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“She’s. Not. Yours.”
“I know, but—”
“No but,” he snapped. “It’s not our place to interfere in their marriage. If she finds out and wants to leave, then she can leave. It’s not like Liam beats her or keeps her hostage.”
“But if he dies in a match, do you have any idea what that will do to her?”
He sighed so loud, it was a quiet scream. “I don’t give a shit what it will do to her. She means nothing to me—as she should mean nothing to you.”
“We’re friends, and friends look out for one another.”
“You aren’t looking out for her. You’re manipulating her husband like a puppet.”
I didn’t have an argument that he would understand. What I did was stupid and illogical, but I didn’t care. “Maybe she’ll agree when he talks to her.”
He shook his head slightly. “Come on, Damien. We both know that’s not going to happen.”
“Then we’ll find another client. We’ll make money some other way—”
“He’s the best fighter in this fucking city.” He slammed his forefinger into the wood.
“And we’ll still represent him for the regular fights—”
“No one gives a shit about those fights. And don’t you want Liam to be dead? Think about it. With him out of the way, you could have another fling, or whatever the fuck you had. All your problems are solved.”
I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. “But it would hurt her…and I don’t want her to get hurt.”
When Hades officially gave up, he leaned back into the booth and stared across the room. His drink was untouched because a smooth glass of scotch couldn’t wash away his rage. “I don’t know what to do with you…”
“We still have him as a client, and he’s still fighting. So, nothing has changed.”
“And if your business isn’t growing, then it’s slowing. Those are your words, Damien.”
“Just let it go.” The damage was done, so it was time to move on.
“You want me to let it go?” He pointed his finger into his chest. “No, asshole. You’re the one who needs to just let it go.”
9
Annabella
Weeks passed after my conversation with Damien, and I didn’t hear from him. I was so angry with him for what he did, but after we talked, my rage evaporated like a pot of boiling water. I blew off all my steam…and then let it go. Knowing I did mean something to him made me feel better…but also worse.
But now that door was closed forever, and it was time to move on.
So, that was what I did.
Next time I saw him, I would be calm about it, practically indifferent. I would try to look at him as just a friend…not the sexy hunk who used to be in my bed.
After I finished work, I drove home. When I woke up that morning, Liam was still in bed because he was out late the night before. He said he had business to take care of, and since I was giving him a clean slate, I believed what he said.
I left my coat by the door, relieved to be in the warm house after feeling the cold weather against my skin. My boots were pulled off, and I left my purse and keys on the table in the walkway.
Liam was in the kitchen, the sound of him moving pots and pans on the stove reaching the entry. “Baby?”
One of the things I loved about Liam was his work ethic. Sometimes he cooked dinner, sometimes he did the dishes, and sometimes he did the laundry. I never had to ask him. He didn’t expect me to do it because I was the woman in the relationship. It had always been that way, even when we were married the first time. “What are you making?” I turned the corner and saw him scoop the pasta onto two plates. “Ooh…chicken parmesan.”
“Hungry?”
“You know I’m always hungry.”
He set the pot back on the stove then kissed me, his arm resting across the deep curve in my back as he pulled me in. “One of the things I love about you.” He kissed my forehead before he pulled away. He carried the plates to the main dining table, where he almost never sat.
I sat across from him and placed the cloth napkin in my lap. “Looks good.”
He was already eating, cutting into his breaded chicken and placing a large bite in his mouth. He was in one of his gray t-shirts, his loungewear. He leaned over the plate and continued to demolish his food. “How was your day?”
“Good. Same as always. Yours?”
“I worked out and did some laundry.”
“What time did you get home last night?”
“Two, I think.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin and kept eating.
“And how was that?” I tried not to pry, but I was curious why he needed to go out so late.
