Page 82 of The Sexy Billionaire

And boy, do we shop.

22

PAIGE

Paige: Hey, I’m sorry, can we raincheck tonight? I wanted to take Natalia out for dinner to say thank you for today.

Giorgio: That’s fine. I have some work to catch up on. Have fun.

“Thanks for today, I had so much fun. I’ll see you tonight,” I tell Natalia as I step out of the car, Ray, the driver, helping me with my bags. I took a few things, including my outfit for dinner tonight, and the rest are being delivered tomorrow.

“Okay. See you later.” She waves excitedly as Ray walks me to the door.

I punch in my code and push through the glass doors, thanking him for his help. He heads back to the car, and I walk toward the elevator, stopping to check the mail first. I put my hand into my handbag to grab the key and realize my phone’s missing. It must have fallen out in the car. It is still outside, so I drop my shopping bags and rush out the door to stop the car, but they pull into traffic before I have a chance to get to them.

“Fucking look at you, you’re pathetic, trying to be someone you’re not.” That voice, the one that used to light my body on fire, now turns it to ice. Turning around, I see a pissed-off ex-husband glaring at me. My eyes narrow as I notice the black eye he’s supporting. “Oh, you noticed that bruising. You can thank your boyfriend for that. Trying to pay me off to stay away from you.”

I shake my head; has he lost his mind? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And how the hell did he know that I was here? Is he tracking me? Has he been waiting all day?

His eyes widen, his face turning red. “You’re fucking Italian asshole. Who came into our restaurant, assaulted, then threatened me.”

Gio?

No. Why would he do that?

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I yell at him.

“You’re just a slut fucking him then,” he spits, wagging his finger in my face.

I shake my head again. “No, he’s a friend,” I try to placate him as he’s scaring me.

“Bullshit.”

“Please, Michael, you shouldn’t be here,” I whisper.

“I have every right to demand to know who my wife is fucking, don’t you think?”

Michael’s become unhinged; I see it now. Has he always been like this? Or has the breakup triggered something?

“I’m not your wife,” I remind him.

He grabs me. “You will always be my fucking wife.” He grunts as his fingers dig into my arm.

“You’re hurting me,” I say, trying to wrestle away from him.

“I don’t fucking care, you’re hurting me with these lies. Why do you need to be protected from me? I’m your fucking husband.”

Is he serious right now? Look what he is doing to me.

“Open the fucking door, Paige,” he says, violently pushing me up against the glass door to my brother’s apartment complex.

“No,” I tell him, my heart pounding loudly in my chest.

“You never do as you are told,” he spits before his hand connects with my face in a hard slap.

I’m stunned silent.

“Now open the fucking door,” he yells at me.

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