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“Simone,” Trent protests, “this was completely unprovoked.”
Punk’s chest inflates, irritation contorting his face as his nostrils flare. “Are you shitting me?”
“I’m not speaking to you,” Trent hisses, holding his hand up to Punk. “Learn to know when you’re included in a conversation.”
Punk’s boisterous laughter fills the conference room. “Counteroffer: learn to know when a woman is done with you.”
Before Trent can react against Punk, I bring his attention back to me. “Trent, if you think for one second I don’t know you’re responsible for damaging Chase’s motorcycle, then you’re wrong. I saw the security footage. Wearing a hood to hide your face was a smart move. Though next time, wear gloves. Your orange hands are distinctively yours.”
He quickly shoves his hands into his dress slacks like he’s trying to hide the evidence. “I don’t know what you’re going on about. Whatever lie your boyfriend fed you, you’d be foolish to believe it.”
“Chase doesn’t need to lie. I have my own eyes, Trent. Your actions triggered this morning’s reactions.”
Giving up on the charade, Trent gives me a pleading look. “Simone, you can’t be serious about him. He’s not good enough for you.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I huff, sitting down at the table and opening the next client folder to investigate.
“What the hell can he give you? Has he given you a vacation to Belize like me? Or the latest Coach purse every season? The trips to the spa? Or the condo in Folsom?”
My temper gets the best of me. I slam down the client file on the table with a loudsmack, glaring at Trent from where I sit.
“Things, Trent. You gave me things. Guess what? I can buy my own things. I can buy the vacations, the condos, the latest fashion accessories—I don’t need a man to buy me anything. Chase isn’t an ATM I need to shake down to get what I want out of him. What I want is commitment, loyalty, and love. Chase delivers on all of it, more than what I could ask for. And he does it freely, without expecting a return on his investment.”
He releases a patronizing snort. “Money makes the world go ’round, my love. If he isn’t bringing something to the table financially, where’s the security in the relationship? He’s a damn vagabond. Probably freeloading off your checkbook.”
Punk growls, stepping forward to do God knows what to Trent. I reach out, grabbing the waistband of his tactical pants before he can do anything to jeopardize our mission. “Punk, I have this.”
“Then finish it,” he spits. “Or I will.” Mercy Ravens defend all family when under attack. Stepping aside to let me handle the situation is difficult for the moron. I appreciate him letting me take charge.
Facing Trent’s nasty glower, I square my shoulders. “Assuming my man is some kind of penniless bum is completely off the mark. Not that it’s any of your business, but Chase earns double what you make in an entire year.”
Trent balks. “Not possible.”
“Believe what you want. I handle his accounts and have no reason to lie. Chase already offered me a home with him, and a family.”
Something I said makes Trent pause. His eyes meet mine with a wild urgency. “A family? You would have his kids? He can’t possibly be what you want,” Trent argues, his face twisting into a snarl.
“He’s everything I want and all I never knew I needed,” I answer honestly.
Ignoring Punk’s earlier warning, Trent steps around him. He makes it one step in my direction before Punk grabs him around the back collar of his shirt, hauling him to the door like a bitch teaching its pup manners.
Trent helplessly digs his heels into the carpet, seething. “Get your fucking hands off me, you filth!”
“Language, Trent,” Punk warns. “We don’t want your colleagues getting involved, do we? Would hate to let them know what you’ve been up to in your free time. Behave, or else we’ll get the police involved. They’d love to have a suspect in the latest vandalism case at our hotel.”
“You can’t prove a thing,” Trent hisses, trying to break loose from Punk’s hold.
Punk doesn’t let go. He’s stronger than he appears. Lean muscle doesn’t mean lack of strength.
He shoves Trent out into the hall, blocking his access back into the conference room. “Video evidence is on our side. What’s on yours?”
A few heads pop out of offices, curious eyes trying to make sense of what they’re witnessing. Cynthia is among them. She takes a hesitant step out into the hallway behind her boyfriend, her flawless face lined with confusion.
Trent must sense the eyes of his colleagues watching. He straightens his suit, hiding the evidence of his altercation with Punk. “I’m here, Simone, whenever you’re ready to come back.”
Before I can tell himwhen hell freezes over, he turns on his loafer heels and strides away.
“Trent?” Cynthia calls after him, a tremble in her voice. Her head swings to me, hurt clear as day in her sad eyes. Her sadness is quickly replaced with a look of contempt. She hurries down the hall after her boyfriend, calling his name like a plea.
