Page 3 of Blackmail
Tony shoots him a glare. Blond Guy responds by winking and blowing a kiss in a way that seems less affectionate and more of a “piss off” gesture. Against the odds, one corner of my mouth pulls up into some semblance of a smile.
The enemy of my enemy and all that.
“Bas. You’ve, uh, been working late a lot,” Tony manages.
“I’m not sure if that’s your excuse for getting caught or if you’re trying to blame me for the fact that you brought someone else into our bed, but you’re right. I have been.” And if I hadn’t come home to shower off a spilled cup of coffee and change, how many more times would this have happened before I knew?
“We had an agreement, Tony.”
No community gossips more than Belle Argo’s wealthy elites. A community with which I do a great deal of business as an entrepreneurial consultant, and from which I do not want people whispering about me behind their hands. Tony should know that better than anyone. And yet here he is, sneaking around behind my back.
Tony stammers and tries to pull open the sticky top drawer on the antique dresser he just had to have when he moved in. At this moment, I’m questioning every night he was out with friends. Every event he hosted with his party planning business. Should I have seen a sign sooner, but I wasn’t paying attention? My gut tells me Tony won’t give me a straight answer, which leads me to one apparent certainty.
Two certainties. No, I wasn’t paying enough attention. Also, I don’t trust him after this.
“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to turn around, I’m going to leave, and I’m going to go back to the office.” I know Lehman won’t be happy to see me. I also know the employees call me Bastard behind my back. Lehman will just have to go ahead and say it to my face. “While I’m gone, I want you to pack your shit and find somewhere else to stay.”
Tony’s sculpted brows hit his hairline. “What? Where am I supposed to go?”
“I don’t care. Not here.”
Tony grapples for a piece of clothing, finally wrestling on a pair of briefs. “Look, I’m sorry. I fucked up. Can’t we at least talk about this?”
“We are talking about it. Right now.” My anger surges again. Tony and I married when we did for reasons of convenience. But we had mutual respect—a symbiotic relationship—or so I’d thought.
Out of the corner of my eye, a now mostly dressed bottom boy pulls Tony’s Tiffany blue wallet from a pair of khakis on the floor. I bought it for him as a wedding gift.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Tony storms over and snatches back the wallet and pants, but not before Blond Guy plucks out a stack of cash.
“You only paid me for the sex,” he says with a wide grin. “I charge extra for the drama.”
I turn back to Tony, whose face is bright red. “Can’t even cheat on me the regular way, you had to hire a sex worker? Asshole.”
The blond guy raises his chin. “I prefer whore.”
There’s a flicker of vulnerability as he sweeps his gaze from my toes to my head. Just as quickly as it appeared, the look is gone. With another wink aimed at me, he slides on a pair of sunglasses and tries to slip past me. I grab his arm as he passes and press him against the wall, giving him a glare that’s made more confident men piss themselves.
The fault in this situation lies with Tony. Still, the bottom boy’s apparent lack of remorse gives me the urge to wrap my hand around his throat.
Whether he’s stupid or just cocky, the more petite man is not intimidated. He only smiles and uses the thumb and forefinger of the hand holding Tony’s cash to remove his sunglasses again. Then the little asshole slides them onto my face.
“There you go. You need these more than I do.”
Now I’ve got his arm in one hand and my phone in the other. If I want to take them off, I’ve got to let go of something. I release him and remove the sunglasses. “It’s after nine at night. Nobody needs sunglasses right now.”
The sex worker clears his throat. “Gray eyes are more sensitive to light and more prone to damage and certain types of cancer. You need your vitamin D, though. It will probably be a big help for that grumpy-ass attitude of yours and the fact that you’re awfully fucking beige for a guy who lives in Florida. Be a real shame if you couldn’t glare at people like you’re dying to either fuck them or murder them. It’s hot as shit.”
Tony makes a sort of strangled gurgling noise, which I ignore. “Where the hell do you get off judging me for anything?”
“No judgment.” He shrugs. “And no getting off. Not here, anyway.”
Tony sounds as if he’s choking on his tongue. Blond Guy might be an even bigger asshole than I am.
Then the escort—the whore—pushes past me and marches down the hall and through the stairwell door with his head high. As he goes, he folds the money from Tony’s wallet into his back pocket and slaps his own ass for good measure. I wonder if he cares that it’s a long way down to the lobby. Judging by the glimpse I caught of his quads, I’m betting he has the stamina to make the trip.
If I hadn’t caught him in bed with my husband, he might have my respect. Maybe he does just a little, anyway.
Chapter
