Page 13 of Dirty Husband

He thinks it's adorable. Chuckles every time. Says something about how he always wanted a name that suited his personality, not one that means light.

I would respect him for not taking shit if it didn't make my life so difficult.

There's whiskey in the cabinet. The locked cabinet. Everyone on my staff has a key. Everyone has a clause in their contract. They lose their jobs if they allow me to drink.

I can thank my brother for that. He's the one that blackmailed me into rehab last year.

Maybe I should. She's only here because I'm sober. I have to find a way to do this.

I pour a fucking iced tea. It's too warm. Too weak. Too astringent.

Mom always loved tea, but I never saw the appeal. Coffee is stronger, richer, more potent. I don't need a gentle meditation. I need a wake-up punch.

Something powerful enough to overwhelm me.

The oversteeped, room temperature Darjeeling—

It's doesn't sate me.

The elevator dings. My mouth gets dry. Then my throat. From the tea. Not her footsteps.

The click of her heels. A soft knock on the door.

"Come in." I set my glass on the table. Slide my hands into my pockets.

Jasmine steps inside. Presses the door closed behind her.

She's wearing the same heels and a tight red dress that hugs every inch of her soft body.

Her chest heaves with her inhale. The pendant between her breasts catches the light. A gift from me. For her sixteenth birthday.

She kept it all this time. She wants me to know she kept it all this time. That must mean something.

I stare into her dark eyes, trying to find the meaning. I can't. She's too stiff, too hurt, too unyielding.

This won't do. I need the upper hand.

It's not fair, but I don't have the luxury of sportsmanship at the moment.

"Would you like to take a seat?" I motion to the leather couch against the wall.

Her gaze shifts to the empty glass. The decanter of amber liquid. Me. She raises a brow.Really?

"You'd like some?"

She barely laughs. "Is that how we're starting?"

"Would you?"

"Sure."

I pour her a glass.

Her fingers brush mine as she takes it.

She brings the cup to her lips.

This time, her makeup stains the cup. Crimson on glass.