It was at that exact moment that the door—myhotel room door—opened.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
I turned and found Ford standing in the threshold of my room.
Had he seriously flown to New York to surprise me?
Well, I was definitely surprised.
And I wasn’t the only one.
Ford
Chapter 22
There wasn’t enough time to savor the “I told you so” moment in my head before I realized it was Andrew Homewrecker Apellido who was moving in on my wife.
Nor was there enough time to fully enjoy the look of total shock and awe on that slimy asshole’s face when he realized what was happening.
As he stood there in the hallway gawping at me, my fist went flying. Straight for Andrew’s face, and practically of its own accord. It wasn’t even planned. I punched the guy purely on instinct, and damn did it feel good.
“Ford!” Emzee cried out.
Andrew staggered back, stunned. “You son of a—”
He lunged forward to throw his own punch. It hit me square in the jaw.
Which was unexpected, truth be told. But fun. Because a good fight was exactly what I needed right now.
“Andrew!” Emzee scolded. “Both of you, stop!”
Our blood was up, adrenaline pumping. Neither of us paid her any mind.
Andrew swung again but I twisted out of the way just in time, then delivered my own shot to the gut, which had him gasping. When he threw an elbow, it knocked me backward into the hotel room. He charged in after me like a raging bull, wrapping his arms around my waist and trying to knock me down.
Instead, I used his momentum to shove him into the desk—a desk I’d spent the last few hours fantasizing about fucking my wife on top of—and then leaned over him to see if he was still conscious. That was when his fist came up and connected with my brow bone.
I barely registered what was happening. Everything was a blur of pain and triumph as we rolled around on the floor trading blows.
My frustration and rage, my disappointment, the pressure to succeed and the ever-looming fear of failing—my marriage, my job, my parents, my ex-girlfriend—all my warring emotions and the things in my life that I couldn’t control were boiling over inside me. Fueling me. It didn’t matter that Andrew Apellido himself had little to do with my problems.
In the background, I could still faintly hear Emzee yelling at us to stop, and I wasn’t entirely sure whose blood was on my shirt, but it wasn’t until Andrew held his hands up and stopped fighting that I finally stopped, too.
Both of us were panting and disheveled, furniture was upturned, a smear of blood marred the cream and gold pattern of the carpet. My anger was fading, but Andrew had gotten some pretty good shots in. My face throbbed, and every muscle in my body ached.
“Gentlemen,” a sharp female voice said.
Our heads swiveled toward the doorway, where the very unamused hotel manager and a few burly security guards were looming.
“I’ve come to escort you out of my hotel,” she said, sounding for all the world like a harried elementary school principal. “Your transportation to Urgent Care awaits.”
Andrew held up a hand. “Ma’am, I really don’t think it’s necessary—”
“Unless you’d prefer I have thepolicetake you there,” the manager finished.
That was when I started to come back to my senses.
Behind the manager, I could see into the hallway, where Emzee stood glaring down at me with her arms folded over her chest. Even angry as hell, my wife was beautiful. And even knowing I was in deep shit with her, I couldn’t help smiling a little.
