Page 125 of The Love Destroyers

He presses the phone to his ear, listens, and says, “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry.” His voice has transformed to jovial, embarrassed. “It must have been a pocket dial. I apologize for causing trouble. It was unintentionally done.”

They won’t be coming, then. I’m on my own. I reach the bar and open the cabinet, deciding this is where I’ll make my stand. I have the bottles and the paperweight. It’ll have to do. As far as I know, he’s never physically harmed anyone. It would be foolish for him to start now, and he’s a man who cares about his own reputation more than anything.

He hangs up the phone and pockets it, shaking his head as if he’s still my disapproving mentor, giving me a dressing down for not doing my research.

“Don’t play this game with me, Emma. You’re going to lose. Don’t you get it? You’re always going to lose.”

Fuck this.

I throw the paperweight like a javelin. His eyes widen, but he sidesteps it at the last minute, and it thuds into the meat of his arm. He flinches but starts prowling toward me again, slow but steady, his eyes flat and dark and full of intent.

I wonder why he isn’t charging in, but then I realize it’s my fear he’s enjoying. He’s havingfunwith me.

“You’re going to give me that thumb drive.”

So that’s what Ellie has. I don’t know what’s on it, but I’m guessing it’s some kind of proof he was embezzling.

“I don’t have it,” I say flatly. “But if I did, I certainly wouldn’t give it to you. If Ellie’s smart, she’ll send it to the police and the press.”

“She’s not.” He moves closer, his eyes fixed on me. “And neither are you. Or at least you’re not half as smart as you thought you were.” He smiles as he comes toward me, too close now. I open the whiskey bottle and then grab a small round bottle of Chambord.

I toss it at his head.

He dodges it easily this time. “I see your aim has suffered. You did better with the cactus.”

“Ellie knows you were planning to throw her under the bus about her age.”

He grimaces at me. “You’re going to regret telling her that.”

“My mother has a security system.”

He doesn’t even pause in his prowling. “She only turns it on at night.”

Another chill engulfs me at this evidence that he’s been watching. Lurking in the background of my life.

I’ve always seen him as a threat—abad person, a destroyer of lives—but I never saw him as this kind of threat.

I throw another bottle at him, hitting his other shoulder hard.

He grimaces but keeps coming.

I throw another bottle and miss, this one smashing on the floor.

I have the inane thought that my mother is going to be pissed at me for thinning out her bar.

“You never were very athletic, were you?” Jeffrey sneers. “Fucking Ellie has been a real delight.”

“Leave now, and I won’t tell anyone,” I say.

He laughs. “You think they’d believe you? I have a restraining order against you.”

“Yes, which will make them wonder why you came to visit my hometown and showed up inmyhouse.”

“You’ll have to do better than that.” He tsks. “It’s easy to fake text messages. I do it for clients all the time.”

I throw a larger bottle at him and clock the side of his head. That one had to hurt, because he finally gives up the slow prowl and barrels the rest of the way toward me, so close now. So close. I get the whiskey up and ready to splash.

Time seems to slow down and speed up as Shadow darts out in front of him and screeches, tripping him. He looks up, and I’m ready—I pour the whiskey directly into his eyes, and then snatch Shadow up into my arms and run as fast as I can, heading for the front door.

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