Page 28 of Hate the One You're With
A triumphant grin spreads across my face naturally, the kind that comes when you know you’re about to win a game you’ve been forced into. Finally, Emmersyn will understand that messing with my family comes with consequences—ones she won’t soon forget.
Once I’ve arranged everything and I’m ready to be a part of her latest scheme, I finally call Emmersyn. I can’t help but scowl when I see her number on my hand—scribbles and pink hearts next to it. How dare she mark my skin that way? It’s infuriating, like she’s mocking me even through the fucking heart.
And even though I know I should calm down and not let my anger get the best of me, I just can’t contain it. I need tofigure out how to hide my feelings when I’m living with Emmersyn. But the biggest problem is that she always brings out the worst in me.
When she answers, her voice is sweet and cheerful, like she hasn’t a care in the world. “Hi, Caleb. I was just thinking about you,” she says, all sunshine and rainbows, as if nothing bad is about to crash into her life.
The sound of her happiness grates on me, sparking a fresh wave of irritation. How can she be so damn happy when she’s the cause of all this chaos? I grip the phone tighter, my knuckles whitening as I try to keep my voice steady. But beneath the surface, I’m seething.
All I want is to see that smile wiped off her face, to crush the optimism she seems to cling to so effortlessly. She’s always been so damn resilient, but this time, I’ll make sure she never smiles like that again.
Yet, even as I think it, there’s a flicker of something else—something I don’t want to admit. Maybe it’s a twisted kind of hope that things will finally shift, that I’ll have the upper hand. Or maybe it’s the unsettling realization that part of me is still drawn to that exasperating smile, despite everything.
Then suddenly, it hits me. “Why the fuck would you be thinking of me?” I growl, the question slipping out before I can stop it.
“Oh, is that forbidden? Make sure to add it to your document—that lawyer must be thrilled with all your petitions,” she fires back, her voice dripping with sarcasm and quick wit.
I grit my teeth, her mocking tone only fueling my anger. “You’re mocking me, but I’ll make sure you’re left penniless.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” she replies, her tone infuriatingly calm, almost like she’s daring me to try.
She’s driving me crazy, making my blood boil. How can she be so composed, so unbothered, when I’m ready to tear everything apart? It’s like she enjoys pushing my buttons, knowing exactly how to get under my skin.
“You haven’t answered me—why were you thinking of me?” I press, my frustration barely contained.
She laughs. She fucking laughs. The nerve of this woman.
“Emmersyn,” I growl, trying to keep my composure.
“Clarissa called to check on me,” she replies nonchalantly.
“I told her to stay away from you,” I snap, irritation spiking. Clarissa was supposed to keep her distance, not cozy up to the woman who’s been the bane of my existence—and hers.
“Well, it’s all your fault for involving her in this mess. But that’s the thing about the Cunningham siblings—they like to meddle and then blame others. Very irresponsible if you ask me,” she says.
“Don’t you dare blame my sister for the shit you put her through,” I fire back, my anger flaring. Her laughter only fuels my frustration.
She laughs again, this time more heartily, as if she finds the whole situation amusing. When she’s done, she says, “So, are you doing it, living with me for the next six months? Or should I just head home and figure out how to help my people?”
“I’ll do it, but where are we going to live?”
“My grandmother’s penthouse. The lawyer just called to say everything will be set to my grandmother’s requests. Gotta love Percival—her former lover and lawyer—he’s a stickler at following rules, Gertrude’s more than anybody else’s,” shereplies with a casual tone, as if it’s normal for an old lady to be fucking around.
“Sounds . . .” I trail off, my voice faltering as I think about her grandma’s private life. The thought alone makes me shiver. “Weird? Not that he okayed the penthouse, but she had a lover, and you say it out loud as if it’s nothing. Maybe call him her boyfriend?”
“She liked to call him her lover, but we can go with sex partner if you prefer. There’s nothing wrong with a healthy sexual appetite. Apparently, some women have enough libido to last them a lifetime,” she says, and I can practically hear the smirk in her voice, she’s doing this to make me cringe, isn’t she? “Good for her, I’d say.”
“Can we focus on this conversation?” I cut her off, trying to steer clear of the unsettling image or her jokes. I have to confess she can be funny more times than I like to admit. “I’ll be sending you the draft for the postnuptial agreement and the six-month agreement, which you have to sign before we move in together. I expect you to sign the revision of the divorce papers the moment the six months are over.”
“Postnuptial agreement?” she repeats.
“You don’t think I’m going to let you get any of my hard-earned money, do you?”
“Yet, you’re taking everything from me. The irony,” she says, her voice carrying a hint of defiance.
“Everything,” I repeat with a grin, savoring the thought.
“So you keep saying. I’m waiting for the evil cartoon laugh, though,” she quips.
