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Unfortunately, a bit of deep breathing hadn’t banished my burgeoning rage. It had just redirected it.
“What would you say if I told you I’m not sure I actually care?” I said, holding his gaze with mine.
Nat hesitated, in that careful way he did when he was thinking about his words before he spoke.
“I’d say that if everyone knew we’d been targeted, and then later, something really bad happened... it would be pretty obvious who did it, even to the police.” His dark brows drew together. “And also, that if we don’t manage to clear our names somehow, it would be difficult for us—” He cut himself off. “—foryouto start over with a new restaurant. That kind of thing tends to stick with a person.”
I frowned at the uncharacteristic verbal stumble, but set it aside for now. “Who do we know in local media who might be interested in a juicy exclusive about high-stakes sabotage in the restaurant world?”
Nat tapped his fingers restlessly on the tabletop, thinking.
“Metro Lifestyle?” he suggested. “OrTown and Home?”
“I vote we shop it to both of them and see who’s more interested,” I said.
“We wouldn’t be able to name names,” Nat warned. “That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. Plus, no one would print it.”
“So, we keep it vague,” I replied. “Although I think we could get away with naming the gang, maybe. Then use social media to shape speculation and hopefully get the article itself to go viral.”
Nat’s restless fingers stilled. “You’re really serious about standing up to these people, huh.”
Right now, I was so mad at SSG and Blake Berlusconi that I could claw out eyeballs.
“I amdeadlyserious,” I told him.
“As long as that’s a figure of speech,” Nat said carefully.
I thought of Luca’s broken soul... of my fantasy of shooting his rapists over and over, of watching them bleed out slowly and in agony.
Blake Berlusconi.
Blaze.
“Of course,” I said. “Just a figure of speech.”
He gave a slow nod. “Right. I’ll contact the press. Though they’ll probably want to speak to you as well, assuming they go for the story.”
“I’ve got plenty to say, believe me,” I replied grimly.
Nat nodded again, before straightening in his chair and squaring his shoulders. “There’s something else we need to talk about. Something, erm, unrelated.”
My righteous anger drained away abruptly, replaced by unease. I had a good idea what this might be about, and I desperately didn’t want to have to deal with it now, on top of everything else that was going on.
“This is about us, isn’t it,” I said, not making it a question.
“Yes,” he admitted. “Sorry. I know the timing isn’t great.”
I didn’t reply, because saying, ‘No shit, Sherlock,’ wasn’t really a productive contribution to the conversation.
Nat cleared his throat and looked down at the table. “It’s just... it’s become pretty clear to me recently that you’ve moved on from the marriage, which you have absolutely every right todo, given the mistakes I’ve made.” He glanced up. “If you’d like to pursue a divorce, I will do everything in my power to make it as easy and painless as possible—up to and including taking on the bulk of the restaurant debt.”
It felt as though someone had poked a nest of angry hornets inside my stomach.
“I don’t think we should do that.” The words were out of my mouth before my brain had even registered them.
His brows twitched in confusion. Silence settled over the table for several seconds.
Eventually, he spoke again. “I... just thought that you might want—”