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“You were a little sleepy, so I replied for you.”
She narrows her eyes as she remembers. How they’d told her to check in if she was going to be banging me all weekend. And how I was the one who actually replied to that text since Val was literally unconscious.
My shoulder lifts in a half shrug. “Didn’t want them worrying.”
Val’s mouth quirks to the side. “I’m not sure if I should thank you or slap you.”
I flex my fingers on her neck. “I’ll let you do both.”
Val rolls her eyes. And I feel the victory of it in my soul. Because I just referred to our wedding night, and she rolled her eyes. She didn’t clam up. She didn’t cry. She rolled her beautiful eyes at me like it was silly and not a nightmare.
“Go get your friend.” I press a kiss to her forehead, then let her go.
Val turns away from her boss to leave while I turn back toward him, amazed he just stood here the whole time like a fucking idiot.
But before I acknowledge him again, I make eye contact with Rob across the room, then raise two fingers and make two different gestures. The first tells him to follow Val. The second tells my other men to converge on my location.
When I look at Ricky Ritz, his eyes are darting between my face and my hand, probably wondering what I just put in motion.
I stay silent, just fucking praying that he’ll give me an excuse.
It takes him three seconds.
“You’ve really, uh, left your mark on her, huh?” He lifts his left hand and wiggles his ring finger.
I take a step toward him, and he takes a step back.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask, my voice calm as I take another step.
“Y-yeah.” He takes another retreating step.
I keep advancing.
“But do you really know who I am?”
The man glances around as he continues to stumble back.
When he doesn’t answer, I take a quicker step, closing more distance between us. “Answer me.”
“I-I know who you are.” His eyes are wide now.
Val’s boss takes another step back, only stopping when he bumps into the railing, the last barrier between us and the lobby four floors below.
I step closer still, putting my body only inches from his. “Then you must know that looking atmy wifeis a bad fucking idea.”
“I didn’t—I-I wasn’t,” he stammers.
“You were.” I take the final step, which presses my chest to his. “And I don’t like it.”
“S-sorry. Sorry.” He tries to hold his hands up in supplication, but he has to hold his arms out to the side because there isn’t room between us.
I lean forward, forcing him to lean back.
His arms windmill once before he grips the railing by his hips.
My fingers press against the metal in my pocket, but that’s all I allow of myself.
I look past him, over his shoulder and down the four stories to the marble-floored lobby below.
