Page 97 of Release Me

‘Believe it or not, Anthony, it wasn’t actually about you. The entire world doesn’t revolve around you.’ I stand, pacing the penthouse.

‘How long have you been fucking him?’ His voice is dangerously low.

I blow out a breath. Honesty is the best policy, I suppose. ‘Since Valentine’s night. Given you were out with your girlfriend, I didn’t think you’d care.’

‘Oh, I care alright!’ he roars, and I hold the phone away from my ear with a wince. ‘You’re a fucking disgrace. A fucking embarrassment. And a shit shag on top of it. He’s fucking welcome to you. But know this: I will take both of you to the fucking cleaners. By the time I’ve finished with you both, you will have nothing. Be nothing! Get your fucking shit out of my apartment before I get home tonight or I will fucking burn it, and you. Fucking whore.’

He hangs up.

I exhale heavily.

The phone vibrates again almost immediately. I glance at the screen, expecting it to be him having another go at me, but it’s Ivy.

‘Hi,’ I answer, trying to force some enthusiasm into my tone. The Beckett women have been amazing to me over the past few weeks. Well, and years, truthfully. Without them, I probably wouldn’t have lasted half as long in my marriage, and I would have walked with nothing.

‘Uh-oh,’ Ivy says. ‘What’s up?’

‘Only the usual. Abusive husband hounding me, morning, noon and night. He knows about Rian.’

‘How did he find out?’

‘I don’t know.’ I shake my head. ‘I haven’t left the penthouse.’

‘Kind of hard to, when Baby Beckett has you tied to the bedposts,’ Ivy says breezily. ‘Maybe it’s good Anthony knows. At least now he knows he can’t bully you back to him.’

‘I don’t think he’d actually take me back, not now I’ve crossed that line.’ I stalk back towards the kitchen in search of the coffee Rian made me.

‘What did he say?’

‘To get my shit out of his apartment before he gets home tonight or he’ll burn it—and me.’

‘I saw he’s in London with the hoe for some multimillion pound bank merger. It’s all over the Financial Times.’

‘Huh, when did you start reading the Financial Times?’

‘I didn’t,’ Ivy snorts. ‘The dog peed in the kitchen, and I used it to mop it up. It felt very fitting.’

I manage to muster a small laugh.

‘Anyway, I was ringing to see if you felt like some company? Was going to pick up some bagels and call over at lunchtime. You must be going stir crazy cooped up over there.’

‘Rian’s doing a great job keeping me entertained.’ I laugh then, a real one. Even the mere mention of my man’s name puts a smile on my face.

‘I bet,’ Ivy squeals. ‘I’ll be over at one o’clock, and I want all the gory details.’

‘Perfect.’ I could do with a distraction. ‘See you in a bit.’ I hang up.

My meeting goes well. I clear emails, scan a contract for a new author, and schedule an interview with one I’ve been interested in meeting for a while, but I’m restless. Jittery. Maybe it’s because of Anthony’s call, or the fact I feel like I’m waiting on tenterhooks to hear from Rian to sayRemington Publishing officially belongs to him, but I can’t settle.

The urge to get out of the apartment eats at me.

I replay Anthony’s words over and over in my head.

‘By the time I’ve finished with you both, you will have nothing. Be nothing! Get your fucking shit out of my apartment before I get home tonight or I will fucking burn it, and you. Fucking whore.’

He’d probably start by burning my books—a seriously impressive collection of first editions I’ve accumulated over the years.

Then he’d move on to my shoe collection. Bastard.