Page 15 of Her Wicked Husband (The Huxleys #2)

Bryce swirls his drink and studies the movement in the glass. Although he looks like a lazy lion, my skin crackles with the tightly suppressed energy coming from him. He’s barely controlling some kind of urge I can’t fathom.

“You said something about wanting to borrow money and pay it off,” he says.

I nod. “A fair proposal.”

“Fair?” He cocks a skeptical eyebrow.

My hackles rise. Even though I don’t have many cards to play, he doesn’t get to question my sincerity. “Yes. You give me something, I pay you back.”

“How very transactional.” His eyes chill.

Frustration suffocates me. What does he dislike about what I said?

I didn’t say anything out of the ordinary.

If we were having this discussion ten, even eight years ago, I might’ve thought there were simmering feelings underneath, but it’s been too long.

We haven’t stayed in the same place, emotionally—we’ve moved on.

“Because that’s all there is to it. You should’ve given it the consideration it deserved.

Instead, you mocked my proposal, then insulted me. ”

“You’re the one who got on your knees,” he says.

I gasp at his outrageous framing of what happened. “My knees gave out!”

“What—too shocked I didn’t offer to just give you the money? The idea of actually having to pay back the two million was too much?”

I bite my lip. He’s acting like I’m a witness he needs to break.

Inexplicable tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away.

He wasn’t like this before. Yes, he hated me, but he never treated me like he wanted to destroy me.

Back in college, he sneered at Jude and generally pretended I didn’t exist. I thought that hurt, but this is much more painful.

I thought I’d moved on, but maybe I haven’t made as much progress as I believed.

“When did you become such a jerk?” I whisper.

“I was always a jerk.”

“No. You weren’t like this before. You were nice .”

His eyes flash dangerously. “Are you calling me a good boy?” The muscles in his jaw bunch. “Do you think you know me because we used to fuck? If you understood anything about me, you wouldn’t have done what you did. And you certainly wouldn’t have thought you could come beg for a favor afterward.”

The rough displeasure in his tone says that talking about our past won’t be productive. We’re just talking in circles. If I tell him what really happened, will his attitude change?

He brings his glass to his mouth and knocks back the rest of the whiskey.

His legs are spread, the free arm draped over the back of the couch.

The muscles on his strong frame are both thicker and leaner, the words sharper and colder.

He gazes at the world like everything’s at his feet, and nothing can touch him.

Bryce exudes a confidence and authority he didn’t have when we were in college, but they aren’t his only new trait. An impenetrable shield is up around him, keeping everyone at arm’s length, including me.

Especially me.

I realize with gut-wrenching pain that the truth about the past won’t penetrate that shield.

He might listen, but he wouldn’t believe.

I can’t even present him with evidence. What could I show him?

The pictures and videos are gone. And Jude would never admit to anything because he’d rather cut off an arm than say anything that could restore my relationship with Bryce.

Don’t look back. Move on. Focus on what’s important now.

“Let’s discuss the loan and repayment. I don’t have a job at the moment. I had to leave mine in Wisconsin, but I’m sure I can get a similar position. I might even be able to go back to my old company. I was very good at marketing.”

“Why go to the trouble?” His eyes rake me with arrogant thoroughness, as though he wants to make sure I’m at least as good as he remembers. “You can just do what you do best. Work it off on your back.”

Of all the…! “You said I wasn’t your type,” I shoot back, furious.

“Sometimes a man wants a fast-food burger.”

Humiliation heats my face. “I take back what I said about you being a jerk. You’ve become a complete asshole!”

He gives me a smile so arrogant I want to slap it off his face. “And proud of it. ”

“You really want to have sex with me?” I can’t believe he’s saying this after giving me crap in his office.

“You didn’t think I destroyed your wedding out of love, did you?”

“No. But it’s two million dollars.” My mind reels, unable to process what Bryce is saying.

The situation feels like something out of an over-the-top movie.

Except Indecent Proposal had a happy ending.

This isn’t going to have a Hollywood ending.

I’m too old and jaded to believe in such nonsense.

Things like that happen to other people.

I’m just hanging on to my veneer of respectability and happiness with white knuckles, hoping nobody finds out I’m an unworthy fraud.

“Yeah. I’m probably going to want more than one burger.”

“Why?”

“You’re in no position to demand an explanation, Fiona. If you don’t want to pay with your body, forget it. You have nothing else to offer.”

Despite his hard voice saying the topic is finished, I can’t stop. Maybe I’m a masochist, but I need to know just how low he plans to push me. “How many times?” I ask shakily.

His eyebrows pinch briefly, and coldness flashes in his eyes. “Until I get tired of you.”

“Aren’t you tired of me already?”

“Guess not. I was tempted when you put your hand on my thigh. If it hadn’t been my office and people weren’t waiting…”

My whole body burns with shame at the reminder.

He rejected my explanation about my knees giving out, and he’s not going to believe the gesture was devoid of any sexual overtones on my part.

Abruptly I realize he’ll never take anything I say at face value.

The loss of trust cuts my heart like a shard of glass.

I knew I lost something valuable when I was forced to let Jude use me to hurt him, but seeing what I truly lost leaves me flayed to the deepest part of my soul.

I take a moment to suck in air and recenter myself. “Not good enough. I need a number.”

He shrugs carelessly. “Three hundred.”

“Are you crazy ? Ten!”

He lets out a laugh. “Are you crazy? You think sex with you is worth two hundred thousand bucks a pop?”

I falter. Put that way… Still —

“Even at three hundred, I’m overpaying. Your body isn’t worth over sixty-five hundred bucks. Not even top-end escorts get paid that much.”

My mind goes blank, unable to come up with a counterargument. Still, I hate him for making me like a commodity. “You’re such a bastard.”

He gives me a look. “You’re the one who wanted a number, Fiona.

Don’t blame me for the consequences of what you’ve done.

You’re a big girl. Ask a question, suffer the answer.

” A faint smile curves his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Instead, in their depths is a simmering combination of grim satisfaction and challenge.

He doesn’t think I’ll go through with it.

After all, he doesn’t really need me for sex. Certainly not enough to pay me. He’s young, handsome and rich. He can get any woman he wants with a snap of his fingers.

I flick my narrowed eyes to his crotch. His pants are tighter, although maybe he isn’t fully erect yet.

He wants my body …

Fine—his lust will be my weapon.