Page 62 of Dirty Husband
Jeff's expression shifts to one of contemplation. He makes thathmmmnoise. Not the parental one. Thewow, that's a pickleone.
It's strange. Jeff seems like exactly the type of guy who sneaks away for illicit trysts. Is he really judging Shep for this?
No, it's not a judgmental look. It's a curious one. Like he's not sure what to believe.
Huh.
Strange.
There's a reason for this dinner. A reason why we're meeting with Jeff and Ian and not just Ian. Shep didn't ask me to dress up to step into Ian's helicopter.
Sure, those weren't dress up circumstances. But he didn't give me any sort of instruction or warning. He's not trying to convince Ian of anything.
Jeff, on the other hand…
I make a mental note to look up Jeffery Pace. To find out what he has to do with Shep. He's on the board of a company Shep wants to buy. Or wants to sell. Or wants to buy something he has to sell. He must be.
The timing is too suspect. It must have something to do with this whole plan.
Or maybe I'm thinking zebras when I should think horses. Shep doesn't need an elaborate reason to bargain with me. There are plenty of reasons why marriage is a good idea.
It raises his status, ends those rumors about his extra-curricular activities, marks him as a normal, family man.
The chance to have me under his thumb—
My head hurts. I sit. Sip another glass of mineral water. Focus on my food. A sizzling steak topped with chimichurri and pickled onions. Tangy beets with creamy goat cheese and nutty pistachios. Rich chocolate cake with fresh raspberries.
A perfectly steeped pot of black tea to go with it. A Russian Caravan that brings out the complexity of the chocolate cake.
With enough caffeine to keep me up all night.
I nod along as we finish dessert. The men talk business. Jeff says something gross, but no doubt well intentioned, in his mind, about how he likes a woman who eats, not one who's too skinny.
At once, Shep's face fills with fury. With a deep anger I barely recognize. It should scare me. Itdoesscare part of me. But there's this other part that's thrilled, flattered, aroused even.
I place my hand on his. Motiondon't. It's nothing. Not worth it. I hear worse all the time.
Men think they're entitled to comment on women's bodies. Especially women who work for them. Especially women of color who work for them.
"Does that mean you'll be paying the catering at our wedding?" I smile serenely, like I find his joke oh-so-amusing.
Jeff just laughs. "No, but I have a better idea. Have you ever had a personal tour of a chocolate factory?"
Shepard raises a browwhat?He looks to Ian for help, but the charming Brit just shrugs.
"I can arrange it anytime. Before the wedding. As part of the honeymoon. Have you ever been to Paris, Jasmine?" he asks.
My heart skips at the thought of the city of lights. "Never."
"I think you'd prefer London, honestly," Ian says. "I know I'm biased, but between the tea and the theater—"
Theater in the West End. My nod is involuntary. "I'd love that."
"Did you just invite my fiancée to London?" Shep asks.
"Someone has to do it." He looks to Jeff. "You have Paris. I have London. Where will you sponsor, Shep? Rome? Madrid? Someplace the coffee is as dark as your soul?"
My laugh is real. Easy. I like Ian. He knows Shep. Knows how to push his buttons. Knows there's something unusual about our arrangement.
