Page 15 of Marrying My Ex's Boss

“That’s just it, he could, but he’s always gone his own way and done what he wants, what’s best for him.”

“It’s gonna take me a minute to accept all this.” I looked back at the house where I could see through the open French doors that my family and him were still debating the best way to handle my soon-to-be ex for now.

“Can I ask a question?”

“Sure.”

“You don’t look older than thirty-two, thirty-three, but Marcus said you have a son in his second year of Pre-Med. Wouldn’t that make him about nineteen?”

“Yeah, the math ain’t mathing, is it.”

“I’m thirty-three. My baby wasn’t conceived consensually.”

“What? I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was the worst thing to ever happen to me, but he turned out to be the best thing in my life.”

“What happened to the one who attacked you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She turned and looked at me fully. “He was one of my mother’s junkie boyfriends, dealers whatever the hell he was. Nothing was reported; no one cared. I had my son and decided I wanted to keep him as young as I was. I won’t pretend that everything was honky dory.”

“I moved in with my grandmother after Damien was born; she helped me out a lot. I finished school, then went to community college with the intention of going to a better college once I got a decent enough job that could pay the bills.”

“Then I met that asshole one night, and my life changed. One week after I told him my story, which was a whole year after we met, the man who assaulted me slipped and fell off a roof.”

‘I think I just came.’ Justice that is not appropriate for this conversation.

MARCUS

I kept an eye on her out the window while her family and I brainstormed our next moves. I’d called them when I did because I knew once the adrenaline wore off and reality kicks in, she’s going to crash and crash hard, and at the end of the day, she and I were strangers; she was going to want her mama and her daddy.

I’m moving fast because when I agreed to come home and take over things, the last thing on my mind was meeting my future bride. I wasn’t prepared because I didn’t know that I needed to be, but I pride myself on always hitting the ground running in any given situation.

To me, this was small change; to her, it was a life-changing experience. She had more than herself to think about, which I appreciate, but I’m not the kind of man who could find what belongs to him and leave it out there like a bird without wings, especially not after the hurt she’d endured.

I don’t plan to rush her into anything, but I’d already made up my mind to use the time between now and the divorce to woo her. I won’t date her, not in the conventional sense. I want our beginning to be free of anything to do with her marriage and that whole mess. Her ex is lucky I’m feeling magnanimous, and that’s only because he’s the father of her children.

I’ll wait and see what she wants to do about him going forward because that’s her duck to pluck. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to fuck with him in the process.

I know, I know, all of that happened before we met, and I didn’t even know her when it was going down, but that’s never stopped me before. I don’t like to see anyone harmed in this way; I have too many raw memories and have seen firsthand what that kind of betrayal can do to someone.

The thought of her feeling that pain fucks with my head, so I’m doing all this, moving at warped speed so she doesn’t have time to dwell. That would give me time to find a therapist for her and the kids so that once she really does crash, there’d be someone there to help soften the fall.

I came up with the idea of having her work with me for two reasons. One, it would fuck with her ex and Melanie, seeing her at the office all day, and two, since I don’t plan on dating her until after the divorce is final, I need a way to keep her close to me, and that’s the only thing I could come up with.

I know if I don’t see her for long periods of time going forward that I’d lose my damn mind, so it’s for kind of a selfish reason, but I’ve never claimed sainthood.

I’d already laid everything out for her father and brothers, who didn’t seem to believe that I was who I said I was until they got on the plane, I’d sent them, and even though they’ve been assured they don’t give a damn about my name or money, they only cared about her. We’ll keep them.

If they had shown more interest in me and my money than they did in her and her situation, I’d have paid them off to fuck off somewhere. That damn Monique is always claiming that I’m more Machiavellian than Tupac, whatever the hell that means, but sometimes that’s the only way to be.

* * *

“Whose shit you planning to fuck up now?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve got that mean mug on.”

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