Page 25 of Dirty Rotten Cheating Husband

“Don’t bother,” she said dismissively. “Save the money and buy yourself some better pants.”

We rode in silence for a while, as her rejection dug into me, seemed to burrow under my flesh and cling to my bones.

“Why did you come to the trial?”

She popped her sunglasses up and my eyes felt like they raked greedily over her, wanting to drink in every contemptuous curl of her lip, even the slim pencil skirt, expensive blouse, and high-heeled boots that unfortunately were not for me.

“I wanted to see for myself if it all was a lie. And I got my answer.”

Her eyes held mine for a moment, then she looked coolly aside.

The words caught in my throat.

“It wasn’t like that,” I said, feeling like I was choking, drowning in my desperate desire to make her understand.

“I heard exactly what it was,” she said. “You seduced me to get information about my Dad and I meant nothing to you. That’s it.”

She shrugged. “I won’t lie and say it didn’t sting at first. But I’m over it now.”

“No! I didn’t—” I tried to say, but she held up her hand.

“Save it, Grayson. Let’s just get through these two weeks and hopefully you’ll leave me alone. You’ve done enough damage.”

“It wasn’t just a lie,” I croaked. “I did care. I want to make it right.”

But she only shrugged again and turned on the radio to a super loud rock station, the music blaring too loud for talking.

How the fuck could I ever convince her?

Cold despair settled in my gut like a stone.

All my attempts at conversation were rebuffed, and even in the elevator going up to our office she folded her arms and stared resolutely at the ceiling.

Fuck

It was painful how badly I wanted her to forgive me.

Clementine strode ahead of me into the room. Despite being approximately 5’2 with heels, she looked completely self-assured, poised, and confident.

“Oh, look, it’s Thomas & Thomas,” she said as my coworkers turned around to greet us, and I felt the first warning signs of danger.

“It’s the CEO,” and here she pointed at Chief Thomas.

“Oh, and of course these other upstanding tax-preparers.” And here she pointed at Vivi, Nakamura, and Williams.

There was a moment of awkward silence and I saw Clementine’s gaze roam over the FBI office, the desks, the walls, then stop on the huge and embarrassing framed picture of Senator Mancini awarding me a medal for Distinguished Service to the Bureau.

I felt suddenly sick with shamefulness.

“Ms. Clementine Adler,” the Chief said, extending his hand to her. “You’re looking well. We’d love to get your cooperation on a few matters. Namely, encouraging your father to work with us after he gets out. He could help us go after the real fraud kingpin and find that missing $50 million.”

I felt another little stab to my heart.

That’s right. That’s her name now.

I had been thinking of her as Clementine Bentley, but of course that wouldn’t be her name anymore. She would have raced to change it.

Clementine ignored the Chief’s outstretched hand and leaned back against one of the desks.

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