Page 87 of All Twerk, No Play

I jumped to my feet, ready to burst. How the fuck could they—her whole fucking family—treat her like this? How could they dismiss this incredible woman like she was nothing?

Her hands held my cheeks, her steady eyes drilling into mine. “I’m fine, Eric. I’m telling you this now so you can decide if you want to come with me to deal with all these assholes.” She tried for a snarky grin, then faltered.

I took a long, shaky breath, seeing how my outburst impacted her. She was already so tense, my anger wouldn't help. "Sorry."

“You asked me once why Alexander and I broke up." Her shoulder tilted back in defiance. "He was my date to Spencer’s wedding. The divorce had been finalized for a decade, so the invitation was a challenge—it would have looked weak if I didn’t go. With hundreds of guests, I hoped we'd go unnoticed, but Beverly cornered him at the reception." Her lip wobbled, but she steadied it. "He dumped me on the plane back to San Francisco.”

Then she was in my arms. I didn’t make the conscious choice to pull her closer. Her family stories hadn’t driven me away, they'd steadied my resolve. I wouldn’t let her face her family alone.

“I’m still in,” I said into her hair, unbothered by the strands sticking to my lip.

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, her voice muffled, “The story isn’t done.”

“I don’t care,” I murmured. “I’m not letting you go without me.”

I thought she would protest that I wasn’tlettingher do anything … but she didn’t. Her body slumped into my embrace.

“None of this is your fault, you know."

“The story isn’t done,” she repeated.

“Does it involve you committing cold-blooded murder? Because I wouldn’t blame you. Hell, I’d be your accomplice. You be the brains, I’ll be the brawn. We’ll go out in a blaze of glory.”

I sat on her couch and pulled her onto my lap, wrapping my arms around her hips.

“I need to finish the story,” she said, "so they can’t pit you against me.I’m not the only cobra in the den.”

“Nest,” I corrected, and a soft light played in her eyes. “Vipers live in dens, cobras have nests.”

“Some women in our world could turn a blind eye, but I couldn’t live like that. Seeing him…” She blinked until she regained control. “The day I found Spencer, I gave back the ring and flew to Los Angeles without a plan. I filed for divorce at 23.”

I ran my hand over my mouth as a wave of nausea rose. Married at Luisa’s age, divorced by Adriana’s.

“My attorney suggested I take a pregnancy test, to have it on file. Thank God Yale’s clinic provided birth control or else...” Her voice tightened. “The clinic told me I had chlamydia.”

My heart tore in two. I wanted to pull her closer, to rub her back, to softly kiss her forehead … but her whole body was a live wire. “But that’s treatable, just a course of antibiotics.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, relaxing at my nonchalant reaction. Had she expected condemnation? “They caught it early, so no lasting side effects. My attorney brought the results to divorce court as proof of his infidelity, but his attorneys said there was no way to prove I'd been faithful. More than a dozen women employees at SinclairLarssontestified that he was sexually active in the workplace—they worried about their job security if they declined his advances. This was 12 years ago, before #MeToo. A huge risk for those women." She took a shuddering breath, the weight of their bravery heavy on her shoulders. "Once the floodgates opened, more women came forward to file a class action suit against his father. Calvin blamed me for starting the trend and sued me for defamation.”

“After nearly two years of court proceedings, Spencer signed the divorce papers. And by then, after all the court dates and legal fees, I gave him everything, including the townhouse. I just wanted to be free.” Her hands fidgeted in her lap. “I transferred to Stanford to finish my MBA and also enrolled in law school. The divorce dragged out so long because I’d signed aprenupthat fucked me over, and I never wanted to face that uncertainty again.”

“And where’s this bag of dicks now?”

"France, according to my dad. Cannes now, Monaco next weekend for the Grand Prix.”

Damn, that was some rich dude shit … which meant he wouldn’t be in the Hamptons next weekend. "If I ever meet Spencer, I’d like to punch him in the face.”

“You and me both,” she said wryly.

My face lifted into a cocky smile. “I can help with that.”

"Proud Mary," Tina Turner

Victoria

Thetangofsweatand thump of gloves assaulted my senses when we entered Eric’s MMA gym. Seconds later, whooping began. My simple workout gear felt too feminine and I itched for a power suit and heels.

“She’s a client blowing off steam at misogynist assholes,” Cruz announced to the staring men, leaving a foot of professional distance between us. “If any of you give her shit, I’ll let her practice on you.” The jeering stopped, but I could feel them tracking our progress.

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