Page 66 of All Twerk, No Play

I bit back a grin he hadn’t fully earned. “Fine.”

After he changed into torn jeans and a black t-shirt, we left the building. I stepped carefully to keep my heels out of the brick sidewalk in front of Donnelly's. The black-framed windows revealed dark walls lit by golden pendant lights. I’d scanned their cocktail menu—and realized I'd been looking forward to the bourbon Manhattan more than the small talk.

And my gaze caught on a familiar face waiting at the hostess station …

Lawrence, with his arm around a brunette’s waist.

My footsteps faltered. Eric steadied my elbow. “Is that him?”

I tried to continue down the sidewalk, to escape the blow to my pride.

“What a freaking moron, passing on the filet for a cheeseburger,” Eric scowled. He interlaced our fingers and walked straight to Lawrence’s date, flashing his brilliant smile. “Susan! I thought you were in Spain.”

Scratch that: I didn’t just want to escape. I wanted to set myself on fire, to burn it all to the ground. And Eric brought me in here to confront the problem. I wanted to pour gasoline on his superhuman smile to bring him into the blaze.

“Took an early flight home," Susan said. "Cruz, this is Larry, my husband.”

Husband. My date was this woman’s husband.

My vision tunneled to Susan’s cushion cut diamond.

Memory snapshots slammed into me like a freight train.

Feeling triumphant about finishing top of my class at Yale Business School.

Leaving New Haven early to surprise him.

Taking the train straight to Sinclair Larsson.

Noticing his secretary’s vacant desk.

Letting myself into his office.

His secretary bent over his desk, expression worried.

Spencer meeting my gaze.

A flash of surprise before his light green eyes turned cruel …

Replaced by ecstasy as he finished.

Tucking back into his pants without discarding a condom.

Smacking her ass to dismiss her.

His hands on my biceps, tight enough to bruise.

You’re my wife, but you’ve been at school. Men have needs.

Tearing out of his grasp.

Escaping past his secretary, her head bowed to avoid eye contact.

Power walking to my office as I held back a sob.

Staring at the seven-carat cushion-cut diamond on my hand.

Richard’s first wife’s diamond. My grandmother Patricia’s ring.

---