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“I’m sorry.”
“Yes, you should be.” I nod, baring my teeth. “If my wife wants a foot massage, I’ll give her a fucking foot massage. Now, get out before I throw you off the fucking plane. Go and do the fucking work I hired you to do.” I point to the door behind him.
“Sure thing.” He scampers away the way a rat would and closes the door.
In all my years of working at Graysons Inc., I’ve never spoken to any of my employees in that way, but fuck, Corey had it coming. Who the hell would think it’s okay to give someone else’s wife—his boss’ wife—a foot massage on their wedding day?
I look back at River. From the appalled look on her face, I can tell she thought he did nothing wrong.
“You are such an asshole,” she snaps, raising her fists as if she’s going to fight me. The thing is, I wouldn’t put it past this new version of River to fight. She’s certainly looking at me as if she just might claw out my eyes or cut off my balls and make a purse out of them.
“Yes, I am an asshole.” There’s no point in denying my personality, as it’s a widely accepted concept that I am indeed an asshole. It’s the same as knowing the sun is warm and the sky is blue. “I also happen to be the kind of asshole who doesn’t want his wife messing around with his employees.”
“Absolutely unbelievable.” She grabs the magazine on the table and throws it at me. “Do I look like I was messing around to you? It was a freaking foot massage.”
“It sounded like a little more than that.” I know I’m crossing the line now and acting way outside my usual level of reckless, but this woman makes me crazy in a way that I want to shout at her and fuck her at the same time.
Of course, she doesn’t like my comment, so she looks more enraged than before.
“How dare you? I haven’t seen you for close to a month. God knows what you could have been doing with your track record.”
She’s looking at me like I’m the playboy again, when I’m not. “I wasn’t doing anything besides working.” Working, trying not to think about her, then stopping myself from catching the next flight back to be with her.
“I don’t know that.” She folds her arms and pouts.
“Right, so you thought you’d make me jealous on our wedding day?”
She shakes her head at me and gives me a cruel laugh. “To be jealous, you’d have to care about me. You don’t.”
I’m aware people can hear us and she’s saying things that will fracture the fairytale couple we created for the media, but I don’t care about that.
I actually don’t care that she could ruin me with two words—contract marriage.
The realization of this surprises me nearly as much as the fact that I care more about her than anything else. And I care that she thinks I don’t.
Again, Luc’s words come back to me, but this time, they feel like a sledgehammer landing in my gut.
When I don’t respond quickly enough, her eyes become glassy and she turns to walk through the door Corey used.
Instinct shoves me forward, and I grab her arm, my reaction fueled by fear that if she walks out that door, I’ll lose her for good.
I’m already losing her. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the kiss she gave me after we saidI do. It was like kissing a statue. Or a corpse. Something with no life.
“It’s not true. I do care.” I sound like I’m taking my vows again.
“Leave me alone,” River huffs.
She’s about to shake my hand off her arm when I pull her closer so I can crush my lips to hers.
This is maybe the third time I’ve done this.
Grab her and kiss her. Grab her and fuck her. Grab her and make her my wife. Grab her and show her the only way I know how that I more than care about her.
This reaction has come to be a default for me because I know no other way than to be the rough, reckless, ruthless rebel.
She struggles against me, trying to get out of the kiss, but I keep her there with my lips sealed to hers, trying to find the missing emotions in her.
There’s still nothing there.
