"Mr. Reese had an emergency meeting. I happened to be in Vegas, so he asked me to tell you personally." Olivia stepped closer, her heavy perfume hitting me. "You've been absent from the company. The board's worried."
I stayed silent, watching, waiting for the truth.
Less than a minute.
"Fine, I missed you too much, so I asked Reese for your meeting time. The deal's done—files signed." Olivia met my piercing stare, no more lies.
Still, I said nothing.
Lately, I couldn't even fake politeness with Olivia. My wife hated her; I should side with my wife.
Olivia looked awkward at my chill, but instead of leaving, she spoke. "I heard about Natalie... So you're in Vegas for her? Planning to get back together?"
"None of your business."
Her voice softened. "Richard, Natalie's a singer now, pregnant with someone else's kid. The Winstons won't take her back. You should—"
"Olivia, watch your mouth. Natalie's mine. Disrespect her, you challenge me." I was done with this talk. I didn't need reminders the baby's not mine.
"Richard, we've known each other for ten years." She looked up, dead serious. When I didn't pull away, she boldened, leaning in. "I've loved you since day one. I'm perfect for you. I can manage the family, run the business, I can—"
Fuck, I hated her scent.
"Enough." I cut off her stupidity. "Who said Natalie and I are done?"
These people never got it—my wife didn't need to do that shit.
If I wanted family managers or business runners, I'd pay a thousand pros.
Olivia claiming ten years of love? Women had thrown admiration, lust, whatever at me from Wall Street to Fifth Avenue. They wanted the wealth, power, looks, or the thrillof bagging Richard Winston. Olivia was just one, maybe more persistent, but same shit.
I had Natalie. That was enough.
Chapter Nineteen
Natalie
Damn first trimester. Even caffeine was off-limits.
I sat by the window at Cloudtop, sipping sparkling water in small gulps.
Across from me, Andrew was going on about some disaster at his new band's rehearsal, his blond hair glinting in the sunlight, his smile bright enough for a toothpaste commercial.
"So at rehearsal that day, our drummer Mike showed up with his new baby—this electronic drum kit that cost enough to buy half my car." Andrew rolled his eyes, his fingers mimicking drum strikes on the table. "This genius spent a whole hour trying to find the perfect snare sound, twisting knobs on his effects processor like he was defusing a bomb. Finally, our lead singer lost it and yelled, 'Mike! Your snare sounds like a duck with a cold stepping on a plastic keyboard! We're supposed to be doing pop rock, not experimental noise!'"
I pictured the scene and couldn't help laughing.
Andrew always did this—used these carefree jokes to pull me out of my misery, at least for a little while.
"Thanks, Andrew." I set down my glass, genuinely grateful. "Not just for lunch, but for... that night too. You're a good friend."
Andrew's smile faded slightly. He leaned forward, elbows on the white tablecloth. "Natalie, seriously, are you okay? That guy..." He paused, his tone tinged with disbelief. "I looked him up after. Jesus, the Winston Group heir? He's the kind of guy who could buy half of Nevada. And you're his wife?"
"Was." I corrected him. "Richard and I are divorced. There's nothing between us anymore."
Even as I said it, guilt gnawed at me. The truth was, Richard and I had been sleeping together more and more lately. God, every time Richard kissed me, we couldn't stop.
Andrew studied me for a few seconds, those usually laughing eyes sharp now. "The story doesn't look finished. At least he doesn't think so. The way he looked at you that night..." He seemed to shudder. "Like a beast guarding its prey... Natalie, if he's harassing you, pressuring you with his money and power... You know you can tell me. I'm no big shot, but I know people and have some connections. At least if you need it, I can be a decent witness, or... help you find a solid lawyer. Probably can't compete with his legal dream team, but still."
