Page 147 of Bona Fide

After brunch with the newly married couple, I left without saying goodbye to her. Without so much as a glance because I’m never going to say those words to her.

That I still want her.

That she still has a piece of me.

Then there’s the video.

She denies it, I’m not buying the fact that she didn’t know, and we’re still sitting in the same exact spot—broken.

“You.” Demi points her long index finger at me with conviction. “Where were you?”

“Right here.” I lift a brow because she looks like a fucking crazy ex-girlfriend that is making a voodoo doll of me but still wants to keep tabs.

Surprisingly enough, she doesn't have any connections that I know of to any witches or people that practice dark magic, or I'd be more screwed than I am now.

“No, where were you for three fucking days?!” Francis closes the door behind her as she rounds the couch and stands in front of me.

She ignores Em, thank God, and waits impatiently with her arms crossed over her chest.

“On a business trip,” I deadpan.

“Where? Across the damn country? Out of the country? Where?”

“Calm down, Dem. Your foundation isn’t hiding all those insecurities well.” She kicks one of my dress shoes, demanding I get serious. That she’s not going to stand for my comments and attempts at evading the question.

Thing is, I don’t care. I just don’t want her knowing that Reagan is around to do round two. That’s my circus to deal with.

“You have two seconds before—”

“Sit the fuck down before I make you fall down,” I convey, losing the tie wrapped around my neck.

Her eyes narrow. “Fall? That's what's going to help you if you don’t stop—.”

“Go report whatever you want, Dem. Your threats are old, and I’m done with them.”

“My threats are kept out of generosity. They’re not spread because I need you in this house.” She glances at my assistant for the first time. “The one where you bought votes to arrive here.”

My jaw ticks at her blackmail, not towards me but Em. That she thinks she can dangle people in front of me like a string with catnip attached and that I’m going to jump.

Thing is, I’ll dive off this platform, not giving a flying fuck if I lose the presidency. I'm so dead inside that the concept of moving and starting a new life sounds better and better each and every single day that I'm reminded she's within my presence. That, and along with all the fake nice-ass shit I have to say about her to the media.

Let me tell you, it’s hard. Like understatement of the year hard.

Demi’s hard gaze falls back on me. “Maybe that I have a love child with your father.”

I scoff. “Calling you out for being a whore has always been the plan, Dem, knock yourself out.” Her lips heave, unaffected, something we’ve both learned from each other.

Never ever let the other one see you sweat.

“Or how about the one where your daddy bought you out of going to jail for almost beating an innocent man to death? We could just call up some reporters and have them start asking him questions.”

I yawn and wave a dismissive hand in the air. “Whichever one you think will cause the most buzz. I’ll let you choose. Consider it an anniversary present.”

“Our anniversary was months ago.”

"No, I'm talking about the day we separated. I celebrate that every year."

She takes a step closer, trying to use her hundred and fifty pounds to intimidate me. "You know there are pictures? You covered in blood? You on top of that poor middle-aged man who did nothing but go out with a few buddies for a few drinks, and you conned him outside so you could just start wailing on him? How did that make you feel? Knowing you had the power to let him live or let him die?"

---