Page 28 of Mistletoe Missus
“What does he want?” Holly asked and stood up with her arms crossed in front of her. “It better be good.”
“He wants me to meet him at the Elegant Empire restaurant for dinner,” I replied as Holly started talking, but I wasn’t listening.
I wanted the real Mitt Morgan back and not this shadow of a man who his father made him be. Somewhere in the pit of my gut, I knew he wasn’t like his dad. I wouldn’t have married him if I thought otherwise. The truth had only thrown me off course, but Holly brought me back to clarity.
Sure, my judgment of character could’ve been cloudy from all the excitement and nerves of our rushed nuptials. I knew my body, and I trusted my instincts. But I could be one-hundred percent wrong, and Mitt was only playing me from the moment he asked for my hand in marriage.
Either way, I’d make Mitt give me the answer I sought, or I’d encourage him to draw up the divorce papers himself. He had tons of money for me to spend, and I had the world at my fingertips thanks to my husband.
After all, I was Mrs. Morgan. I could do whatever the hell I wanted. And I’d do anything to get the man I married back.
FIFTEEN
Icebreaker
Tinsley
Idressed up in a gold satin dress with one shoulder exposed and a high slit up to my mid-thigh. I wore rhinestone gold heels with leg ties—I was dressed to kill. This was all Holly’s idea, and the clothes were one hundred percent from her overwhelming wardrobe. But I had to admit, my best friend had expensive taste.
The panic I once had after receiving Mitt’s text had diminished, and we had created a plan of our own. I’d meet him at the restaurant wearing the hottest outfit Holly owned and bring him a little gift. A present wrapped up with delicate care, hoping to make him come out of the darkness—the chilly place where I couldn’t reach him, but maybe my offering could.
I made a brief stop before I arrived an hour later at the Elegant Empire restaurant with paparazzi everywhere. They wouldn’t leave Mitt’s sight, and as soon as I left the limousine, cameras turned my way. Voices roared like wildfire throughout the light snowy evening and a chill ran down my spine. I hugged the fur coat tighter around me as lights blinded my eyes, and my hand shielded my face to refocus on the restaurant door.
“Mrs. Morgan! Mrs. Morgan! Why are you and your husband arriving separately?” a photographer shouted over multiple voices. “Trouble in paradise?”
I wanted to yell that it was none of their damn business, but what good would that do?
Instead, I continued my walk on the sidewalk toward the main entrance and ignored everyone around me. My focus was solely on the surprise I had for Mitt tucked against my side as I made my way inside the Elegant Empire and away from the hungry vultures who nipped at my ass. A scuffle sounded behind me, and I turned around in time to see a man push through the doorway with flashing lights from his camera, headed straight for me. Frozen on the spot like a deer caught in the headlights, I watched in horror as he stumbled and fell in my direction. But a boulder of a man in a fancy tuxedo saved the day, and he grabbed him by the shoulders. He took no shit and escorted the frantic man back outside.
Close call.
He almost stepped on the hem of the gold dress and the thin fabric would’ve ripped in two. What a complete disaster for all of New York to see—me in my underwear, making front-page news. Holly would be furious with me.
I regained my composure and locked eyes with a server. “I’m here for reservations with my husband.”
“Yes, Mrs. Morgan. He’s expecting you. Please, right this way,” he announced without hesitation and turned around.
The restaurant was empty and not a customer was in sight. Flabbergasted, I followed his lead through the fancy establishment, and I couldn’t understand why the restaurant wasn’t busy. It was dinnertime and New York City buzzed after working hours.
“Are you sure you aren’t closed?” I asked, puzzled by all the empty tables. “No one else is here.”
“Mr. Morgan prefers to dine alone and shuts down the restaurant when he comes here,” he answered with a quick glance over his shoulder and he chuckled. “You have a lot to learn about your husband, Mrs. Morgan.”
“I guess I do,” I muttered under my breath until I found myself unable to breathe.
There was Mitt, rising from his seat in a deep burgundy-gray suit with a white dress shirt underneath and a killer smile. Time stopped while I checked him out and probably had drool at the corners of my mouth. He adjusted his tie and stepped forward with his hand touching the small of my back.
Immediately, shivers of heat crawled up my spine from the contact as Mitt pulled out my chair and he whispered in my ear, “Did you enjoy my limousine, Wife?”
“I did,” I answered with a small smile of satisfaction that turned into curiosity. “How did you get here?”
“I took a dreadful cab,” Mitt responded with a hint of irritation in his tone.
Good.
I gave my husband a hard time, as I had planned, but if Mitt wasn’t careful, there would be much more where that came from. My dearly beloved had no idea I could be a bitter bitch when I wanted to be. He should proceed with caution.
“You should try the subway next time. It’s delightful.”
