Page 7 of Her Wicked Husband (The Huxleys #2)

I quickly move around the desk. I can’t let my client commit assault and battery with witnesses in the room.

“I’m so sorry. I told her you have appointments, but she wouldn’t listen ,” Amélie says, looking at Fiona like she’d love nothing more than to murder her.

Fiona bites her lip, not meeting Amélie’s gaze. “You made me wait more than three hours. I thought you were messing with me.”

Apparently appalled at being called an unprofessional liar, Amélie glares at Fiona. “Well, are you satisfied now?”

“I’m sorry,” Fiona says.

Given Amélie’s temperament, she probably didn’t take kindly to Fiona’s appearing out of nowhere and demanding to see me. So she undoubtedly put Fiona in an area without a direct view of my office.

My eyes linger on Fiona’s soft lips. Then I recall how she said she finds me disgusting.

“Call security and drag her out,” I instruct Amélie.

She nods. “Oh, I will be happy to— ”

“Wait!” Fiona says. “You said you’d do me a favor for saving Gardy!”

I pause as the memory of how we met floods my mind.

Some asshole had hit my beloved golden retriever, and it was Fiona who found her, took her to the vet and cared for her until she could reach me.

Gardy wasn’t just a pet, she was a source of comfort and sanity after Mom’s attempted kidnapping, critical to my recovery.

When I offered to pay, Fiona declined. “No need. It’s what any decent person would do. I’m just glad Gardy is fine.”

The smile she gave me soothed the jagged edges that had stayed inflamed for over a decade. I couldn’t help but smile in return. “Okay. But any decent person would repay you for your kindness. If you ever need anything, you let me know, and I’ll take care of it. No limit, no expiration date.”

I meant every word. I wanted to help her somehow, save her day, no matter what it cost. Except she never called in the favor, while we were dating or afterward—probably because she and Jude were having too much fun cutting me up.

Guess Fiona finally remembered the impulsive promise I made and decided to cash it in. Fine. I don’t want to owe her anything anymore.

“Bebe, can you give me five minutes?” I say.

“You want me to wait?” Bebe’s eyes widen incredulously like I told her she has to recite the Book of Psalms before she can divorce Xavier.

“Don’t you want to win?”

“Ohh! Fine. FruFru is mine !”

“He will be.” I glance at Amélie. “ Five minutes. Not a second more.”

She nods, narrowing her eyes at Fiona, then escorts Bebe out and closes the door. I prop myself against the desk, resting my hands on the smooth edge, my legs spread and stretched—a picture of indolent arrogance—and wait for Fiona.

Her chest heaves as she takes a shaky breath. My eyes drop for a second. Her tits aren’t that remarkable after Bebe’s. It’s an uncharacteristically petty thought. But somehow I can’t seem to look away from her.

She starts to take the seat Bebe vacated.

“I didn’t tell you to sit.”

Her eyes flicker with surprise and a hint of humiliation and desperation. The last doesn’t shock me. She wouldn’t be here, with someone she said sickens her, if she had any other option.

And I wouldn’t be listening to a treacherous ex if I hadn’t made a promise. But regardless of how revolting she is, I’m going to be the bigger person and keep my word.

I glance at my watch. “Four minutes and forty-two seconds.”

Her cheeks turn bright red. She stiffens her spine as she stands before me, standing a foot away from the tips of my well-polished loafers. “I need two million dollars,” she blurts out.

I tilt my head and regard her thoughtfully. I didn’t see anything in Zachary’s estate that would require a large cash infusion. It’s bankrupt, but nothing a decent bankruptcy proceeding won’t take care of. The Obermans don’t need a law firm of the caliber of Huxley & Webber for that. “Two million.”

She nods. “A loan. I’ll pay it back.”

I ? What about Aaron, or Sherry? “And if you can’t?”

Her breathing shifts, growing less steady. She closes her eyes briefly, as if to gather courage, but the fluttering lashes betray her. “I have a stable job. I’ll pay it back.”

“People with stable, well-paying jobs don’t generally dig themselves into two-million-dollar holes.”

“Bryce.”

My name is a plea on her lips, and it sounds almost too sweet to be real.

It isn’t real. She’s trying to use you, to backstab you again.

Still, the impact of her voice makes my gut clench.

Her eyes look up into mine like I’m the only thing that can save her world, and my heart beats wrong, like it’s torn between the desire to believe the illusion she’s weaving and the desire to strangle her for trying to play another game with me.

I loathe myself for reacting like this, and I hate her for making me feel this way, as though all the ugly words and deeds between us never happened.

Some things can never be unsaid. Some things can never be undone.

Her phone pings. She ignores it, but I want to break eye contact, to get a moment of reprieve to regroup before I deliver my blow. I need it to hurt so bad she’ll never come crawling back .

