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That’s where it ends. Like she was interrupted.
My blood goes cold as I re-read the message. I check the phone number. It’s saved under C. I almost roll my eyes as I compare the number to the one I have for Clifton Phillips in my own contact list.
Did she think she’d do this behind my back? Arrange some meeting? There is a dinner in two weeks at the compound that she and I will both need to attend. What the hell does she think she’s going to discuss? Their date? I know he’d asked her out, but I thought I made it perfectly clear she’d go on a date with him over my dead body.
And Clifton Phillips. Like he’s man enough to handle her.
I force a deep breath in as my own phone dings with a message from Ezra telling me the private plane will be ready to take off in one hour. I type out a response that I need to delay by a few days.
The three dots start bouncing as Ezra types out his response, telling me I shouldn’t put it off much longer, that a brother is a brother, and that Theron is sorry, but that he’ll stand by for word from me to rebook the flight. I wonder if he’s so concerned about my relationship with Theron because he is estranged from his.
I ask about the thugs and the men they lead back to in Italy, and he tells me he’s working on an agreement with them. Money talks. Always.
I thank him, then scroll to Clifton Phillips and hit the call button to invite him for dinner that same night. It takes all I have to do it. To swallow down my own resistance. And I’m not even sure why I’m doing it.
No, that’s not true. It’s to show her how poor a match he’d make.
If only my intentions were good, though. If only it was for her sake and not my own need to possess her, knowing all along I can never truly have her.
Setting my duffel back in the closet, I go downstairs, still avoiding Mercedes and her friends, and inform Lois that I will be home for dinner after all and that we will have a guest. I also ask her to instruct Mercedes to wear the dress I left out for her.
Later that evening, when I enter my bedroom, I find Mercedes trying to clasp the diamond necklace I sent over into place. I’m not sure why I bought it for her. She pauses when she sees me, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror over my dresser. The sight is so domestic. We’re sharing a bedroom. She’s in the middle of getting dressed. To anyone who doesn’t know our situation, we could be husband and wife.
She blinks away first and curses when the necklace slips through her fingers and drops to the floor. It falls beside her sandals. They match the white gold dress with its spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline that dips to the waist giving one a glimpse of the roundness of her breasts. From the fitted waist, the soft fabric of the skirt drapes past her knees but has a long slit along the front of one thigh. I’m sure Clifton Phillips will start drooling the moment he sees her.
“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing,” she says as we both bend to pick up the necklace. I get to it first. We straighten, and I’m standing too close. But I don’t move.
“You seemed to enjoy Clifton’s company at Vivien’s birthday party, and I’ve considered what you said. And you’re right. You are in need of a husband.”
Her eyes are cold. Better than flat, like a Stepford wife. “I believe the exact words you used were over my dead body will you ever go out with him.”
“Hmm.” I look at the diamond necklace that cost a small fortune. I thought of her the instant I saw the woman setting it in the window of the exclusive jeweler I pass on my way to the courthouse. A delicate pavé-set diamond choker suspending a line of ten round diamonds. It’s one of a kind. Like her. I brush her hair over her shoulder, the heat of her skin sending an electric jolt through me.
“I can do it myself.” She tries to snatch the necklace.
“Be still.” I brush my thumb over the IVI tattoo on the back of her neck and feel the empty space above it. Would I ever really allow Phillips to put his mark on here? The thought makes bile rise in my throat as I place the choker around her neck.
“Can you make up your mind what you want at least?” she asks.
Once I secure the necklace, I lift her hair and set it down her back, inhaling the clean scent of her shampoo, the hint of her signature perfume beneath it.
“You look beautiful.”
She turns to face me. I still don’t move, and she has to tilt her head way back, so she sets one hand against the dresser at her back to slip on her sandals, then look up at me. They add five inches, but she still has to crane her neck.
“I hope Clifton likes the dress. I’ll make sure he knows you chose it for him,” she taunts, and I don’t have to shift my gaze from hers to see how her fingers play over the exposed skin of her thigh.
I grit my teeth and force a smile.
She steps around me. “I’m keeping the necklace, by the way.”
“It’s a gift. Of course, you are. And thank you is appropriate.”
“Oh, I’m not sure I’d classify it as a gift. I think I more than earned it, don’t you?”
I close the space between us, twirl a lock of thick, soft hair around my finger, then tilt her chin up. “Thank me.”
She licks her lips and searches my face. “How would you like me to thank you, your honor? On my knees?” She reaches a hand to cup the crotch of my pants, and I grab her wrist, my breath hissing. “You’ll ruin my makeup.”
