Page 51 of Embracing the Change

“I beg your pardon?” I demanded.

His eyes raced to mine. “Did you miss something in your report about your chat with Castellini, sweetheart?”

I was confused, and communicated that by inquiring, “What?”

“Maybe the fact that he,” Jamie bent toward me ominously, which gave notice of what was to come, before he roared, “asked for a reconciliation!”

I actually felt my face lose all color. “How do you know that?”

Jamie straightened, tipped his head back and thundered to the ceiling, “Jesus Christ!”

I dashed toward him and snapped, “For heaven’s sake, keep your voice down.”

His chin slanted into his throat, and he speared me with a venomous look as he snarled, “Fuck that. Fuck him. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m obviously not going to entertain his notion,” I sniffed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he repeated his question.

“How did you know?” I shot back.

“Tom phoned.”

Tom?

Tom betrayed me?

Counting this whole yacht situation…

He did it again?

I lifted my phone in front of me and spat, “I need to make a call.”

Whoosh! My phone was gone and flying through the air to plop on a sofa, seeing as Jamie swiped it and tossed it there.

“Jamie!” I yelled.

“Do not be angry at Tom,” he ordered. “Mika shared with Tom, as spouses do. Then Tom did some math. Which brings me to my next topic of conversation, the fact that Paloma Friedrichsen, who fucked your husband when he was still your husband, and who tried to fuck me when my wife was dying of cancer, is the one attempting to fuck”—he flapped a hand irately through the minimal space between us—“us up.”

Damn, I’d forgotten that little tidbit about Paloma’s sheer nastiness, making a play for Jamie when Rosalind was ill.

How could I forget that?

I couldn’t linger on it. Jamie was still glowering at me.

“I put that together too, and I’m handling it,” I assured.

I also needed to tell him that Paloma was definitely with his father, which did not bode well, but I didn’t think now was an advantageous time to convey this information.

I heard his phone vibrate in his jacket pocket.

He ignored it in order to ask caustically, “You’re handling it?”

“Yes,” I hissed.

“Like you’re handling Castellini?”

“I’m handling him too.”

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