Goddamn. I was only gone a few seconds. “Just wait,” I call while David puts Charlie into his car seat and starts to strap him in. I squeeze in between him and the side of the car, no small feat considering the narrow space and my wide hips. David backs away almost immediately as soon as my hip bumps into his. Instead of the tailspin of lust it would have shot me into three years ago, now I just feel the pressing need to make things right with my son.
“Col’!” Charlie says, his ds not very well defined yet.
“Yes, cold.” I smile as I wipe down his hands with the wipes that do feel a little chilled compared to the early summer air.
Icy, neatly made-up eyes narrow at me in the rearview mirror. “This is just more time that you’re intruding on with our son. We’re making a note of every minute over and the judge will hear about it.”
For a second I just stare back at her through the mirror. Bitch say wah? There’s so much in that last statement that is fucked up—
Charlie grabs the wet-wipe from me and starts smacking me in the face with it.
Court. I breathe out. This is why I will hire a good lawyer. We’re going to court and everything will get settled there. Opening the driver’s door and bitch-slapping her in the presence of my son might feel awesome in the short term, but it won’t do me any favors in the long run.
I turn back to Charlie and give him a smile and an extra-smoochy kiss on his forehead. “Nose kisses.” He snuggles his nose against mine and my smile turns real. “Momma loves you.”
“Wove you.”
My grin is wide as I pull back from him and wave. David immediately slams the door shut. I spin on my heel and glare at him.
My voice is a heated whisper. “You try to pull any of that counting minutes BS on me, I’ll do the same to you. You were at least fifteen minutes late. I can keep records, too. And you might want to remind your,” I grind my teeth together and bite back the adjectives batshit crazy, “wife that, while Charlie might be your son by an unfortunate quirk of biology, there is no way in hell, that he belongs in any way to that woman.” I jab an elbow toward the Shrew in question.
David just rolls his eyes at me and walks away. Just walks away without a word.
My fists ball together until my nails are biting so hard into my palms I’m almost drawing blood. Old me would have chased after the bastard and demanded he listened to me.
But this has always been his super-power, after all.
Leaving when shit gets real.
Their fancy-ass car takes off almost the moment his door closes. With my son inside. And I have no say about it.
It still shocks me, that some stranger who didn’t know me or Charlie or anything about any of it could sit down one day and just decide that these people get to take my son twice a week.
What if, someday soon, another stranger decides that David and the Shrew get to drive off with Charlie and never bring him back?
The light-headed feeling swoops in. I sit down on my steps and put my head between my legs. I take a deep breath in. That decides it. I paid off my two month’s back rent but was holding off paying this month’s until I figured out if the money needed to go toward rent or for the lawyer.
Lawyer it is.
Five
“Undo your top two buttons.” Bryce eyes my breasts critically.
I’m caught aback. It’s week number three that I’ve been working here, but other than a few emails from afar requesting I work topless while the glass between us was clear, he hasn’t directly engaged me other than professionally at meetings. What’s changed today?
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he all but snaps.
Shit. I forgot how mercurial he can be. I get to the buttons. Remember what it’s all for, Cals. I have an appointment with my top family law firm pick in a few days. Eyes on the prize, eyes on the prize.
Bryce tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “One more.” He makes a gesture of impatience when my fingers hesitate on the buttons, and I quickly comply. Eyes on the fucking prize.
Then he looks me up and down. Almost immediately, he starts shaking his head. “No, that skirt won’t do.”
I look down at myself. I’m wearing a gray pencil skirt. It hugs my curves. I look up in surprise. Almost all the clothes in the closet are replicas of this style in varying colors.
He walks to the cabinet and pulls it open. The next thing I know I hear hangers clanking and the swish of cloth. What the hell? He’s a fashion consultant now?
“This one.”
He pulls out one of the few dresses. It’s very classy and… cute. Not slutty at all. It’s an A-line black and gray hounds-tooth dress with a fitted bodice that flares slightly at the bottom. Like something I might buy at Modcloth, but probably of higher quality fabric. My eyes flick up to Mr. Gentry in question. He’s smirking at me. Naturally.
“Change.” He holds out the dress. And doesn’t make a move to turn away.
Right. Back to game playing. I didn’t really think he was done with them, did I? No, I just tried to pretend it was over so I’d have enough peace of mind to focus on not fucking up learning all I had to over the past few weeks. But that’s probably exactly what he’s wanted, me on edge, waiting for whatever twisted shit he has coming next. Sadistic bastard. Always keeping me guessing and off kilter.
Don’t give him the satisfaction of rattling you, Cals.
I undress at the same pace as I would do if at home. No faster or slower. I keep my gaze somewhere around the area of his chest.
Is that a cop out? Should I be glaring him in the eyes? Or is that what he wants? Would my defiance make it worse? Dammit. I hate having to second guess every single thing I’m doing. No matter what I do, I’m still probably out of my depth in this stupid chess match.
I finish undressing and put my clothes in the cabinet. I can’t help glancing at him as I reach for the dress he’s still holding. He pulls it away when I do. I bite back the urge to roll my eyes. What? Are we in grade school?
His smirk gets bigger. Goddamned bastard.
“I approve of your undergarment choices.” He nods at my black thong. In spite of myself, my cheeks flush.
“I didn’t wear it for you.”
His eyebrows raise as if in disagreement.
I grit my teeth.
He gives me a winsome smile. “Either way, it does well for our purposes today.”
What does that mean? I keep my posture straight. I swear my posture’s never been as good as it has been since I’ve met this man. I always stiffen like it’s some kind of armor. Ridiculous. “How so?”
He ignores my question. “Go to the bathroom and bring yourself to orgasm. Make sure to touch yourself through the underwear. I want them drenched with your scent.”
“Wha—” I start, but break off mid-question. Of course, this fucker would make this kind of request.
His face darkens. “You have,” he pulls his phone from his pocket, “approximately eight minutes. If you haven’t soaked them sufficiently at that point,” he leans in close so that his breath is hot on my ear, “I’ll come and give you a helping hand.”
I pull back from him and his smile goes wide in what I can only feel is an imitation of a shark—all sharp, white teeth.