Page 64 of Bona Fide

“Thought it’d be good to be seen in public,” Demi finally quips. “With your wife.”

“Is she here?” I retort, casually taking in the room. “Because that bitch left me years ago.”

“In front of your employees,” Demi scolds with a click of her tongue. “And you expect to win talking like this? Don’t let all your evil-doings go to waste over being petty, darling. It doesn’t suit you that well. And neither does trailer park trash.”

“I should go,” Reagan sputters behind me, bumping into my body so she can get through.

I don’t want her to leave like this. Especially after Demi’s cheap shot but definitely not because the bitch is just a talking reminder of why Reagan can’t stand me right now.

Demi steps directly in her way, a little taller than Reagan in her heels as she peers down at her replacement. “I thought we talked about this.”

Reagan doesn’t say a word, but she doesn’t move either.

“I thought you were smart,” Demi continues. “You planned a beautiful birthday party for my husband, but you continue to throw your reputation on the line.”

“Watch your next words,” I warn. “You don’t get to show up here and run shit.”

“Shush, Wade—” She dismisses me with a wave of her hands. “—us girls are talking.”

“I decide what the hell happens—”

“But I can decide who my husband fucksnow,” Demi quips. “Can’t I? And believe me, she wouldn’t be prettier than me, but she wouldn’t be carrying around an STD either.”

Reagan treads closer, and my body stiffens. This can turn really ugly, and I don’t want Reagan involved in anything with Demi.

“I’d be careful about how you speak to people,” Reagan advises. “You don’t know me.”

“I know enough.”

“Then you’d know that you’re standing way too close to me. And, when I feel a tad bit threatened...I tend to throw elbows.”

A corner of Demi’s lips lifts. “We need to discuss a few things about your family,” she professes. “Important ones that you’ll need to do some damage control on.”

Damage control?

I step in front of Reagan to shield her away from my past and her shit when Reagan’s palm finds my back.

“I have a lot to do with that event we discussed,” she claims calmly, opening the door and bumping me out of the way. She doesn’t turn around to give me a glint of her eyes or a silent ‘fuck you,’ just withdraws from the room.

But I wish she would’ve.

“I want her gone,” Demi demands once the door clicks shut.

“I don’t give a fuck what you want.” I stride back to my desk. “Nor do you have any push or pull.”

“I do when it comes to my son.” I keep my head from snapping up at her. For me to chuck the heavy paperweight of the American flag at her fucking head.

Instead, I sit perfectly calm, trying to remain placid in her line of sight. “Your bastard child,” I state evenly. “What does that have to do with me?”

“It’s your father’s.”

I lift a shoulder. “And?”

Her blue eyes turn into slits. “You know?” I stare at her, giving her my answer. She could do a lot of things with my father’s child—my half-brother, my step-son—I have no clue what to even call him.

All I know is that he exists under the DNA of the two people who never should’ve had kids in the first place.

“I want back in,” Demi professes. “I want what is owed to me.”

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