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She flashes a smug smile and sits down in the chair across from my desk even though I haven’t offered her a seat. “I just came by to notify you that I’ll be seeking full custody of our daughter.”
I start to laugh but there’s something about her demeanor that makes me stop and narrow my eyes instead. She’s too confident. Too cocky. “What’s going on? I know you don’t seriously want full custody of Isla, so why don’t you tell me what it is you’re really after?”
“Fifty million pounds.”
“Excuse me?” I lean in over my desk and stare at her for several long seconds as I try to figure out whether she’s joking or if she really thinks she’s going to extort me for a hundred million pounds. “That isn’t going to happen. Not fifty million. Not even close. I’ll give you one million right now to sign the divorce paperwork, leave, and never come back.”
Even that is more than I should give her, but I’m feeling generous. I’m also ready to have her out of my life forever.
“A measly one million?” The laugh that comes out of her mouth is harsh and biting. “How stupid do you think I am? Let me be as clear as I possibly can, Keiran. I’ve kept my mouth shut for years, but I will ruin you in the press. I’ll drag you and your family’s name through the mud until the court has no choice but to award me full custody. If you really want me to sign that paperwork and go away forever?” She shrugs. “You know my price. Otherwise, you can expect to see your name popping up in the papers quite a bit more frequently.”
She’s delusional. Absolutely crazy. But she knows she has me stuck between a rock and a hard place. I don’t want to give her any money—especially not as much as she’s demanding—but I refuse to give up custody of Isla.
I should be yelling at her. I should be telling her exactly what I think about the life she leads and the endless string of shitty choices she makes, but I’m too shocked, too numb to muster that kind of anger. I’m sure it’ll come later, though.
“Do you really think you can just sit here and blackmail me in my own office?” I ask instead. “That I’ll simply pull out my checkbook and send you on your way with some extortionate amount of money?”
She stands up and gives me another one of those infuriating shrugs. “I don’t expect you to do that today, but I think you’ll realize it’s a pretty fair offer in the end. I have faith that you’ll come around eventually. Isla will have to see everything that’s printed about you at some point. Do you really want her reading about all of your affairs? All your dirty business deals? Don’t forget that I have the receipts.”
“Get out.” I can’t take this anymore. I can’t stand to look at her face for another second. “Get out and don’t try to come back. You won’t be allowed on the premises.”
“Careful, Keir,” she calls out as she walks to the door. “You don’t want me to start fighting dirty.”
“I don’t think you know how to fight any other way.”
She’s gone before I can finish that sentence—probably for the best since I can finally start to feel that pent-up rage coursing through my veins. I’m so angry that my hands are starting to shake.
Who does she think she is?
Who does she think she’s dealing with?
She’s going to blackmail me? I’ll take her down with me.
Even if I do, that still doesn’t solve the bigger problem. What will happen to Isla?
I feel like I’m on the verge of a breakdown by the time I make it up to the penthouse. I’m not physically shaking anymore, thank God, but I’m still so angry that I can hardly see straight.
I need to start planning for Kinsley’s inevitable media blitz. I need to beat her to the punch and get out ahead of whatever lies—or truths—she tries to tell about me. But all of that will require a solid team behind me and I don’t even have a fucking assistant right now.
The apartment is quiet as I step off the elevator into the foyer. Too quiet. And the shitty thing about using an elevator to get home is that I can’t even slam the door behind me.
Instead, I sling my briefcase down onto the sofa and stomp off toward my bedroom so I can change clothes. Maybe I’ll take a run. Maybe a swim. Hell, maybe Ella will be up for a fuck. Anything that will be a productive, constructive outlet for my stress and anger.
Otherwise I might just go insane.
“Keir?” Ella’s voice stops me just as I make it to my bedroom door. “Do you have a second to talk?”
Dammit.
Even before I turn around to usher her into my room, I can tell by the sound of her voice that sex is off the table. Her worried, hesitant expression is all the confirmation I need.
“Sure,” I wave her inside, then close the door behind her. “What’s up?”
“What’s wrong?” she asks instead. “You look like you’ve had a rough day.”
I have to laugh. If I don’t, my head will explode. “That’s putting it mildly. I don’t want to talk about that right now, though. What do you need?”
Too direct?