“Check it,” I order her.

She hesitates, her eyes lingering on my face.

“ Now .”

She looks down. I breathe a little easier as the prickling sensation lessens.

Her fingers flick over the screen. She tightens her grip around her phone.

Her lips part to let out a shaky breath, and her eyes fleet everywhere, unable to settle, as though she’s searching for a solution to an impossible problem.

Finally, she looks at me.

I’m not the answer, sweetheart.

Suddenly she drops to her knees. The abrupt gesture of self-humiliation is stunning, freezing the gears in my head. What the hell is she up to?

She bites her bloodless lip. Her hand reaches out and rests on my knee. The touch sends a shocking heat through my veins. Her fingertips flex, digging into the muscles. Sparks of something far too dangerous and uncontrollable start to erupt.

A jolt rushes up my spine. A knot of desire, loathing, disbelief and fury twists inside. I grip the edge of my desk tighter. My breathing roughens. It takes all my discipline to remain still and wrestle back some self-control.

I clench my teeth at her attempt at manipulation.

If she thinks she can play me with moves like this, she’s wrong.

The visual—her on her knees, a hand on my leg, looking up at me—only reminds me of seeing her like this with Jude, and how she cried her heart out on her knees when she thought he might never wake up from his coma.

She could blow me right now, and I wouldn’t be stirred to do what she wants.

Fuck her and her methods.

“It’s a matter of life and death,” she whispers. “Please.”

The way she says please is just like the way she used to when we were in bed. But she probably did the same with Jude.

Still, my dick hardens, and I hate myself for responding.

I loathe her for still having the power over me.

“That’s your problem.” My voice is arctic .

She merely stares at me, light in her eyes dimming. Why is she trying to make me feel like the villain?

It takes two heartbeats before she places her palms on the floor and slowly pushes herself up. The tight tension in my gut eases, but only a little.

Her breathing is erratic. If it were anybody else, I might be worried that she’d pass out. She starts to undo the top button of her shirt, but her fingers shake too much.

I let out a cold laugh. “Sweetheart, don’t flatter yourself. A woman who’s been around the block as much as you isn’t my type. On top of that, you can’t even be faithful.” I rake her body insolently with my eyes. “You have nothing I want. Not anymore.”

Dropping her hands, she turns red, then white, then back to red. Her eyes lose focus and wander aimlessly, tracing nonexistent patterns on the carpet.

Two knocks at the door. I push myself off the desk. “Your time’s up.”

The words seem to jolt her out of the trance. “Bryce, you said you’d do me a favor!” she says. “Anything I asked!”

“Yes. Which is why I took five minutes out of my busy schedule, with a paying client, to listen to you, just like you asked. Now I owe you nothing.”

She turns so pale so fast, I ready myself to step forward and catch her. I don’t care if she gets injured, I tell myself. But I can’t have her injured on the premises, because that would be a lawsuit.

The door opens, revealing Amélie and two security guards.

“Take her away.”

“No!” Fiona reaches for my wrist, and I pull away. I’m not letting her touch me, skin to skin.

The guards take her, linking their arms with hers and tugging at her. She twists and flails. “No! You liar!”

I smile and wave. I suppose she’s somewhat right. Telling me what she wants as a favor shouldn’t count as the favor. But if this isn’t the outcome she wanted, she should’ve tried to make an appointment, not that that would’ve done much good.

All the people near my office crane their necks to see the show. Let them. Why would I care that Fiona’s embarrassing herself ?

“Where’s Bebe?” I ask.

“Miss Slinky Writhemore said she needed to touch up her roots and left. Apparently, she forgot a hair appointment.” Amélie doesn’t roll her eyes, but it’s in her tone. “This,” she says. “This is why aliens kidnap us and stick things up our butts.” She shuts the door as she leaves.

I let out a soft breath at the restored peace. Where did Fiona ever get the nerve to demand anything from me?

I start toward my desk, then catch a glimpse of a black shoe. It’s a stiletto with a pointy heel. I pick it up. Not a designer item. Probably something picked up at a department store clearance or something.

Huh. The Fiona I knew always splurged on pricey shoes. She always had better footwear than clothes in her closet.

Still, it’s a sexy item. Guess her taste hasn’t deteriorated, even if she quit spending a small fortune on shoes.

I start to toss it into the trash, then stop.

If she comes back for it… I could ask her how I was supposed to know where she lost her shoe, but Fiona can be annoyingly persistent.

She might even try to use it as a way to worm her way into my schedule again.

Two million dollars. What the fuck?

I open the bottom drawer of my desk, toss the stiletto inside and lock it. If she comes back for it, she can have it. Otherwise…

…it can rot there.