Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
I laugh and take a sip of my coffee.
“I can even poison Vanessa’s coffee if need be.” She winks.
“Though I appreciate the thought, that won’t be necessary.” I laugh.
“Okay. Call me if you need me. I’ll just be out here.” She watches me walk to the office door, her eyes on me, waiting.
I shake my head as I pull the door open.
“Hello, wife.”
I pause, raise my head, and see Kenzo leaning against my desk, dressed in what appears to be a black suit sans jacket. His shirt has no creases, and it makes me a little jealous. I always have to press my clothes, and I couldn’t imagine him doing that so he must have someone do it for him.
The coffee slips from my hands and runs down my legs. I scream from the burn and jump back.
“Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?” he drawls, striding toward me and holding out his jacket, which was on the back of the chair. “Clean yourself up, wife.”
Twenty-Eight
Kenzo
Quickly, I hold out my jacket to Mayve, but she doesn’t take it.
Her assistant opens the door to see what the screaming is about. When she notices the coffee dripping down Mayve’s legs, she rushes out to grab some paper towels.
“Does it hurt?” she asks Mayve on her return.
“Only a little. Luckily, the coffee wasn’t burning hot,” Mayve answers.
“I’ll be outside if you need me. I’ll make you a new cup.”
“Thank you,” Mayve says, wiping her legs before she slips from her heels and bends down to pick them up. Not for a second as she walks past me does she look at me. It’s as if she wants to avoid all eye contact.
“I passed Marco—”
“Yes, he’s my client,” she breaks in.
“He told me he knew.”
“Knew about what?” This time her gaze finds mine. There they are those fucking haunted eyes.
I hate them.
I love them.
A paradox of wonder is staring at me.
“About the divorce,” I tell her.
“Oh.” She shifts her attention back to her legs, continuing to wipe the coffee from them. “Is that why you’re here?”
“No, I’m here to tell you to be careful. Don’t open the door for strangers, and if anyone visits you that you don’t know, you are to call me.”
“Um…okay.”
“And because I want you to handle my money,” I add.
“Your money? Do you have a lot?”
I log in to my bank account and slide my phone to her. A soft “oh” escapes her lips as she sees the numbers.
“You’re a billionaire,” she whispers.
“And?”
Here they come—those eyes as they lift and find mine again.
“Should you be showing me this since we’re getting a divorce?”
“I’d rather not get a divorce, but you do seem to want one,” I state.
“It isn’t real.” Her voice is almost a whisper.
“We consummated it. It’s real,” I remind her, and her eyes flick down to my phone again before they return to me.
“What do you want me to do with your money?”
“Whatever it is you do to make people rich. I want you to handle my financial affairs.” I smile. “Half of it is yours anyway.”
She huffs loudly. “No, it’s not.” She pushes my phone back to me.
“It is. That’s the law. We had no prenup.”
“I don’t want your money, so stop offering it to me.” She sounds frustrated, and in some ways, I can’t blame her. I am all over the place because, like an oxymoron, she is two opposites. I want her. I don’t want her.
“You don’t want the house or the money. So what do you want?” I ask.
“Nothing. I want nothing from you.” She waves her hand in the air.
There’s a quick knock on the door before it opens, and her assistant walks in and places a cup of coffee on the desk before she quickly leaves again.
We stay silent for what seems like forever before I speak, “You don’t get a choice, now, do you?”
“We agreed,” she argues.
“For the house,” I say.
“Do you want me to get on my hands and knees again? Is that what it will take?” she whispers.
Oh fuck, yes!
I stand, my fingers running along her desk as I step around to her side. I lean against the desk, close to her, and she turns her face up to me.
“Do you want to get on your hands and knees for me again?”
“No, I…”
I lean down so my mouth is at her ear.
“I can smell you. So don’t lie to me.”
“Kenzo…” she whispers.
“Yes, Mayve?”
“Please stop.” I pull back and reach for her chin, holding her in place. “Kiss me and show me that you don’t mean it.”
“I’m at work,” she says, looking at the door.
I push off the desk and walk to the door, pulling the blind down so no one can see in. Then I go back to exactly where I was, exactly where I want to be.