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No shit.
As I trek into the nearest empty office with a door I can close, I dial my boss. “What’s wrong?”
Evan hesitates—something he rarely does. “Hey, I need to apologize first. Last night before dinner, Nia was making conversation with Sloan, commenting that you looked so happy, which thrilled Nia, especially after you shocked us by insisting on marrying Sloan, despite how hard you’d fallen for Becca. Nia assumed you’d told Sloan the marriage was your idea and that you once had feelings for my first wife. I’m guessing the conversation backfired?”
Utterly. I close my eyes. Everything makes sense now. Sloan thinks I was lying to her about my feelings and my intentions, just like Darren. She convinced herself that I told her what she wanted to hear the day we got married so I could fuck her and fuck her over all at once.
Nothing could be more untrue. “Son of a bitch.”
“Sorry, buddy.”
“Nia didn’t know.” And she wouldn’t have fucked this up for me on purpose.
“She didn’t. She was trying to help.”
I’m just not sure how to make things better with my wife. But I know two things: First, Sloan wouldn’t have been so livid unless she felt something more than hate for me. Second, I can’t stand around jawing with Evan while she’s clearly up to something.
“Thanks for filling me in, buddy. I need to run. There’s mutiny afoot here. One of the newly appointed VPs just told me in the politest way possible to go fuck myself. I need to find out what that’s about.”
“I can tell you, since that’s our other problem. I just got a message from Michael Astor. He got an earful from your wife about our professional practices. He wanted me to explain why the hell we’re in the business of taking companies and corporate wives by force.”
“Fuck.”
“You know he’s a family man, apparently devout. He sounded displeased. When I tried to call back just before I rang you, his assistant let me know he’s on the phone with Sloan and insisted that he not be disturbed.”
That’s bad news. Really fucking bad. “We need to do something to assure Astor that we’re ethical. He’s only getting one side of the story and—”
“You need to do something. Not only do you have all of Reservoir’s financials at your fingertips—which he needs to see—you’re in the middle of this mess. You have to be the one to explain.”
Explain what? Tell a fucking stranger that I started out with some fairly harmless—but admittedly not principled—corporate spying, until I fell for my rival, so I married her? Yeah. That story is going to go over well. My better bet is to smooth things over with Sloan so she explains that she misunderstood the situation.
“Evan, buddy, I don’t think that’s going to work. The truth is—”
“Sorry. This is the one time I’m overruling you. Usually I listen, and we compromise. I can’t afford that today. I told Michael Astor’s assistant that you’d be calling him at the top of the hour, when he’s scheduled to finish talking to your wife. He’ll be expecting your call. Do whatever you need to make this right.”
Three beeps tell me Evan hung up.
I check my watch and curse. I’m so screwed. I have to find Sloan in twenty-seven minutes. Damn it.
After circling the building again and wasting ten minutes, I try the obvious but stupid solution and call her. Naturally, I get voice mail.
Cursing again, I hang up and start pacing. I don’t want to call Michael Astor. I don’t want to spill my guts. But worse, I don’t want to throw my wife under the bus and basically label her a hysterical female to a potential client. Granted, that’s not what Evan told me to do, but what else can I say to the man in order to explain the situation? What are the odds Astor will believe it’s all a misunderstanding?
Practically none.
But I owe Evan. I was the horrible friend who fell in love with his wife—or at least what felt like love at the time. Now…I don’t know. My feelings for Sloan are so much different, so much stronger. I want to be mad at her for going nuclear without talking to me, but if she thinks I lied to her about where my heart is after telling her that I love her, why should I have any hope that she’ll trust my explanation?
Worry torques me, twisting my guts in knots, as I make my way back to my makeshift office. Shane’s former assistant, Destiny the stripper, has left a resignation letter on my desk. There are a handful of others there as well. Things are going from bad to worse.
A glance at my phone tells me Astor is expecting my call in two minutes. I have no fucking idea what to say.
One last time, I try Sloan. Not only doesn’t she answer but the call won’t connect at all. Has she blocked my number?
Shit. I can’t lose her. I fucking can’t. But I can’t not bring this deal home for Evan, either. Once I have, I’ll do whatever it takes to make Sloan understand that I wasn’t lying to her on our wedding day. I’ll convince her that I love her. Something will work, right?
But as I make the dreaded call to Michael Astor to explain how and why Sloan doesn’t have all the facts in this situation right, I’m terrifyingly worried I’ll never win her back.
April 24
