against it. I have too much shit going on to focus on trying to figure out if she has someone on the side and if I’ve been played like a damn puppet. If I gave too much thought to that, it’d mean she matters. And she doesn’t. The more I think about that, the more I understand. She’s run out of her usefulness. I married a woman who didn’t bring me anything but ruin.
I take a sip of bourbon when the elevator opens. I watch it from the dark corner of the living room where she can’t see me. From the very same chair I listened to her speaking this morning.
She takes her sneakers off and puts them on the side with a groan. She looks tired. Did she just come from a run wearing leggings and that loose shirt? I know she prefers tight clothes for workouts since it doesn’t restrict her movements.
Her phone rings.
“Yes?”
I can see it’s something good because her face brightens, and all tiredness is being erased with every word the person on the other side speaks.
“Yes? Hi, Jeff!” She bites her lower lip while speaking into the phone with obvious excitement. “I’ll be there tomorrow. I’m not sure I can get away today.” Silence. “No, I don’t want him to know yet until we’re sure.” I feel my jaw clenching hard together. “Yes.” Her voice softens. “Thank you. You have no idea how much it means to me. I’ll come to you tomorrow. I also have a surprise for you.”
Yep, you have it, alright. Surprise you got for him with our marital money I suppose.
My anger flares up once again, and I take another sip in hopes it will calm me down a little. It doesn’t. It only makes it worse. The burning liquid sliding down my throat only fuels this rage inside even more.
She walks to the kitchen and pours water from the sink. She drinks it greedily, her neck moving with quick, deep swallows. When I think about what else this neck might have been swallowing today, I slam my glass on the table, making her jump.
She presses her hand to her chest. “Jeez, I didn’t see you there.”
I keep silent.
“You scared me,” she giggles, pouring herself another glass and placing it on the table.
“Who were you talking to on the phone?” My voice is coarse. I’m trying to contain the anger I’m feeling. And the closer she comes, the madder I get.
Her eyes dart to the side before returning to me. “An old friend.”
“A friend?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
“What do you see?” Her brows draw together as her steps falter. “Ezra, you sound weird.” She tilts her head a little to the side. “And you look weird. What happened?”
“Come here.” I gesture for her to come to me with just the fingers of the hand resting on my thigh .
She starts moving toward me. Reluctantly at first, and then more willingly.
“Are you okay?” she asks in a soft voice. Like nothing is happening. Like she’s not setting up a date with another man while she’s playing house with me.
“Here, Maeve.” I put more pressure into my voice while keeping it low.
Her eyes widen while her little, poisonous tongue peeks out to lick her luscious lips. She likes it. She likes being ordered around.
Her bare feet pad until she steps right in front of me. Her knees almost touching mine.
“You look sad,” she whispers.
“I’m not sad, Maeve.”
“What is it then?” Her voice is small. Is that guilt?
“I’m angry, Maeve.”
“Why?” She watches me with her big, blue eyes, pretending to be innocent.
“Why do you think?”
She shrugs. “To be fair, you have a lot to be angry about. Including me.”
“That’s true, wife.” I say the word mockingly, and she notices. Her forehead wrinkles, and she wants to ask something.
But I’m done talking.
I grab her hand, pulling her onto me. She lands on my lap with a woof .
“What are you doing?” she exhales.
“I just want what a husband should have. Without any fucking games.”
Her worried eyes dart between mine as she licks her damn lips again. “Are we done playing games?”
“I’m long past them. ”
“Okay.” She swallows. “I think I’d like to stop playing them too.”
Her voice sounds so small, so vulnerable, that for a moment I get washed with doubt. For a moment. Until she moves her face closer and presses her lips to mine.
I want to push her away because a rough fuck is all I want, but she presses her lips harder without opening them. Then she starts peppering the corners of my mouth with soft kisses, and I feel my dick getting rock hard.
She moves her hips to get more comfortable, so her pussy ends up right on top of me. It radiates a very inviting heat.
