Page 85 of Dirty Husband
"Of course." I stand. Shake the start-up founder's hand. Walk her to the door.
My assistant says something about a next meeting, but I ask her to wait. She offers coffee. When I say no, she looks at me like I'm crazy.
It is crazy. I don't turn down coffee. I'm a walking cliché. The recovering alcoholic who turned to sex and caffeine.
But then I guess I already have my preferred fix.
"An espresso, yes." I wave a thanks. "In ten minutes. I have a call."
Her expression gets knowing. She's almost as bad as Key. God, when Key and Lock get together—
I'm sure Jasmine would roll her eyes at a third assistant. It is ridiculous. But I need to keep things separate. I need sharp lines between every segment of my life. It's the only way.
I lock the door. Lower the shades facing the floor. Turn to the window.
It's already late morning. Almost noon. The sky is a brilliant shade of blue. The sun is shining. The water is sparkling.
I'm far enough south I can see where the Hudson and the East River meet. I can see the lush trees of Battery Park.
They were a soft pink two months ago. Now, they're a bright green. A shade that screams of a coming summer.
Hopeful.
For once, I appreciate it.
I pull my cell from my pocket. But it's not another picture of Jasmine in violet lingerie.
Jasmine: Just Lizzy. But he might be there. To drop her off. Or at their apartment.
My blood boils. My fucking brother. I don't need the reminder.
It's bad enough that bastard is reminding me of the timeline. It's bad enough I'm rushing the announcement. The wedding itself. The fucking planning.
Now I have to picture my brother making Jasmine come.
As much as I doubt Nick's intentions, I believe he loves his fiancée. He would do anything for Lizzy. He would never consider touching another woman. Not now.
Before he met Lizzy—
I need to erase that time from my mind. It's not like I was celibate. I slept with plenty of women. If Jasmine slept with another man, even my fucking brother—
I don't have any right to complain.
But my body fails to listen. My palms clench, my ears flame, my stomach churns.
I need her on my desk, her skirt at her waist, her legs spread wide, her back arching as she comes.
Fuck, I'm not holding onto my thoughts for long enough. I need to get a grip.
This wedding should be a joyous occasion. Sure, I'll never love Jasmine, but I do appreciate her. If I was going to choose a wife, it would be her.
Only it's not my choice. And even the promise of her soft thighs against my cheeks every day, for the rest of my life, isn't enough to erase that.
Nothing can erase the truth.
That bastard is pulling my strings again. No matter what I do, I'll never be out from under his thumb. If I didn't think there was some way he'd hold this over me from the grave, I'd kill him myself.
He deserves worse. He deserves a life of abject misery.
