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“You really need to understand boundaries a little better. We may have this weird agreement in place, but that doesn’t mean you own me.” I pushed past him.
Connor followed me out to the living area.
“Was that a business plan?” he asked, and I huffed, flopping on the sofa, clicking the remote to turn on the TV. “Is that your grand plan to escape the clutches of your mafia family? To be a wedding planner?”
I turned up the volume.
“Project management. That’s how you plan to escape the gangster life?” Connor asked, standing in front of the screen. He tossed back his whiskey and placed the crystal glass on the shelf beside him.
Then, he lifted another remote and turned the TV off.
Goddamn him.
Heat was blazing from my face.
“What do you want me to do, Connor? I’ve had two years’ work experience, and I’ve got a business degree. I don’t have any money to invest, and just about my entire trust is going to you after we get married. At least I’m trying.”
Despite his cruel judgement, I liked the idea of creating weddings. I’d been obsessed with them all my life, and now with my experience creating events and working with Bloom Events, the idea felt fun.
I’d been involved with some of the best events in NYC working with Donna, which accounted for something. She didn’t do weddings, so she might want to expand or consider a partnership of some kind.
I had ideas.
Well, they were forming, and I had time to put things in motion.
Connor’s criticism had been horribly unwelcome.
He was right about one thing, though; I wasn’t sure how I was going to retain my freedom after we divorced, but I was going to try.
There wasn’t an instruction manual for this.
“How about asking my advice? I might know a thing or two about creating businesses. I own twenty-fucking-five of them. I could help you,” Connor growled, crossing his arms. “Ever think of that?”
No.
“That wasn’t part of our deal. Just forget it. I promised I’d be out of your hair when our agreement ends. So, it’s not your problem.”
Connor stood glaring at me for several moments and shook his head. “Draw up your plan, and I will take a look at it.”
“No,” I snapped. “I want to do this on my own.”
“Mia!” he yelled, and I had almost jumped. “I’m not letting you leave this house or marriage with nothing but the boxes you arrived with. If you need—want—to create a profitable business, then that’s what we will do.”
We?
I pressed my lips together, and we glared at one another.
“I’m not your responsibility.”
He then walked over to me and pulled me to my feet. One hand brushed the hair from my forehead, the other one cupping my face. “I’ve decided you are.”
Then he turned and walked away.
It was that night I realized I am in trouble.
I am falling for this man.
“THANK YOU FOR meetingme, Mia.”
