Page 27 of Mr Nice Guy

“So is Jax pimping himself out as well?” I ask with a smirk.

He rolls his eyes. “Hilarious.”

CHAPTER12

TANNER

Ican tell by Joseph’s face when I arrive at my office on Thursday morning that I’m not going to like what he has to tell me.

“Spit it out,” I tell him when he hesitates for a beat too long.

He winces and offers an apologetic look. “She’s waiting on the phone for you.”

There’s only one “she” who would prompt Joseph to behave like this. My insides curl with dread and my grip on my briefcase becomes tight enough to turn my knuckles white. “Thanks,” I say stiffly, before striding into my office.

This is really not what I want to be dealing with first thing in the morning; but at the same time, at least I haven’t had a whole heap of work stress eating away at me all day. Things have been pretty good all week, actually. And by ‘good’ I mean, the usual levels of stress and anxiety I live with on a daily basis without too much extra shit piled on top of it. Stapleton and Steele still won’t take no for an answer, of course, but if they want to waste their time barking up the wrong tree, that’s their business. And the finance team was able to do some magic with the budget, so we can go into our next meeting with BCN on more solid footing, which is a huge load off.

To be honest, the thing that’s been keeping me awake this week is the situation with Deacon. Unlike last ween when it completely took over my life, I’ve somehow managed to switch it all off when I’m at work. But when I’m not at work? Jesus Christ… Ever since that blow job on Monday, I’ve been like a pendulum constantly swinging from anxiety and confusion to desperate horniness. The horniness just makes me more confused, which makes me more anxious; and I always want to fuck when my anxiety spikes, so that brings me back to horny. It’s a vicious fucking circle. My brain’s a mess, and I feel like my dick’s permanently hard, and I’ve been using my dildos so much I ran out of lube last night and had to run out to the kitchen and grab a bottle of olive oil. That’s how hard up I was. I put olive oil in my ass.

Which reminds me—I need to buy more olive oil. Because there’s no way that bottle’s going back to the kitchen.

But my anxiety over Deacon is a blip on the radar compared to what’s waiting for me in my office. Fuck, I’d give anything to hear his voice on the phone instead of hers. He has a really nice voice. Even when he’s using it to whisper filthy shit in my ear.

I let out a fortifying breath and pick up my office phone. “I’m busy, Natalia. What do you want?”

I know what she wants, of course, but I have to do this dance every few months anyway.

Through the glass wall of my office, I see Joseph put down the extension just as Natalia answers. “Aren’t I allowed to call my husband to say hello?”

My jaw tightens in frustration and I have to close my eyes and draw in a deep breath before I can respond. “Ex-husband.”

“That’s not what my lawyers say,” she chirps.

“What do you want, Natalia?” I repeat, not willing to let myself take the bait. I want her to just fucking ask for more money so I can agree and be done with her for a few months.

“How’s Isobel?”

Fuck, was that a threat in her voice? I grab the edge of my desk in a white-knuckled grip, my heart thudding as a million worst-case scenarios race through my head at warp speed. Screwing my eyes shut, I take a breath and force myself to chill. It was just a question. She wasn’t implying anything; not yet, anyway. “She’s good,” I say, proud of myself for the steadiness of my voice. “Likes school, likes her teacher.” An image of Deacon pops into my head, but I shove it away; I really don’t need to be daydreaming while I’m trying to hold up my end of this conversation.

“That’s good,” she says, but the disinterest couldn’t be more obvious.

“Look, Natalia, I’m really busy, so…”

She cuts me off with a dramatic sigh. “You know I hate doing this, but things are expensive here…”

“In Bermuda? Yeah, no shit.” She’s not going to just hop off to somewhere more affordable, however. Not when she still has access to the Bank of Grimsay, albeit very limited and heavily-controlled access.

“You know, Tanner, you could make this so much easier on both of us if you just—”

“I tried to make this easy on us,” I say, cutting her off. “You’re the one who wouldn’t accept my offer.”

“Because it didn’t give me what I deserve,” she bites back. AKA twenty-five per cent of Grimco Media, as laid out in our pre-nup. The pre-nup that’s only supposed to take effect after ten years of marriage, which we haven’t got to yet.

I manage to hold in a groan, rubbing the tension from my forehead with the pads of my fingers. “I’ll pay your credit card bill and put fifty grand in your cash account.” I don’t even want to think about how much she’s racked up on that card. I had the company lower the limit to two-hundred grand when we first separated; that seemed like a pittance compared to the unlimited one she used to carry, and I guess at the time I wanted to make sure she’d have access to money if it took her a bit to get back into work and earning steadily for herself. I very naively assumed that would be something she’d want for herself; it didn’t cross my mind that three years later we’d have gotten to the point of threats and intimidation just so she could continue living off my money while she does god knows what in the Caribbean, holding the gun that is Izzy’s custody to my head while she waits out the ten-year clause in our pre-nup.

“Fifty?That’ll last me a week here!” she exclaims.

“Then move somewhere more affordable,” I say tightly, losing my tenuous hold on my patience. “Or get a job. You have a college degree, Natalia, maybe it’s time you actually used it. I’m not filling your account with cash just so you can spend it all on booze and coke.”

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