Page 39 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

“What? That’s all you have to say? I tell you I’m having an affair, and you add me to some to-do list like I’m some meaningless task—”

Her accusations spark his ire, and the ice in his veins shatters as he bellows, “No—you’re my fucking wife! A wife whose loyalty has been sullied and nailed to the bedpost of another man. You made your choice. Repeatedly, as I understand. Now I’ve made mine.”

“Khalohn,” she calls as he starts to make his way around her. “Khalohn!”

“You could have told me.” He spins in the opposite direction and points a finger at her as he mutters, “I’m a fair man, not some pig-headed brute. You didn’t have to lie and cheat while I was building something—building something for us.”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit! You’re hardly ever home. If you were, you’d have heard me tell you I changed my mind. I don’t need all of this. If I’d have known—”

“If you wanted out, all you had to do was ask!” Taking a step toward her, he stares into the depths of her soul and demands, “Look at me. Fuckinglookat me. I would have let you go. That’s how much I love you. Now it’s too late. This is not the partnership I agreed to. Every time I look at you, I’ll see him. You’re not the wife I want. Not anymore.”

Khalohn reaches forhis phone without bothering to glance away from his computer screen, the ringtone recognizable as belonging to only one. As he presses the handheld speaker to his ear, Maribelle’s exasperated tone clues him in to her annoyance as she simply says, “I’m sorry, dear.”

She doesn’t have a chance to say much else before Porter strolls into view, and a hint of a smirk teases the corner of his mouth. He tries his best to conceal it from the man who is practically grinning as he unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat on the leather sofa adjacent to Khalohn’s desk.

“No apologies are necessary, Maribelle.”

“Oh, someone must apologize for that man—today, it might as well be me.”

She disconnects and Khalohn quirks an eyebrow at Porter as he returns the phone to its cradle. This elicits a mischievous chuckle before the broker shrugs and admits, “She makes it far too easy. She only has herself to blame.”

“So you continuously insist.” Shifting his attention back to the task at hand, he informs his friend, “I need a minute and then we can go.”

“That won’t be necessary. While I hate to cut our weekly meeting short, I figured you wouldn’t mind the excuse to stay and work on—whatever is you’ve got prioritized for the afternoon. I’m going to the Hamptons this weekend. My car’s waiting for me downstairs as we speak.”

“All right,” says Khalohn, looking at the man with a scowl. “If that’s the case, you could have called and canceled.”

“Yes, but then I wouldn’t be able to attempt to persuade you to come with me. You know I’ll show you a good time.”

“And you know I’m not going to the Hamptons this weekend.”

Porter leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees as he insists, “I cannot, in good conscience, leave you here for another boring, predictable weekend alone. Convince me I’m wrong, and you’ll be free of me until next time.”

“My life is notboring,” mutters Khalohn dryly. “I’ve got a company to run—”

“Which you do splendidly,” Porter interjects. “In fact, you’re so fucking good at it, you’ve got a room full of people out there doing your bidding, which meansyoucan take a weekend to kick back, relax, and enjoy more than a little female attention. You come with me, and even the ones with rings on their fingers will be throwing themselves at you.”

Khalohn’s even temperament is nicked at his friend’s comment, earning the man nothing but a scowl in response.

“Okay. Bad form. You’re right,” he acquiesces, standing to his feet. Porter buttons his jacket as he crosses the room, stopping in front of Khalohn’s desk. “All I’m saying is, it’s too damn hot to spend your weekend holed up in the city. There won’t be any pretty little things in bikinis around here.”

“Maybe not, but I won’t be left wanting for female attention. I never am.”

A slow, sly smile pulls at the corner of Porter’s mouth as he slips his hands into the pockets of his linen suit. “No, I suppose you aren’t.” With a shake of his head, he starts to take his leave as he says, “The women I have in mind are a lot cheaper. You ever feel like slummin’, you know how to reach me,” he teases. “See you next week.”

Khalohn listens as Porter leaves, but he doesn’t mutter a farewell. Neither does he watch him go, his friend’s comments taking another turn around his thoughts. While Porter has a vague idea of how Khalohn feeds his sexual appetite, that’s all it’s ever been—anidea. If he knew how much money Khalohn’s invested into a steady stream of women for the last couple of years, he’s sure he’d never hear the end of it.

Lifting his gaze, he stares out the windows across the room. His thoughts shift not to the steady flow of cash he’s invested in Clandestine’s—but the fifty thousand dollars he’ll have spent on one woman in the span of only seven days. For a moment, he loses control of his thoughts, his memory fogging up his mind. He can hear Bryn’s shallow breaths; feel her soft skin against his lips; taste her arousal on his tongue. He remembers the warmth between her legs, and how quickly he discovered how she liked to be taken care of. His mouth starts to water as he replays the generous manner in which he used his tongue, and the soft moans she sang for him all the while.

Khalohn closes his eyes as his erection fills the crotch of his pants. He inhales deeply through his nose, forcing his mind and body into submission. A frown of frustration tugs at his brow, and he shakes his head at himself. When he opens his eyes, he looks to his computer, recognizing he should get back to work. Bryn is a fantasy. In his annoyance with himself, he acknowledges if he’s not careful, his quest to unearth the full value of their transactional relationship will make a fool out of him. He admits to himself she arouses him with a memory simply because he hasn’t yet found his own release. He’s allowed her to excite him—leaving him suspended in anticipation.

Tonight,he reminds himself.Tonight, the fantasy will play out.

Khalohn discards his thoughts of Bryn as he re-submerges himself into his previous task. It’s Maribelle who takes it upon herself to make sure he gets lunch, and he eats it at his desk before his scheduled afternoon conference call. When hunger rumbles his stomach again, he decides to stop for the day. As he leaves the office, he hardly notices how quiet or how late in the evening it is.

Upon arriving at his penthouse, he heads straight for the fridge. He sorts through his options of prepackaged meals, settling on a chicken dish he slides into the oven. As his dinner cooks, he discards his suit jacket and takes up the previous Sunday’s crossword puzzle, finishing it just as the timer sounds on the oven. He eats his dinner standing up, looking out the tall windows in the dining area beyond the kitchen. It’s nearly eight by the time he’s finished, and he makes his way to his study to work for a couple more hours.

With the sun all but set, he switches on the light, the sleek, modern light fixture hanging from the center of the room casting a warm glow in the otherwise dark space. Three of the four walls are lined with built-in shelving units painted charcoal gray, the fourth wall containing two tall windows. His desk is to the right of the door, the mahogany piece simple and classic, outfitted with little more than a lamp, his home computer, and a few files tucked with contracts he’s still mulling over.

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