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He pauses and takes a deep breath. My eyes are locked on his face.
His jaw is so pronounced. He’s been gritting his teeth, and his eyes are just a bit sullen, which honestly, only I would notice.
While I wait for him to find the words, I sit with my own teeth clenched and my heart racing.
It’s pounding so hard in my chest I’m almost worried that he can hear it thumping around.
I grip the pregnancy test tight as he locks eyes with me and begins to speak.
“Elsa...”
The Capitalist Chronicle
Tanner Sharpe: “Please, Elsa! Take me back!”
by Lis Langley
New York—They broke their beds, our wallets, and each other’s hearts—but if you thought things were through for the Lingerie Lovers, you thought wrong.
In an exclusive interview with Tanner Sharpe—by yours truly—the newest details of this lacy little lingerie spat have just come to light. Sharpe has searched his soul, came up empty, and turned to the shriveled little raisin he calls his heart instead. And what the heart wants?
Tanner Sharpe’s heart wants Elsa Blakely back.
“If she would just talk to me, this would all be over in an instant,” Sharpe reassured me in a clandestine interview as he begged me to bring his message to the public stage. “Elsa isn’t perfect, and neither am I. But at the end of the day, Lis, it’s me and her. Always has been, always will be. Without her, I’m shit—and you can print that.”
You’ve put your plea in the right hands, Mr. Sharpe—because I’m about to do just that.
“Elsa, if you’re reading this, come back to me,” Sharpe dictated. “I fucked up. I’m man enough to admit that. Did we have our problems? Sure. Everyone does. But you and me, Elsa—we had something together, babe. You know it. I know it. Lis Langley’s readers know it. If there was life on Mars, they’d know it in space.
“A hundred years from now, our lace panties and leather bustiers will be gone. But you and me, Elsa—what we’ve got together—that kind of thing resonates for more than just one lifetime. Everyone has problems. We’re aware of that. But the love I have for you…not everyone has that, Elsa. Some people never will.”
A heart wrenching plea, dear readers! But will it be enough to unfreeze ice princess Elsa Blakely’s frozen-over heart?
When asked for any final comments, Sharpe had this to add.
“The venue is still booked, Elsa. The florists are on standby and no one has canceled the caterers. I know you’ve never been late to a meeting before—and I doubt you’re about to start now. You’re still on my calendar, babe. The wedding is still on. All that’s missing is you. I’ll be waiting for you at the altar. You always did look good in white.”
I don’t know about you, dear readers, but it seems like Sharpe is holding his breath on this one. I know I will be, too—will you?
Chapter 30
Tanner
Walking into a room full of assholes applauding me—has never pissed me off more in my entire fucking life.
The moment I step into the office, it starts. Streamers are unfurled in multi-colored ribbons. Balloons drop. The pop of champagne bottles go off like gunfire, as the corks are shot across the room, and a dozen different douchebags offer to buy me a beer later for what they think I did to the woman I love.
A year ago, I might have taken them up on it.
Christ, a year ago I would’ve gotten off on the idea of hurting Elsa so badly she’d quit her own damn company.
But now?
Now it just fucking sucks.
I might be able to endure the hordes of faceless jackasses pawing at my Armani as they attempt to pat me on the back, but I don’t have to smile through it. So I don’t. That’s the benefit of being Tanner fucking Sharpe in a post-Dirty Little Angel world—at least I don’t have to fake shit anymore.
Or so I think for the five fucking minutes it takes me to wade through congratulations, only find my board of directors waiting for me yet again.
