Page 142 of A Temporary Forever

“Aren’t you a ray of sunshine today?” Someone else clears his throat. “Right, sorry, I’m here with Declan.”

“Be fast, I don’t have time.”

“We’re in full-blown crisis mode and you have no time? Then maybe we shouldn’t bother you.” Declan delivers his words in his usual level tone, but after having spent some time with him, I can detect the edge to it.

Given that our CEO is splattered all over the media for his escapades last night, I don’t blame him. Why does shit have to explode at the least opportune moments?

“If you had your brother on a shorter leash, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” I snap, ignoring the voice in my head reminding me that an argument is absolutely useless.

“What’s up your ass?” Xander interferes. “This is not the time to argue about who can piss who off further. Corm has been released on bail, but as you know, the media is having a field day with this. We think you should step in as interim CEO.”

I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. “Are we sure that’s the right message to send to the stakeholders?”

“We talked to our lawyer, and to a crisis managementconsultant.” Declan sighs. “Both suggested we show a united front and focus on ensuring the company runs without a hitch, and with crystal-clear focus. Xander and I agreed you have the experience and recognition to reassure our partners.”

Declan’s suggestion rings with reason, but before I have a chance to discuss it further, the elevator door opens.

Dominic and Celeste enter the apartment. She’s still dressed and styled impeccably as always, but her steps lack her usual confidence, her shoulders sagging and her cheeks wet from tears.

In the background, I hear Xander and Declan talking, but my mind is consumed with one thought only. A rabid need, really.

Actually, two. Who do I kill? And how do I make her feel better?

“I have to think about it.” I hang up, jeopardizing the future of my company. Inconsequential compared to the future of my wife. My marriage.

I quickly cover the distance between us and wrap her in my arms. She sniffles and lets me hold her, but she isn’t leaning in. She takes the embrace, but her heart isn’t in it.

I don’t know what happened, but hopelessness burns inside my chest. A sense of foreboding washes over me. Like I’m losing her. Or I already have.

She steps back, and the loss of her closeness hits me with its sense of finality. What the fuck is happening?

“I’m going to get changed.” She walks to the staircase, ascending like the queen she is, even in this broken state.

As soon as I hear the door click upstairs, I whip around. “What the fuck happened?”

Dominic unbuttons his jacket and drops his briefcase on the sofa. “We’ve got twenty-four hours to prove the validity of your marriage. Kind of ironic, since apparently the marriageisreal now.”

“What the fuck?” I resume my pacing as if that will help the situation.

Dominic sits on the sofa, the picture of nonchalance. “From my understanding, she panicked and couldn’t answer any questions.”

I look up to where our rooms are, warring between running upstairs to hold her and staying here to give her space to find her composure. Fuck, I want her to sass me, to bring out her wits like never before.

“She has a bureauphobia.”

The fucking skepticism on Dom’s face makes me want to punch him. He cracks his knuckles. “Regardless, this wasn’t a routine interview. They got tipped off that the marriage is fake.”

The information makes me stumble, like it hit me physically. “Who the fuck would tip themoff?”

“I’m trying to find out, but that won’t help us in the short term. Look, have her rest and lean into her acting skills tomorrow. I’ll do my best to present the evidence, but if she can’t answer simple questions, I can’t guarantee anything.”

My nostrils flare while my pulse speeds up. “What does that mean?” I grit out.

Dom shrugs, crossing one leg over the other. “I might get you off the felony charges, but Celeste will be deported, with a slim, almost nonexistent, chance of returning to the States.”

My phone rings and I decline Xander’s call.

I walk to the bar in the corner and pour myself another whiskey, only mildly concerned about the amount I already consumed.

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