Page 118 of Perfect Assumption

Angie’s already leaping from the bed and scrambling for my shirt. I snag her phone and bark out, “What is it?”

“Someone sold Angie’s identity to the paps, Ward. There’s pictures of the two of you entering your building last night. Every trash media news station is reporting it all over the world. And of course, they dug up all sorts of interesting facts about you I wasn’t aware of.” Sula seethes.

“Goddamnit!” I roar.

“Tell me right now you’re not with her because of those two pieces of shit,” Sula demands.

But before I can answer, Angie’s yanking her phone out of my hands. “I’ve got to go.”

Sula’s face marginally relaxes. “I’m here if you need me.”

“I know. You always have been,” Angie whispers before pressing End. She stands at the foot of my bed clenching her phone so tightly I’m afraid she’s going to snap it in two.

I approach her on bare feet, my footfalls not making a sound. When I touch her shoulder like I’ve done a million times since the first night we made love, she jerks away, her hand raised to strike.

We both freeze.

Then she crumbles against my chest. “Why can’t they just leave me alone? Haven’t I paid enough in this life for accepting that damn drink?” Her sobs are harsh.

“Shh, baby. You’re going to make yourself sick.” I stroke my hands over her hair and sides, deliberately avoiding her back.

I’m not certain how long we’re together like that. “Let’s get some coffee and call Carys. Then we’ll figure out how to deal with this. Okay?”

She rubs her nose against the arm of the shirt she’s wearing before nodding.

“Besides, you haven’t yet seen the fourth room I use yet,” I try to get a smile from her. The one I get is a bit forced, but I’ll take it. Taking her hand, I lead her down the hall toward my kitchen where a coffee maker I barely know how to operate resides.

Angie drops my hand to tuck herself against me. I let out the breath I didn’t even know I was holding.We’re going to get through this,I think

And that’s when I freeze.

Because standing in my foyer is Michael Clarke—my oldest friend and one of Angie’s abusers. For years, the guys I knew since prep school treated my place like a crash pad. I can’t even count the number of people who’ve been added to my approved visitor list. And with the elevator entering right into the condo… Before, what the hell did I care? I didn’t have anything I cared about, nothing I really believed in. But now, I have everything to protect.

I have Angie, who makes a sound I’ve only heard from wounded animals on nature programs.

But this isn’t TV. This is real life.

My life and that of the woman I love.

Forty-Five

Ward

At the request of XMedia, we’ve been asked to retract the last part of our previous article.

— Stella Nova

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“That’s some way to greet an old friend,” Mike taunts.

“Get the hell out of my home.” I stand in front of Angie to conceal her as much as possible, not that she’s protesting. She’s huddling behind me, still making that damaged sound.

I think I might be sick.

“Hi, Angie. It’s been a while. Why don’t you come out from behind Ward and let me see how you’ve grown up? It’s been so many years,” he jeers.

Mike’s expression is barely concealing a sick lust I want to hide my woman from. But Angie? Even as she shifts to the side, her face is as blank as a doll’s mask. The last time I saw her like that was the night I grabbed her from behind at Redemption.