Page 68 of Mistletoe Missus
“Who are you?” I asked with a narrowed eyebrow of suspension.
“I’m your driver for this evening, Mrs. Morgan,” he replied and stuck out his hand. “My name is Wilbert.”
Funny name. Careless attitude. Highly unprofessional. I should have his ass fired at once.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I said as I ignored his handshake, and he took the hint. “Where’s Albert?”
“Who?”
He suffered from a lack of communication, too.
“Albert. My regular driver,” I said, as I crossed my arms and glanced around.
“Right.Albert. I heard he called in sick. He caught something and couldn’t make it into work.”
Albert never missed a day. Deep down in my gut, I knew Mitt would’ve informed me about this. Especially with a brand-new driver who he paid for. He never would’ve let someone as improper as this rude man drive me. Wilbert was even busy chomping on chewing gum, for Christ’s sake!
There was no way I was going anywhere with this amateur driver. I had my Rolls-Royce to take me around the city. I had just got my independence back, and I could get to Mitt on my own. If Albert were here, I’d probably give him the evening off, but the poor guy was sick in bed.
“I’m just going to take my car.” I nodded toward my vehicle, taking a brief step back.
Wilbert grabbed my wrist.
“I had simple instructions to drive you to Mr. Morgan.”
I pried away from his grasp. “No. I’ll find my way there.”
I swear he muttered bitch under his breath as I turned my back to him and headed back toward the mansion. I needed to grab my keys and a warm jacket for the decrease in temperature as the sun set under the horizon. There was no time to waste on this piece of shit excuse for a limousine driver, but I turned around to give him the good old-fashioned middle finger. Served the asshole right, and I hoped he rotted in hell with...
Suddenly, there were bright red flashes of light and a loud explosion ringing in my ears. The black limousine turned into a blaze as flames ignited up toward the sky, and the vehicle was gone in the blink of an eye. A fiery blast knocked the wind out of me, and I flew backward.
There was no time to think, react, or even breathe. My arms were flailing uncontrollably through the air as scorching heat hit my skin that was strong enough the flames could singe my strawberry-blonde tips. Everything burned as I fell back toward the ground and the only thought I had was of Mitt. His handsome face flashed in front of me. He was all I could see. Until everything went dark, and blackness embraced me.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Hang On
Mitt
It’s been fifteen long minutes since Tinsley was late. I had only spoken with her thirty minutes ago, and she told me she was on her way. I had paced the floor since trying to reach her through text messages with no response. My mind wouldn’t rest until I knew where my wife was.
Past unpleasant memories wouldn’t screw off, and I remembered the last time this happened with Tinsley. Her stubborn attitude had landed her in harm’s way with her mother fucking ex-boyfriend, but there was no way she’d meet up with him. Not after I had shown her the type of man he was. She wouldn’t fall for that shit again, not even in a second desperate attempt at forcing my hand.
No. Tinsley wouldn’t do that. We were past acting childish after we slept together and gave into temptation. Those days of her getting on my nerves and being a pain in my ass were over.
Right?
I groaned out loud. “Fuck it.”
Call it selfish behavior or my insecurities coming into play. I didn’t give a shit. I needed to know she was safe, and I was a goddamn mess inside.
My hand raked through my hair when the phone rang a fourth time. “Damn it, Tinsley, pick up!”
“Hello?”
I froze on the spot.
A man’s voice answered.