While I’m drowning in self-turmoil, she gently places her hands on the sides of my face and licks my lips with her tongue. I’m defenseless against it, so I just open up and welcome her. After all, I said what I said—I’m here to take what a husband can.
I let my hands move to her lower back and pull her flush to me. She gasps, letting me deepen the kiss.
The more careful her kisses, the crazier they make me. The more I want.
The gentler I become.
Fuck! This is not what it was intended for.
I grab her by her ass and stand up with her in my arms. She holds onto my shoulders, wrapping her legs around me. I move my mouth to her neck while I walk her to the kitchen island where the stupid game started. Carefully placing her on the top, I take a step back.
She’s watching me with eyes half-lost in lust. Her cheeks are red. Her chest is heaving.
She lifts her arm to grab me, but I take another step back, leaving her confused.
“Turn over.”
“W-what? ”
“On your belly. Now.”
“Oh.” Her eyes spark with interest as she jumps off the counter, turns around, and bends over it as she spreads her arms in front of her, placing one hand on top of the other. Her leggings-clad ass is waiting for me up in the air.
I walk to her and pull on the waistband of the leggings with both hands, revealing her black, lacy underwear. She helps me get rid of her pants when I bring them down to her ankles. She makes a move to take off her panties, but I stop her by firmly pressing my hand on top of hers. Then, not removing my hand from her body, I move it up and press between her shoulder blades, silently ordering her to stay put. She obeys. Too easily. Giving me the comfort, the control I crave. She knows me too well. The witch.
I unzip my pants, letting my hard cock free. I give it a couple strokes and move to her. She turns her head with her lower lips between her teeth to look at me. When she notices me giving myself another stroke, her mouth falls open, and she wiggles her ass invitingly.
Edging closer, I push her panties to the side. She’s already slick. Ready. I push two fingers in, making her gasp. Giving it a few pumps until she meets me halfway, I replace my fingers with my cock.
She’s so fucking tight, but I’m mad. Impatient. I’m on a path of punishing. So I thrust in. She gasps again, and I stop, overwhelmed with guilt. I can’t even punish her properly. So pathetic.
I push my hand between her body and the marble and find her clit. Gently rubbing it, I wait for her to start moving and give me indication that she’s okay. Because if she’s not, I don’t know what I’ll do.
She’s okay. She starts moving. She pushes herself onto me .
I edge closer and lean forward, covering her body with mine. We’re both wearing clothes. It’s annoying. This barrier between us is annoying. I’m fucking mad. Grabbing the front of her neck, I lift her to me. Her back is pressed to my chest, my hand keeping a firm hold on her neck. While my hips are moving forward, slowly thrusting into her.
She grips the edge of the table with her hands and throws her head back on my shoulder. I start kissing her jaw. Her neck. I bite it. We move faster. She whimpers. Our speed intensifies. We turn sweaty. Sleek.
I put more pressure into my grip and more power into my thrusts. Her knuckles on the marble turn white. My breathing turns quick and shallow. I’m not sure I’m even getting any oxygen because my head is not okay. It’s high and lost in the sensation.
“Harder,” she orders in a raspy voice.
I push harder. Faster.
“No,” she growls. Her hand suddenly covers mine. The one on her neck. “Harder. Here.”
I smile into her cheek and put more pressure into my grip while withdrawing almost all the way out. And then push back in. And out. Until she starts shaking with a silent cry. Her mouth falls open, her head drops on my shoulder. Her fingers dig into my forearm.
I follow her right after. There is no fucking way I could last longer when her nails are drawing blood.
When we are both spent, she falls forward on the table. I want to join her. I want to cover her body with mine and keep her warm and tranquil.
But I remember how we ended up here in the first place. So I step away.
“We have a gala tonight. Our first official outing. Be ready in an hour. ”
With that, I walk away to my room. To the shower. To try to get rid of her deliciously deceiving scent.
We’ve had sex in different places for the past few weeks. We’ve done it fast. We’ve done it slow. But never have I done it while hating her. This was the first. And I don’t like the aftertaste.