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I stalked out of his club and went to the only person I knew may have some information—Louisa.
Louisa waited for me in a tiny crème and black lace bodysuit, complete with a corset that made her waist as nonexistent as my need to screw her.
“Hello, darling. Good to see you.”
She sidestepped from the door to allow me to walk in. As soon as I closed it behind us, I pinned her with a look that said a fuck fest wasn’t in the cards for us.
Know your audience, lass.
“Put something on.”
“Like what?” she asked, blinking slowly.
“A fucking raincoat if you wish. Do I look like a bloody stylist?” I grabbed something I suspected was a robe lying on a back of a chair and threw it at her. She wrapped it around herself quickly, drawing in a breath.
“What’s the matter?” She made her way to the wet bar to pour us some drinks.
“What did you do?”
Surprisingly, I sounded fine. Wry. Businesslike. Not like I was about to commit capital murder.
“What do you mean?” She stepped toward me with two glasses of whiskey, handing me one. I didn’t acknowledge the gesture nor the drink.
“What did you do?” I repeated.
“Devvie, stop being so weird, for heaven’s sake.”
She took a step back.
I took a step forward.
I had no idea what I was doing, and I didn’t want to find out.
Sweven brought out emotions in me I didn’t care to explore.
I’d always been calculated. Calm. Full of confidence.
I was not any of those things right now.
“What. Did. You. Do?” I took both glasses form her hands, putting them aside on a credenza, crowding her against the wall. We were inches from each other.
The air was charged with menace, violence. She could feel it.
Louisa wilted slightly and finally asked, “How much do you know?”
“Enough to know it reeks of your involvement.”
She stuck her chin up. “What I did may have been unethical, but it certainly wasn’t illegal.”
“Wasn’t illegal?” Yup. I was roaring in her face now. Her hair flew back from the impact. “There are people after her! She is on the run!”
“People after her?” Louisa wore an expression of genuine surprise. “I did no such thing. I’d never send anyone to go after a woman, let alone a pregnant one. It goes against everything I believe.”
I gave her an aren’t-you-a-saint look.
She elevated her eyebrows, in a way that said, quote me on this, motherfucker.
I decided to strike her off the list of suspects. For now. Frank and my mother kept my hands full, as it was.
“You did something,” I maintained.
“A small something,” she countered. “Really small. Teeny-tiny, actually.”
“What did you do?”
“Devvie …”
“Now.”
“It was your mother’s idea.” She dug her fingernails into her fists, looking unbearably embarrassed, her cheek turned in my direction. She couldn’t meet my gaze.
“What did you do?” I asked for the millionth time.
“I can’t tell you. You’ll hate me.”
“Too late. Already there. Now, for the last time, before I make you regret the day you were born—what happened between this morning and this evening to inspire my girlfriend to leave me?”
All the air was sucked from the room in the moment before her confession.
“I paid her.”
It was out in the open now. The admission.
And once it was out, Louisa proceeded, gingerly throwing another crumb of information.
“It’s Ursula, Devvie. She was relentless. Completely unhinged. Time is ticking. She got nervous … gutted, really … and …” She shook her head frantically, reaching for my face. I threw her hands away.
“And?”
“And she wrote her a one-million-dollar check.”
“Fucking hell.”
“And Emmabelle took it,” Louisa added desperately, her small fists balling around the fabric of my dress shirt. “She took the check, Devon. What does it say about her? She doesn’t love you. Doesn’t need you. Doesn’t see you. I ache for you every day.”
She spoke the words to my shirt, unable to look at me when she said them.
“You’re my first and last thought. You’re always in the back of my mind. Loving you is like breathing. It’s compulsive. Let me love you. Please. Just give me a chance, and I’ll be everything you need me to be.”
“You can’t be everything I need you to be.” I stepped backward, letting her stumble a little before gaining her composure. “Because you’re not the woman I love.”
Her eyes were big and full of tears. I walked over to a small dining table, picked up her phone, and handed it over to her.
“Now you’re going to call and tell your pilot that’s on standby that you will be leaving tonight. Go back to England. You will never set foot in Boston again. Not as long as I’m alive. And if you ever come back—”
I paused, thinking about it. Louisa’s face was now marred with makeup and tears. A concoction that gave her a slightly comical look, like she was a long-lost Cradle of Filth member.
