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She clears her throat. “Hi.”
I watch her closely. Her head is still tipped back. She’s chewing on her bottom lip furiously. “Did you need something?” I ask.
A beat of silence. “I, uh, I’m about to leave the office,” she says.Lies, rather.
“I won’t be home for a while.” I look at the car dash. It’s almost eight.
She doesn’t call me out on breaking our promise. “Oh. Okay. I’m going to pick up Chinese on my way home. Do you want me to get you anything?”
Her expression twists as soon as she’s spoken the question. It’s strange, seeing her reactions to what she’s saying. She sounds normal. She looks pained and unsure. Not guilty.What doesthatmean?“Sure. Thanks.”
“Want anything specific?”
“You know what I like.” I don’t mean for the words to sound suggestive, but there’s definitely some innuendo.
“Do I?” Rather than confident, she sounds unsure.
“I’ll try to get out of here soon, okay? We can…talk.”
“Okay. Bye.” She hangs up but doesn’t move. Her posture doesn’t change until she swipes at one cheek. She’s crying. The realization hits me like a bolt of lightning and flattens me like a two-ton weight.
“Let’s go,” I tell Oliver.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing relevant.”
“Are you going to—”
“Oliver. I swear to God. For the last fucking time. This is none. Of. Your. Business. Coming here was a mistake.”
The rest of the ride back to the office is silent. I don’t bother going back upstairs. I say good night to Oliver and then head straight into the garage and my waiting car.
Scarlett beats me back. When I walk into the penthouse, she’s sitting cross-legged on one of the couches that overlooks the terrace, poking at a takeout box. Her expression is blank when she looks up, and I hate it. I want the smile she gifted me with last night.
“You’re home.”
I strip my suit jacket and toss it on the couch. “Yes.”
“Are you hungry? Your food is—”
“Do you know Nathaniel Stewart?”
I watch her reaction closely. She coughs. Swallows. Takes a sip of water from the glass on the coffee table.Incriminating. “Yes.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Earlier tonight.” She holds my gaze. At least she’s being honest. Although she’s smart enough to know I wouldn’t be broaching this topic unless I knew something.
“Are you sleeping with him?”
“No.” Her answer is swift.
“Don’t lie to me, Scarlett,” I warn. “If you’re screwing him, just tell me the fucking truth.”
“Thatisthe truth.” She shoves the chopsticks in her food and stands, crossing her arms. “I swear.”
“If you’re not sleeping with him, then why would you meet him at a hotel?Multipletimes.”
