Page 110 of Perfect Satisfaction

We both know it.

CHAPTERFIFTY-SEVEN

Austyn Kensington’s voice could shatter a soul. Tonight, it did mine at Redemption.

If you haven’t heard her cover of “Movement,” you’re missing out, but your heart may be intact. @hozier duet please?

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go find some tissues to mop up the puddle of tears trailing in my wake.

@djkensington @wildcardmusic

—Moore You Want

I’m thrilled I finished my project earlyand under budget. Deciding to celebrate since I have someone to celebrate with, I stopped and picked up a bottle of champagne to share with Arek. I’m so busy trying not to drop it along with the dessert that was too delicious to pass up, I don’t hear the voices coming from the living room until I’m almost on top of them.

It takes everything inside me not to drop it all and draw attention to myself.

“Now you know everything.”

“I know more than you do,” Liza Hina purrs. She crosses her million-dollar legs and eyes Arek over the rim of her coffee cup. “I know you’re nothing but a foolish man if you think this is going to work.”

“You believing I’m a fool is nothing new, Liza.” Arek’s voice is laced with humor as he reaches for her free hand.

She lets him take it. Their fingers brush before entwining. Just like he held mine.

In horror, my arms go as numb as my heart, and I lose my grip on everything, including reality.

Crash!

Arek leaps up from his position on the couch. His face is comically horrified.

We’re maybe twenty feet apart, but there’s more than a fizzy soggy mess between us.Though I suppose that’s an apt description for the way my heart feels, I think wildly. Without acknowledging the other woman who has slowly risen to her feet, I whisper the only thing that comes to my mind, “In our home?”

Then I turn and run for the entrance. My heart is as deflated as the bubbles of Dom Perignon spreading across the concrete.

“What made me so foolish as to believe I had a chance at his heart?” The words pop out of my mouth just as I step back into the elevator I vacated only moments before.

I’m not certain whether to be relieved or further destroyed that my husband didn’t come after me.

Again.

I dig into my bag and pull out my phone. Blindly, I unlock the phone and say, “FaceTime Angie.”

Because of the reception in the elevator, the call doesn’t go through until I’m back at the ground floor. Immediately, I start walking. When our call connects, she takes one look at me and says, “Whatever you need, it’s yours.”

I burst into tears and begin to tell her what I had walked in on.

I’ve wandered the city, and now I’m being escorted by Louie Scott—co-owner of Redemption—to a VIP area where Beckett is “entertaining a few people. Meet us there, Sula. It will keep your mind away from things if nothing else,” Angie urged.

Reluctantly agreeing because the last thing I want to do is go home, I crawled into a hired car forty-five minutes ago.

Beckett’s bodyguards let me slip in with a quick nod, parting their wall of bodies with minimal fuss. There are whines and catcalls from fans hanging around the spacious lounge, but I ignore all of them. I have something much more devastating imprinted on my brain.

He brought her into our home.

“You look like you could use a stiff drink,” Louie remarks the moment we enter the lounge.

I twist my face up to meet his. I don’t know what he reads there, but he pulls me into his large arms and begins rocking me. He mutters, “That bad?”