Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 140412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
Amber gasps sharply at my accusation, but Nathan shrugs and replies calmly, “She’s already been cleared.”
“You investigated me?” Amber’s shock is almost comical; she thought she was above suspicion, that much is plain.
Nathan doesn’t answer her. “Bailey, as I said, I won’t be coming to dinner. And the future, I would appreciate it if you would knock bef—”
“I would appreciate it if you’d stop vacillating between respecting me and treating me like I’m the fucking furniture,” I shout over him.
Amber moves toward the door. “I think it’s time for me to leave.”
“It’s time for Bailey to leave,” Nathan says, his jaw tight. “Amber, you and I have things we need to discuss.”
I don’t move.
Nathan looks up, then simply calls, “Guards?”
“Are you seriously going to have me dragged out of here?” I demand.
“Not if you leave.” He’s furious with me. He has the nerve to be furious with me.
I turn and go, head held high. It’s bad enough the guards in the hall have heard my massive tantrum and my own mate calling to have me removed by security.
But as soon as I get back to my office, I slam the door and cry.
CHAPTER 47
I’m on the sofa in my office, my laptop on my chest, chin tucked down very attractively, I’m sure, when Nathan enters. He murmurs a dismissal to the guard at the door; Xiao hit her limit of work hours a while ago.
“What are you doing?” he asks softly.
“Watching a body language expert on YouTube.” I close the lid and precariously move the laptop to the floor. I can’t wait until my other arm isn’t so sore that I can’t use it to carry things. “Trying to learn how to catch liars.”
Nathan is shirtless, wearing gray sweatpants, of all things. I assume that means he’s fresh out of bed with his mistress. Or, he didn’t get any and now he thinks those stupid gray sweatpants that are ridiculously flattering of the bulge region are going to tempt me.
That’s not out of the question, as furious with him as I am.
He comes to the sofa and lifts up my feet, putting them in his lap when he sits. “Do you think human psychology works on werewolves?”
I raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t say I was going to use it on you.”
“You don’t need to. I don’t lie to you.”
Yeah, it’s so noble of you to carry on your affair openly. And to spring the crown of Greater London on me because you technically weren’t lying.
“Do you think that I might be happier if you would?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No. And I’m not saying that to make me feel better about having an affair. I think you’d be angrier if I lied to you.”
“I know you’re not trying to make yourself feel better,” I say. “You can’t feel better about something you don’t feel bad about in the first place.”
He looks away with a sad smile. “You might be surprised to learn how I feel about it.”
“Surprise me, then.” A flint of hope strikes against the steel in my heart.
It snuffs immediately when Nathan changes the subject. “It’s four in the morning. Why are you still in here?”
“It’s comfortable,” I lie. He doesn’t buy it, so I admit, “Because I’m afraid to be in my sitting room. I don’t like to walk through there.”
He makes a thoughtful noise. “I understand. It was difficult for me to be in the throne room today.”
“It didn’t show,” I say, but then I remember the sweat on his brow as we left, the way he hurried to get away from me. I rise up on my useable elbow. “Was that why you took off so quickly after everything?”
“It is.” He hangs his head. “I didn’t want you to see me upset.”
“So, I wouldn’t see proof that you have emotions?” I try to laugh it away as a joke. “Don’t worry. I never suspected for a moment.”
“Bailey…” he stops himself, then starts again. “I don’t let people get close to me. It’s nothing personal. It’s not that I don’t respect you or that I dislike you.”
“You just don’t give a shit about my feelings.” I’m not going to let him get away with such a “poor me” answer. Even if his sadness is written on every chiseled feature. “It doesn’t make me feel any better when you’re aloof and cruel to me to know that you’re that way with everyone. It still hurts. Your intent, how you treat other people, none of that lessens the hurt.”
“You think I’m cruel to you?” His tone tells me that he doesn’t want it to be true. But if he was that concerned about it, he could have altered his behavior at any point. Especially after I made it clear that he’s hurt me.
“Yes. You are cruel to me. You’re possessive and protective one minute, then the next you’re treating some other woman like she’s the queen of this pack. Going to her for advice, screwing around with her in your bed.” My throat constricts and I sit up. “When I woke up from surgery, you were…” there isn’t a better word for it. “Loving. You acted like you cared about me. But tonight, you acted like I was a petulant child—”