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Her jaw dropped, and she turned away. “We’re going up…”
“I thought so.” I entered the penthouse code, and we rode the rest of the way without saying a word.
When we stepped onto our floor, the Chanel team members were standing in the hallway.
“Ah! There you are, mademoiselle!” One of them waved from the doorway. “Let’s get back to work!”
“One second.” I motioned for them to hold on, looking at Tatiana. “What’s changed between now and the time my face was buried in your pussy?”
She sucked in a breath. “Travis…”
“I need to know. Tell me.”
“My heart can’t take any more of the back and forth.” Her voice cracked. “One moment, you’re looking at me and kissing me and it feels so damn real, and the next, you’re shutting yourself in your room until it’s time for pretending again.”
“Then let’s stop pretending…”
THIRTY FIVE & A HALF
FORTY DAYS AFTER SAYING “I DO”
TATIANA
Las Vegas, Nevada
His words hung in the air, floating and stretching across space, searching for answers.
“Tatiana?” He cupped my face in his hands. “Did you understand my question?”
“Yes.”
“Can I have an answer?”
“Mademoiselle!” The designer from Chanel stepped into the hallway, followed by two team members. “I told you he wouldn’t be amused. Come now, Miss. Let’s make sure you look beautiful for tomorrow’s Nike gala.”
“Can your team excuse us for a moment, Mrs. Celine? Travis asked. ”I’ll have Mr. Ryan let you know our next move.”
“As you wish, sir.” She slipped inside the living room and grabbed her purse, and then she and the other women walked past us and onto the elevator.
Travis dropped his hands and pulled out his phone.
Tapping the screen, he held it in front of me as Mr. Truss’s face appeared.
“Well, hello there, Mr. Carter!” He smiled. “I hope you and your wife are ready for one hell of a gala tomorrow night.”
“Not anymore,” he said. “We’re not coming.”
“I see…Are you ill?”
“No, I’m just done jumping through hoops to prove myself to you,” he said. “I let you into my personal life, conceded to several of your demands, and now I’m spending my last free moments with my wife.”
“Mr. Carter—”
“Every line that I’ve ever launched with your brand has sold out within seconds,” he said. “You know it, I know it, and millions of my fans know it. Yes, I made a few fucking mistakes after my loss, but you’d be pretty silly to let me go as I’ll go straight to Reebok, Under Armour, or Adidas and they’ll happily do business with someone who can prove he’s moved over a hundred million dollars in merch since he joined the UFC.”
Mr. Truss said nothing.
“If I don’t hear back from you in a week, it was great doing business with you, and my wife really appreciated the engagement party.” He hung up. Then he pulled me into his arms.
