Page 12 of Power Games

He stared blankly, unable to form a coherent thought until she’d made it to his level.

“Charles Grant. Long time, no see.”

“Vanessa McNamara.”

Fucking. Hell.

He didn’t expect this, the vibrant, all-consuming chemistry in the air. The girl had wanted him without understanding it, without knowing what to do with it. Now, when her eyes dropped to his lips and she bit back a grin, he could see that she knew exactly what she wanted. He was so fucking close to just pulling her to him, and taking her fucking lips right there, forgetting the rest of the world.

Except he had an Izzy.She had a Rob.

Instead, he presented his arm. “Shall I escort you in?”

“How gallant of you. Please.”

The journalists were now pointblank screaming after them. Asking about their relationship. Asking whether Vanessa and Ron were through. He knew he should do some damage control. Vanessa had been in the business for too long; she knew it too. She should have turned around, rolled her eyes, and laughed. Said everything was perfect with Fucking Ron, and Charles was an old friend.

They silently walked inside, side by side.

* * *

“What the fucking hell is this!”Izzy yelled, throwing a shiny magazine in front of him.

Charles glanced down, tilted his head, and kept on lifting weights, not even removing his Bluetooth earphones.

Izzy yelled some more. He turned the music up, ensuring he couldn’t hear a word coming out of her mouth until he was done lifting. Then, he got up, and slowly removed the earphones.

“And if you think, for one second, I’m going to let—”

“Don’t.”

One simple word that made her stop on her tracks.

“Don’t you even dare, dear wife. Where were you last night?”

She frowned, as though she didn’t even understand the question.

“You were out fucking Clarington, or I don’t know whom. I won’t pretend to care. The condition of this farce is that you allow me the same courtesy and let me do what I please, with whomever I please.”

She flushed. “So you’re really fucking the posh slut?”

Charles laughed out loud.

“Is that what you believe benefits are for? Of course it is. No, Izzy. We ate dinner. In public. But then again, if I had fucked her all night long, it would have nothing to do with you.”

His wife crossed her arms on her chest. “We said we wouldn’t embarrass each other. I don’t go out with anyone in public.”

He thought back to the dozens of pictures he had in an encrypted folder, attesting to the contrary, but he didn’t mention them. He wouldn’t until they were needed in court.

“If you’re not happy with our situation, you can go,” he reminded her simply.

It wasn’t the first time he’d said that. Each time, her response was the same.

“I’m happy to be your wife.” Of course she was. The money, the exposure—all that suited her just fine. “We just have things to discuss and work on like any other couple, and it’s not working because you always dismiss me when I bring up issues.”

The whining had no effect on him.

“It’s not working because I don’t give a damn what you do, and we’ve agreed that you wouldn’t pay attention to what I did either. Your idea, if you recall. You don’t get to change the parameters now.”

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