Page 51 of Hard Limits

“Her assistant.”

I didn’t want to go, not remotely, but I also hated the thought of putting the spotlight on myself through our absence. And although I couldn’t tell Mr. Vale, I’d dealt with a hundred Carissa Dunns back in Massachusetts. Every one of my father’s friends seemed to be married to either a gold-digging bitch or a meek little clone of my mother. There was no in-between. Some of the women were only a few years older than me, and they didn’t much care for a girl who went to Harvard. Meera said they felt threatened.

“I know it might not always seem like it, but I’m stronger than I look.”

Carissa, I could cope with; it was Mr. Vale who left me off kilter.

“I’m beginning to realise that.”

“So we’ll go to Le Jardin and prove I’m nothing but a PA. That the prenup won’t be broken by me. I took this job for the steady paycheck, not sexual favours from the boss.”

“Am I allowed to be disappointed by that?”

I laughed at the joke.

Mr. Vale didn’t.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I checked the messages. “The construction crew just arrived. Let’s start work.”

CHAPTER 20

BRAX

What the hell was Carissa playing at?

Actually, scratch that question. Brax knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted to get close to Meera, close enough to assess the likelihood of Brax slipping up and breaching the prenup. She’d played this game twice before, with assistants number eight and seventeen, both of whom had been young, blonde, and beautiful, everything Carissa felt threatened by. Number eight had been dumb as a box of dildos, vapid enough that Carissa eliminated her as a prospective fuck buddy for her husband. She knew Brax got turned off by stupidity. As for seventeen, Carissa had made a proposal, the girl had accepted, and Brax had fired her the next day. Thank goodness his investigator had overheard the conversation.

But Meera wasn’t blonde, and based on his history, not Brax’s type at all. So why this dinner? What did Carissa know?

The question preyed on his mind the whole day.

Le Jardin des Délices Terrestres, known colloquially as Le Jardin, was an esoteric vegetarian French restaurant—an oxymoron if there ever was one—and Carissa’s current favourite if her credit card statement was any indication. She’d stopped eating meat five years ago, or six if one didn’t count the last time she’d sucked cock.

“A vegetarian French restaurant?” Meera asked as they paused outside, steeling themselves. “What does it serve? Bread?”

That her reaction should be exactly the same as his had been the first time Carissa brought him here made Brax chuckle.

“Based on past experience, it’s a bunch of dishes pretending to be something they’re not. ‘Escargots’ made from mushrooms. ‘Salmon’ made from carrots. ‘Steak’ made from soy protein.”

“I can see why Clarissa likes it, then.”

“It’s Carissa,” he corrected out of habit. She hated that extra L.

“Yes, I know that. She pretends to be a loving wife and successful businesswoman when in reality, she’s neither.”

Brax was seeing a different side to Meera tonight. A sharper side, and he liked it. He held the door open and motioned her through.

“Let’s get this over with.”

“Le Jardin des Délices Terrestres,” she murmured as she brushed past. “The Garden of Earthly Delights. Our very own Hieronymus Bosch horror story.”

At least they hadn’t hung a replica of the eponymous painting on the wall. That would have put anyone off their dinner, and Carissa did a good enough job of that on her own. She’d already arrived with Sophie, the copper-haired, elfin assistant she’d hired midway through last year. While Meera had a degree from Harvard, Sophie held qualifications in massage, hairdressing, and nail art. Nothing wrong with that, but they were hardly relevant to the global business empire Carissa claimed that she helped to run.

Carissa’s hair was perfect, as usual, and her nails had French tips today. One of Meera’s nails was chipped, and until an hour ago, they’d been covered in paint. She’d twisted her hair into a messy bun and pinned it into place with a jewelled nipple clamp she’d found in the basement. Brax wasn’t certain she knew what it was, and he wasn’t about to tell her. He got a kick out of it. Of course, he’d prefer she used it for its intended purpose, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Meera was wearing the jewellery he’d had Violet buy for her, the necklace and the earrings, plus the shoes and purse she’d picked up at the airport. If Brax couldn’t touch her, then using gifts as a proxy was the alternative. A poor substitute, but he had no other option. She’d teamed the accessories with a plain black knee-length shift dress, and she’d never looked more magnificent.

Brax kissed Sophie on the cheek, then did the same to Carissa. Had to keep up appearances. Meera took a seat between Brax and Sophie, which left her directly opposite Carissa at the round table. At least if tonight turned into a bloodbath, Brax was close enough to stick a fork in his wife’s thigh.

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