Page 24 of Dirty Rotten Cheating Husband

The first thing I did when I woke up was contact my Chief and told him I would be staying with Clementine and protecting her for the foreseeable future. I was going to need a lot more time than a few days to get her to forgive me.

“Are you on good terms with her?” Chief Thomas asked. “Because, if you are, there are a few questions we’d love to get her input on.”

Am I on good terms with her?

She fucking hates my guts, and for good reason.

“Maybe,” I said.

“It’s an order,” Chief Thomas said, surprising me.

What in the world would they need with Clementine? She was not under investigation.

“Talking to your handlers?” Clementine asked serenely as she walked into the kitchen.

I didn’t know if it was a good or bad idea to take Clementine. All those stupid awards and medals I had been so proud of seemed like the work of a total dipshit when I balanced them against what I’d given up.

Her.

But an order was an order.

Still, for the first time I wondered what Chief Thomas was thinking.

“Would you like to come down to the station? They’re wanting to ask you a few questions. It’s entirely voluntary,” I added, because I wanted Clementine to see that I wasn’t an asshole. Or I was attempting to not be an asshole.

The constant thrum of regret in my veins matched with an ache deep in my chest.

Clementine had to forgive me. I didn’t know what I could hope for, but I knew I couldn’t go on with her hating me like this.

“I’d love to see what Thomas & Thomas Associates are up to,” she said.

Oh, shit.

But Clementine was already sweeping past me and out to the car.

“At least take one of these breakfast burritos,” I said. “You haven’t had any breakfast.”

“I’ll just get coffee on the way,” she called back.

“You need food,” I grumbled to myself, hurrying back and quickly wrapping up one of the burritos to carry out to her.

“I’ll drive,” she said. “Not sure your car can make it.”

Gritting my teeth, I followed her.

It galled at me that Clementine wouldn’t let me protect her. Apparently I couldn’t be around her without the desire to protect and take care of her almost swamping me with power.

In the five years since I’d seen her, Clementine had worked herself up into a very in-demand costume designer. Her designs were rightly seen as unique and unforgettable. Whereas all I had was the same crappy car and a bunch of meaningless awards on the wall.

I had spent those five years unhappy, driving myself hard at work, unclear what was wrong and unwilling to face what I had done to Clementine and how I felt about her.

And she had thrived without me.

I was nothing more than a big, random boner-having, pain in the ass to her.

It fucking stung, and it stung even worse to realize I deserved it.

“I tried to come find you after the trial,” I said as we drove to the FBI office. “But you were gone. I sold that house, but you were owed money for it, too. I still have it in a savings account, and I can transfer it to you. You should have stayed so I could give it to you.”

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