Page 182 of The Billionaire's Secret
"Why you had to break up with her and then send her divorce papers, without trying to at least make up with her one last time..."
"Look who’s giving me relationship advice," I snicker. "The man who can’t hold down a single woman for more than week."
"Out of choice, bitch. The more the merrier, as they say," Weston retorts. "More than what I can say for you. Did you manage to, at least, get to the office today?"
I take a sip of the whiskey, then wince at the taste. Shit, not even good old Macallan fine maltseemsthe same. Face it, nothingcomparesto the taste of her cunt, her mouth, her lips…Fuck, fucking fuck?
"You okay, ol' chap?"
"Why the fuck are you calling me anyway?"
"Why do you think?"
"I think I am going to hang up, dickwad—"
"Hold on, I’m getting another call."
"Don’t you fucking put me on hold, Weston—"
The call goes silent. Then classical music drifts over the line. "The fuck?" He has Mozart playing while he puts me on hold? I hang up, then begin to pace. Is he right, should I have tried harder? But this is what she wants, right? A clean break. Neither of us needs to look back. I had made sure she came out of the entire incident with her identity concealed. It had cost me thousands to track down every single paparazzi in that room, and pay them off enough that they would leave out all mention of her. I may have had to lean on one or two of the errant ones to ensure they destroyed all evidence of that day. But it had been worth it. The event had faded away from public memory. The next scandal had surfaced and we were yesterdays’ news.
Like me and her—
Fuck. I rub the ache in my chest. —Except for the emptiness that crawls in my guts and the thoughts that crowd my mind. Not to mention the nightmares that seem to be never too far away when I sleep—the voice asking me questions, demanding that I answer them. Fuck. I rub at my temples. This is insane.
I had let her get under my skin... That’s the only reason I am beginning to unravel this way.
Once she signs the divorce papers, I can walk away, and have nothing more to do with her.
So, we are no closer to finding out who was behind our kidnappings. Antonio? Well, the man had disappeared. I’d had my PI on his tail and Antonio had given her the slip. He hadn’t been seen or heard of in the last three weeks since the party…
And that message. Why doesn’t that reassure me in the least? The hair on the nape of my neck rises. Shit, I am simply imagining things. The man is long gone. He’d gotten what he wanted—the USB which had been sent to me.
He can keep it, for all I care.
If it leaks on the internet… Well, it would only lead to more speculation—not that I care—but it would be easy enough to suppress it.
If it were to happen, which it won’t. Clearly, the man had wanted to get his hands on it. For what, though? Why was it so important to get a hold of it?
The phone buzzes in my hand. Fucking Weston. I silence it. It rings again, I switch it off. The phone on my desk rings. I walk to it and snatch it up, "What?"
"It’s Weston."
"Tell him to fuck off."
"He says it’s urgent." Meredith’s voice is patient, "I think you should take this call."
"Fine," I glower at the receiver.
"Asswipe," Weston drawls back.
"Jesus, can’t you fucking go away to a place where there are no phones—preferably no means of communication—so I don’t have to hear from you?"
"Same to you, with knobs on," he snickers. "Listen," his voice turns serious, " I called you because I've gotta come clean to you about something."
"What?"
"Promise you won’t go all apeshit when I tell you."
