Page 32 of Hate the One You're With
“I’ll be fine,” I reassure her, determined to face Calebhead-on this time. “Thank you for being the best friend in the world.”
“Always. Just know that if you need to bury his body, you’re going to have to call someone else. I can’t lie to my father, and he’ll definitely demand to know what I know,” she says, her tone light and playful.
I burst out laughing, imagining the scenario. “Noted. I’ll just have to find someone with fewer moral hang-ups. Maybe I’ll start a ‘Help Me Hide the Body’ group chat.”
“That might give you away. Try his friends,” she suggests with a smirk in her voice. “One of them might be annoyed with him.”
Instead of continuing the absurd conversation, I decide to cut it short. “Thanks, Clarissa. I’ll keep that in mind. But for now, I need to get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a very long day.”
With that, I say goodbye and end the call, bracing myself for whatever Caleb has planned.
Chapter Twenty
Caleb
The next morning,I walk into the sleek conference room at Langley Media. The place is as cold and modern as it gets—floor-to-ceiling glass windows on one side, offering a panoramic view of the city, while the other walls are a mix of chrome and steel, reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights overhead.
The table in the center is a long stretchof polished marble, almost too shiny, with sleek leather chairs lined up around it, each one looking more expensive than the last. It’s the kind of room designed to make you feel small, but I’m not easily intimidated.
The lawyers already delivered all the documents they prepared, and Jacob and I spent half the night going through them. I’m ready—at least, I think I am.
Emmersyn is already seated at the head of the table, her back straight, eyes focused on the stack of papers in front of her. She’s calm, almost too calm, like she’s about to finalize a merger instead of the most ridiculous arrangement I’ve ever had the misfortune to agree to.
Her hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and she’s wearing one of those power suits that’s supposed to intimidate—but all it does is make her look infuriatingly put together, like she’s stepped right out of a glossy magazine.
I can’t help but notice how every detail is perfectly in place, from the subtle shine of her black pumps to the way her suit hugs her in all the right places. It’s distracting, and I hate that it’s distracting. This isn’t the time to be noticing how her lipstick somehow makes her look even more like she’s got everything under control.
No, this is business. Just business. The most absurd business arrangement I’ve ever been part of, but still—business.
I set my jaw and take the seat across from her, forcing myself not to react when she glances up and meets my gaze. There’s that damn spark again, the one that always manages to flare up at the worst possible moments.
I remind myself to stay focused—this is business, pure andsimple. Well, as simple as living with my soon-to-be ex-wife for six months can be.
“Morning,” I say, keeping my tone as neutral as possible. I’m not about to let her know that I spent most of last night thinking about how this entire situation is going to drive me insane.
“Morning, Caleb,” she replies, her voice smooth, with just a hint of something I can’t quite place. She slides the top document across the table toward me, her fingers grazing the edge of the paper. “Shall we get started? It seems like your lawyers were pretty busy drawing up documents and making sure they’ll only leave me with one plate, one water bottle, and my clothes. You’re even taking my shoe collection—funny I’m pretty sure none of them are your style or will fit you.”
I glance down at the paper—postnuptial agreement, the very thing that will keep her hands off my assets once this six-month circus is over. The irony isn’t lost on me, and I can’t help but smirk as I pick up the pen. “You’ve got your terms. I’ve got mine. Let’s just get this over with.”
She tilts her head slightly, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Always so eager, Caleb. I wouldn’t rush through this if I were you. Don’t you want to savor the big triumph of leaving me trembling and all that jazz?”
I meet her gaze, stifling the urge to roll my eyes. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?”
“Okay, have it your way,” she says, her voice low and almost teasing, as if she’s enjoying this way too much.
That’s the thing with her—she always knows how to push my buttons, and damn it if I don’t rise to the bait every single time. But not today. Today, I’m keeping my cool. I lean back inmy chair, crossing my arms as I look her over. “You really think you can outmaneuver me?”
Her smile widens, just enough to be infuriating. “I don’t need to outmaneuver you, Caleb. I just need you to sign on the dotted line.”
It’s then that I notice the smallest flicker of something in her eyes—amusement, maybe, or satisfaction. Whatever it is, it makes my blood simmer just beneath the surface. She’s up to something. Or is she just taunting me?
That’s probably it. She’s bluffing. If she wants to play mind games, I’m game. The moment she starts crying, I won’t even bat an eyelash. I’ll be damned if I let her get the upper hand.
Not trusting her for a second, I skim through the first few pages, just to make sure everything is still in line with what my lawyers and I agreed on. But then my eyes narrow as I land on a particular clause—the one I barely registered at the time because I was too distracted and disgruntled to think straight.
Sure, I can say I won’t touch her, that I’ll stay away from her. But she’s my weakness, and what if there’s one moment of desperation when I lose all self-control? When I just rip her clothes off and fuck her, giving in to everything I’ve been holding back? The thought alone is enough to drive me insane.
“This is ridiculous and immature. I don’t see why we need such a clause,” I snap, frustration lacing my voice.
