Page 250 of Mangled Memory
I check my reflection in the mirror, resigned to the old, mismatched outfit, hair that hasn’t seen a brush, and the shiner on my face, wondering what they’ll see when the ward and her master enter the lobby. Sayingfuck it,I shove the last of the cupcake in my face, unbuckle and grab my purse and coffee. Let’s do this shit.
Whatever the hell it is.
Christian holds the door open to me in silent invitation that I’m to enter ahead of him. He walks close to my side but doesn’t touch me the way he has over the last several months. He neitherleads nor follows. My steps slow since I don’t know why we’re here or where we’re supposed to be going.
He leans down to murmur in my ear. “Go ahead. Find someone. Ask your questions.”
My face turns so quickly, our lips brush. My eyes go wide and I take a step backward, all the while captivated by his eyes and the sultry, downright sexy look he has lasered on me.
All right. This is doable. I turn toward the counter and greet a teller. “May I speak with one of your personal bankers please?"
She nods and turns toward the office doors behind her and speaks with an older woman, who stands and returns with her.
“May I help you, miss?”
“Can we speak privately?”
She nods to a door to my right and leads the way into the private, dark wood-paneled room with a table and chairs. She carries a tablet with her. Christian is the last of our trio to enter and he closes the door with a quiet snick before seating himself at the head of the table, leaving me across from… “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”
“I’m Dorinda Wallace.” Deep lines near her eyes crinkle when she smiles. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m Ayla Barone. Can you tell me my balance—” I chance a look at my husband, before adding, “And how much I can withdraw today?”
Dorinda looks to my husband, whose eyes never leave my face, before she turns to me. “Absolutely, Mrs. Barone. May I see your ID?”
I pull out my purse, grateful that Christian had the forethought to bring it. I grab my driver’s license and slide it across the table to her.
She lifts her tablet and snaps a picture of it before typing something on the screen. After sliding my license back to me, she turns the device my way and points to the figures on the screen.
“In this account”—she uses a stylus to indicate which one she’s discussing—“this is your balance.” She moves the stylus down as she moves through the accounts and their astoundingbalances. “Each can be transferred, though it usually takes twenty-four hours. To withdraw in cash, we request some time, but we can do ten thousand from each account today without any challenge. May I ask—” She pauses looking between the two of us. “Is there something we’ve done to warrant your decision to terminate our relationship? We’d love the opportunity to make it right and continue our business together.”
“I… No.” I pause. “There’s nothing you’ve done. And I’m not interested in terminating the relationship. I would like ten thousand, though, from each of the accounts listed here. “How long will that take?”
“We’d need an hour or so. Would you like to wait here or would you prefer to come back?”
“I’ll stay here. Thank you, Ms. Wallace.”
“My pleasure, Mrs. Barone. I’ll need a few signatures when everything is ready.”
“Of course.” I nod. Myof coursewas a bluff. All of this is. What the hell am I going to do with fifty thousand dollars in cash?
27
sheer spite and annoyance
Christian
Dorinda Wallace looks like she swallowed a lemon, peel and all, and is trying to find a way to avoid it getting stuck in her throat as she leaves the room.
The metal door latch hitting the strike plate in the frame is loud. I’m left with my wife, who I look to, waiting for her to meet my gaze. She doesn’t make eye contact and has a similar sour look on her face.
I thrum my fingers on the table. “Any idea how you plan to transport fifty thousand dollars out of here to the car?” I’m baiting her. One envelope will do it. “Or where you plan to stash it in our house?” I can’t help the humor in my voice. “Princess, you have a will of steel. I love that about you. You can make a plan out of sheer spite and annoyance.” More to myself I add, quietly, “I love that about you too.”
Her eyes whip to me. “She didn’t ask you. She didn’t even look at you, really. I was waiting for one of you to say something to stop me. You suck as a warden.”
I stand and lean toward the woman who infuriates me, intrigues me, and who turns me the fuck on. “My love, I am not your warden, and you are not my ward. You are my wife. That entitles you to half of everything of mine and me to half of everything of yours. At least where our finances are concerned. Our businessesare not combined for tax reasons, but legally, you have rights to that too.”
“I—Uh… What?”
