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The elevator opens, but before I can step inside, a brawny hand blocks me.
“No, you don’t.” Emery holds it open so I can’t leave. “I can explain what you saw.”
For one, he doesn’t know I know that woman is his wife. Gah.Ex-wife.
“We have to get going, Emery.” She leans on the door frame to his office.
“Wait in your limo, Warren,” he snaps at her.
“No.” She waves. “Tell your fake secretary to leave. Our daughter is waiting for us.”
“That was nothing,” Emery says quietly, grasping my arm. “I promise you. But I have to leave.”
“No problem. Please, let me go.” I struggle against his iron grip.
Emery pins me against his waist and bodily moves me away from the elevator.
Looking back at his ex, he growls, “Warren, I said, wait in the limo.”
She reacts to the tone of his voice, like she’s heard it before in a heated argument. Clutching her purse, she drapes a cashmere coat over her arm and struts to the elevator.
“Jessica is waiting for us.”
Us...
“Jessica is with her friends right now. I know more about what’s going on with our daughter than you.” He holds the elevator door open. “Now get in your limo, the car you insisted I keep paying for, or I will tell the driver, who I also pay for, to lock the doors, and you can take the train to New Haven. Don’t test me, Warren.”
Head held high, she steps into the elevator.
“And you’re myex-wifeaccording to the divorce papersyoufiled, Warren.”
Before she says anything else, the door closes.
“Come with me.” Emery takes my hand.
Inside his office, he pushes me against the closed glass door and kisses me. He’s wild with passion and grabs my ass to grind his very hard cock against me.
“Does that make you feel better about who I want?”
“God, yes,” I breathe and latch onto his mouth again.
“Lift that skirt and spread your legs.” He drops to his knees. “I’ll showyouwhoyoubelong to.”
NINETEEN
ASHTON
“Close this angel up, I’ll go talk to her parents.” I hand the scalpel to my surgical nurse and give the monitor a final glance.
Vitals look good, so I exit the OR.
After removing my blood-stained gloves and washing my hands, I stride to the waiting room.
My steps are always lighter when I have good news.
Too many times, I’ve done this walk having watched a precious child code on my table, and I had to give a parent the worst news they could ever get.
Something I can’t imagine. I don’t have children, yet the way the relationship with my family fractures a little deeper each year, leaves me feeling more and more alone.
