Page 92 of Handsome Devil

No. Wrong answer. The right one was “No, everything is great. Nothing to see here.”

My knee-jerk reaction was to refuse him. I’d spent the past seven years braving everything on my own. But something in his face made me shuffle to a corner of the vast reception and pull out my phone. My hands were shaking, and it took me a few attempts to unlock the screen.

Gia: The doctor wants to talk to me about Mum. It seems serious. He asked if you could come.

I blinked at the words on my screen, knowing I’d crossed an invisible line we drew in the sand. Tate and I weren’t that type of couple. We weren’tanytype of couple. Just because he ate me out a few times and flaunted his fuck-you money in my face didn’t mean we were a united front. And for obvious reasons, I wasn’t too keen on seeing me at my worst.

I typed another message quickly.

Gia: I told him it’s not necessary, but he’s watching, so I texted you.

Gia: Feel free to ignore. I’ll just tell him you have a meeting or something.

His answer came before I managed to hit Send on the last one.

Tate: Ten minutes.

I didn’t know how exactly Tate made it to Mum’s floor in less than eight minutes. The office was close, but notthatclose. Then I remembered how fond he was of stalking me to ensure I wasn’t kidnapped to check on his “investment.” He was probably already inside the building, being his usual, creepy self.

Creepy as he might be, he looked like a sin waiting to be committed in black slacks and a matching onyx dress shirt. The effect of well-built men in sharp suits needed to be studied. Urgently. What were we putting our research money to these days? Not the important stuff, obviously.

“What’s going on?” Tate breezed directly toward Dr. Stultz, a furious scowl on his face. He pinned Dr. Stultz with the looks he gave interns who spilled coffee on new MacBooks at the office.

“Mr. Blackthorn, I appreciate you coming on such short notice.” Dr. Stultz visibly flinched at the sight of my husband, instinctively taking two steps back. “Please follow me into my office.”

Tate led the way, as if he owned said office. Usually, I was embarrassed by his blatant show of dominance, but right now, I was grateful someone else was taking charge.

We settled in horrid green seats that I found particularly offensive for some reason. I supposed I just wanted to take my anger out on something. The walls were littered with certificates, diplomas, and pictures of Dr. Stultz with his wife and four children, smiling in faraway exotic places and during cozy Christmas holidays. Jealousy dragged across my chest like a rusty knife. A reminder of all the things I couldn’t have with my own family anymore.

Dr. Stultz settled across from us, one hand hidden behind his desk, no doubt hovering over the panic button in case Tate decided to strangle him.

The last few days had dulled my senses. Now, in broad daylight, fully clothed, oozing power and malice, I saw him for who he was—a predator in Prada.

“Why are we here?” Tate demanded, laser-focused on Dr. Stultz. He’d been largely ignoring my existence since he showed up, and I was beginning to realize inviting him here was a mistake.

Dr. Stultz widened his collar under his white lab coat, clearing his throat. “I’ve been meaning to call you to set up a meeting, but Gia beat me to it—”

“More information.” Tate bared his teeth, causing Dr. Stultz to rear his head back with a wince. “Less meaningless chitchat.”

Dr. Stultz pursed his lips.

I put my hand on Tate’s thigh. “Honey, please.”

Tate produced a dissatisfied growl but didn’t argue.

Dr. Stultz yanked a few tissues from a box on his desk and patted his sweaty forehead. “As I mentioned to Ms. Bennett—”

“Mrs. Blackthorn,” Tate cut him off bitingly.

“My apologies. It’s hard to keep track when I treat dozens of patients. Mrs. Blackthorn and I spoke earlier this week, and I explained to her that Telma is in advanced stage dementia. Her latest tests show a steep decline in all areas of the brain,including frontal, parietal, and temporal lobe function. It is my and my colleagues’ belief that the buildup of amyloid plaques has caused extensive cell death. Severe enough, I’m afraid, to be beyond the scope of this program to offer her any marked improvement, such as it is.”

Tate narrowed his eyes, and I could tell he was about to say something…Tate-y.I grabbed his hand and pressed. Hard. I wanted to hear the truth, even if it hurt.

“Gia.” Dr. Stultz turned his attention to me, the fear on his face replaced with sympathy. “The progression is irreversible. Your mother has advanced beyond what our trial was created to treat. She’s lost language processing and spatial awareness, and earlier today, Dr. Sheridan and I found her unresponsive to severe pain. She’s incontinent and can no longer move on her own accord.”

“It’s nothing in comparison to what I’ll do to you if you don’t fix her,” Tate muttered. His hand beneath mine began tapping his leg.

Dr. Stultz redirected his attention to him. “Mr. Blackthorn, it’s out of my hands.”