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“Fine.”
Ding dong.
No. No. No.
Her brows lifted. “I thought you have a meeting.”
“I-I do.”
She flounced to the front door as if it were her apartment instead of mine. I rushed to keep up.Damn you, Kane.
My heart drummed so hard in my chest, I was certain I was having a heart attack.
How am I going to explain this? To either of them?
He’ll never help Penelope. She’ll never forgive me.
Alma threw open the door.
“I have a package for Miss Cunningham. I tried to ring up, but only got a busy signal.”
I leaned against the antique chest in the foyer at the sight of Henry, the doorman.
“Did you order something?” Alma snatched the package, checked the label, and tossed it at me as if it were on fire. “Walk me downstairs, Henry?”
“Certainly, madame.”
She finger-waved at me. “See you later, sister dear.”
“See you,” I returned absently as I studied the label on the envelope.
It was addressed to Penelope.
CHAPTERNINE
KANE
“Who doesn’t havea cellphone these days?”
I stabbed the speaker button on my desk phone for what had to be the tenth time to stop the annoying busy signal that buzzed every time I tried to reach JoJo.
One of my clients had chosen against my advice to fly his mistress to Italy when he wasn’t supposed to leave the country. He’d been gone a week and wouldn’t have gotten caught—hell, I hadn’t known he was gone—except said mistress had taken to blasting photos of their getaway all over her social media.
Now he was wanted in not only this country but Italy too, courtesy of the U.S. government.
Why the hell did people get married if they were never going to be satisfied with the person they chose?
Alma and I didn’t marry for love. I never truly chose her nor asked her to marry me. But I’d stood by her for many years. She’d never been discreet with her dalliances, but, thank God, the internet hadn’t been her weapon of choice. She’d leave photos of her and whoever her flavor of the week was all over our apartment.
I’d never really cared. She had her life. I had mine. We both benefitted from the arrangement.
What I hated was what her infidelity represented.
Failure.
That was something I didn’t do often. My work life was stellar. The job was hard, but I was good at it.
My personal life . . . it was a disaster.
