But now? I just felt tired. Bone-fucking-tired.
"Richard, want to celebrate?" Olivia's voice drifted over. "I know this amazing new restaurant—"
"Not necessary." I didn't even look at her, sliding the pen back into my jacket. "You guys go. Put it on my tab."
Around the conference room, executives exchanged glances. Davis's people raised eyebrows.
Olivia's smile froze for half a second before she recovered. She moved closer, lowering her voice. "What's wrong? You just closed this huge deal, and you're not even happy?"
Of course I wasn't happy. Anyone who'd been served divorce papers would be pissed as hell.
I turned to her, voice flat. "Olivia, since when do I report my schedule or my mood to you?"
Her face went white. She didn't say another word.
Dead silence all around. Good.
I grabbed my phone off the table. The screen lit up with a new email notification from the PI I was paying double to report Natalie's whereabouts every twenty-four hours.
I still couldn't let Natalie go. She was so fragile, so beautiful. Without me, she'd struggle.
Of course, part of me wanted her to suffer a little. Then she'd realize that only at my side could she be happy.
With that thought, I opened the email.
In the first photo, Natalie wore a tight purple dress I'd never seen before, standing on some cheap little stage, gripping a microphone, eyes closed, head tilted back. The lights hit her face, sweat sliding down her neck into her neckline, wearing a wild smile I'd never seen.
Not how a Mrs. Winston should look. But it made my cock hard as stone.
The second photo made my blood boil.
A guy with light brown hair and green eyes stood close to Natalie. In the shot, he was handing her a drink. I could clearly see their hands touching.
My brain screamed to snap his wrist.
Third photo, fourth, fifth... every single one showed this man with Natalie.
Until the last one—the guy dropping Natalie off at an apartment building, opening her car door. Her smile was blinding. Couldn't she tell just from his face that this guy was a player?
Christ. My grip tightened on the phone until my knuckles went white.
"Mr. Davis," my voice came out surprisingly steady—a damn miracle, "let my team finalize the details with you. I have an urgent matter. Excuse me."
I didn't wait for a response. Grabbed my jacket and headed out.
Heels clicked behind me. Olivia must've followed. I didn't bother looking back, just stepped into the elevator.
The second the doors closed, I called the PI.
"Did that man spend the night with Natalie?"
"No, Mr. Winston. He drove off. Mrs. Winston returned to the apartment alone."
Thank God.
If I'd gotten the other answer, I couldn't imagine what I'd do.
"By tomorrow, I want everything on this guy." I hung up.
