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It rang two times before he picked up. He sounded tired. Wary. Angry. “Hello?”
“Thomas? It’s Brianna.”
He said nothing. The silence weighed long and dark between them. Accusatory. She took a calming breath, but her heart rate doubled.
“Are you still in town?” she continued. “I’d like to see you.”
“I’m still in Vegas,” he said after a long pause. “But I have no intention of seeing you. We can conduct business over the phone and via e-mail.”
She gritted her teeth. He was going to make this difficult, wasn’t he? “Please, I need to talk to you. In person. Would you be available to meet?”
“If this is a hookup call…” he said, his voice tinged with warning.
“It’s not.” She dug her fingers into the pillow until they disappeared into the plush cotton. “Whatever your damages are, they aren’t my fault. Don’t treat me like they are.”
“Then don’t use me to fuck up your husband’s life.”
“Stop assuming that’s what I’m doing.” Deep breaths again. She couldn’t fly off the handle. Couldn’t lose her temper. She rarely lost her temper, but Thomas just seemed to be able to push her buttons. “I just want to talk.”
“Why?”
“You wanted the truth, didn’t you?”
“And I got it.”
So much for deep breathing and calm thoughts. She snapped. “Listen, you pig-headed, arrogant, close-minded prick,” she hissed. She tried to bite the words back, but they poured from her lips in a furious torrent. “You have no idea what it is you got. You assumed. I’m trying to be honest with you. So let me.”
His answer was so long in coming that she thought he’d hung up. Then he chuckled and murmured, “You called me a prick.”
“That’s because you’re acting like one,” she growled. “And you don’t have to sound so amused by my cursing.”
“Then stop sounding so funny when you do it.” He let out a sigh so heavy it crackled through the receiver. “Fine, we can talk. Where?”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There was no way around it. She had to invite him to her house. Maybe she could wait for him on the doorstep and break the news of her family to him over a drink at dinner. Or maybe after three drinks. She could work her way into a confession on her own terms. If she told him she wanted to meet somewhere neutral, he would probably still think she was hiding something. And she was. It wasn’t just a husband. But how long could she hide the kids from him? And why bother?
r /> Once he saw them, he’d make his excuses and go back to wherever he belonged. Their brief dalliance would be over, and she’d have cleared her name from adultery. So what if the thought of coming clean made her palms sweaty? It didn’t matter. It was time.
She clenched the phone tighter and forced the words that would seal her fate to come out. “My house. Tomorrow at six.”
“I’ll be there,” he said. “No more lies between us, Bree.”
“No more lies,” she promised, and wondered what she was getting herself into. “Now get a pen.”
She gave him her address, then hung up. Her palms were sweating, her body shaking, but this was far from over. Now came the hard part. The hardest part of all.
Waiting until tomorrow so she could come clean.
…
Thomas was fairly sure he was about to get punked by Chris Hanson.
Maybe Jerry Springer.
Yeah. Springer had a bigger audience.
He stood on the walk and eyed the front door. There was probably a camera crew in the bushes and another inside Brianna’s sprawling ranch-style house. The husband was probably waiting upstairs until Jerry gave the secret signal. Jerry would say lowlife, and the esteemed Mr. Faulk would jump him. Jerry would wait just a little too long to call his security monkeys to pull him off. Just long enough so that when they replayed the video for the studio audience, they’d pump their fists and scream Jerry! Jerry! Jerry! while the fight rolled on.
And Thomas would deserve every single blow.
