Page 23 of Bona Fide

"The backing. The satin fabric.” I blink before she rolls her eyes. “I could tell a mile away that it's mine."

“You’re going to need to be a little more specific, baby. Don’t women run into other women who are wearing the same—”

“I made that dress,” she grounds out. “She broke into my house.” My brows deepen before searching around the room for Demi.

You’d think I’d notice the famous dress that I saw Reagan in at Montgomery’s anniversary party but it wasn’t her in it so I paid no attention.

I steer my attention back to the woman I’m more interested in when I can’t find Satan trying to burn this whole place down. “You’re serious?”

"I don’t know,” she drones. “Is your wife known to steal, Governor?"

"Call her my wife one more time,” I warn, noticing a commotion of hands waving me down. I return the gesture to the older couple, sending smiles my way while I compel a lift of my own lips.

I met them earlier within the throngs of people I’ve spoken to briefly, exchanged pleasantries, and got bombarded with stories and ideas of how to make the state of Connecticut a more thriving place.

And while I’m grateful that people actually want to speak with me, I only had one mission tonight.

Dark wavy hair, striking eyes, and a body with a face that I’ve apprehended as being in love with.

“Or what?” I withdraw my eyes from the dance floor and back down to where my vision soaks up Reagan in all her headstrong glory.

I lean in, smelling her perfume of soft petals and bore my eyes into her thick skull. “Closet, your ravishing ass, and my desire to own it.” I steel my spine. “And, to answer your question, Demi is known to do a lot of shit.”

Reagan attempts to rip her hand from mine, but I hold on tight.

Why doesn't it shock the hell out of me that Demi is acting like a psycho bitch again? This means I have to put a security system in Reagan's house, new locks, maybe give her that dog I'm supposed to buy for this dumbass publicity stunt that John wants me to do.

I'm buying a big-ass pit bull, fuck this.

"Can we be done with this dance?" Reagan drawls. "Being around you is nauseating."

"Listening to your lies about not giving a shit about me is nauseating," I counter back.

"I would've had to have liked you enough for you to hurt me. And even then—” She lets her gaze trail down my chest and back up. “—you're not that great."

A mirthless chuckle rumbles in my chest as I pull her to enjoin her chest to mine. “I beg to differ. I instinctively recall you begging for another round on my cock.”

She smiles, fake as hell, but still lovely as ever. "You don't know me very well then, Governor. I'll do whatever it takes to rid something out of my memory."

"And what will you do to get me out of yours? If I repulse you so much, you'd refinance your house to buy yourself out of our contract. You could've burnt my office building down.”

“You’re not worth the jail time.”

“I’m sure you can get creative enough,” I return. “But somehow, I think there is a tiny piece of you that misses me, not that you'd ever admit that to yourself or me. Your pride is going to cost you greatly one day, Shelton, I know because I've done it. There will never be a waking moment when you'd wish you would've let me tell you everything. When the what-ifs become too much to bear at times because maybe I had a reason for everything I've done. And for the others...they were done out of plain fear. It's as simple as that."

"Again—" She keeps my stare. "—you'd have to mean something for all of that to transpire. I'm a woman, Governor, sometimes power is all we need to get off."

"Keep telling yourself that. In the meantime, I’ll keep my stubborn ass here trying. Unless you want me to get on my knees this time.”

She opens her mouth, and I hear her voice but a ruckus of male voices snatch my attention away.

Fuck my life.

Beyond the dance floor is another pain in my fucking ass.

Another hidden tale that Reagan will never get the opportunity tosee.

Because if she does, my hope of her every coming back to me will burn into ashes at my feet.

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