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Chapter twelve
Joar
The Same Day
I didn’t plan to stay away for this long.
When I left for Singapore three weeks ago, my plan was to get in and get out. Return for Clover.
Then the deal went to shit. I managed to put it to bed last night. Three weeks of eighteen-hour days, numerous threats of litigation, screaming, yelling, then finally acceptance and closure. No one loves it when my company takes over their business. Eventually, though, they always give in.
What other choice do they have?
Rather than the traditional celebratory dinner that invariably ends up with ten-thousand-dollar bottles of wine and a nighttime of debauchery, I skipped it. Hopped on my jet and headed to Vancouver, BC. Didn’t bother changing. Didn’t bother gathering my belongings from my presidential suite at the Marina Bay Sands. My people are taking care of that for me.
I couldn’t wait another minute to see her. Time was not my friend. I didn’t want to risk the show wrapping and her leaving the city before I could get back.
After much contemplation, I’ve realized how important it is for me to tell her everything. From the beginning. Although I never outright lied to her, she needs to know the truth. While I had my reasons for wanting to trick her, I feel sick about my deception.
A feeling that grows more and more each day.
Bottom line: Clover deserves better.
If I’m going to pursue a relationship with her—and I am—we can’t have any mistrust between us.
From the shadows, I watch her film a scene with Ronni Miller’s rockstar husband. It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to barge over and pull her away. Smash that asshole in the face. I fucking hate seeing her kiss another man.
Hate it.
She’s mine.
Clover is so, so beautiful in a turquoise dress, which brings out her eyes. Gold bangle bracelets dangle from her graceful wrists. Her nails are painted a bright berry color. Her long, black hair is curled in soft waves and floats around her perfect, cherubic face. She wears more makeup than usual—for the camera—but she’s dewy. Radiant.
Lickable.
Oh, I’m going to ravage her before this night is over. I adjust the bulge in my pants. If I’m not careful, I’ll come just thinking about it.
So, I wait.
When the scene wraps, she stays behind and animatedly chats with Ronni while, unbeknownst to her, I watch. Patience is not my strong suit. Considering how many weeks I’ve been buried in work with only my fist to fuck at night, all I want to do is get naked with her.
Sink my cock into her hot, wet heat.
I’m giving her just a few more minutes before I drag her into our elevator and…
She’s on the move. I step out from the equipment I was standing—not hiding—behind. She looks at me, confused.
“Clover.” I extend my hand.
She stares at my wrist, dumbfounded.
I reach for her, but she recoils. “Where did you get that watch?”
Shit.
I forgot to take off her ex-husband’s watch.
Total. Fucking. Mistake.
