I jerk upright in my seat. “You’re a genius.”
“I know, but I can handle only so much incompetence and stupidity. At the rate it’s going, I’m gonna—”
“I gotta go.”
“What? Wait.”
“And you can fire the temp.” I hang up.
Unable to sit still, I jump up and start pacing. Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before? Paige needs income and medical insurance to get through her pregnancy.
It’s probably the best leverage I have. And while Elizabeth might be right about my being an ass, I’m not letting it go to waste.
Chapter Nine
Paige
Bethany’s car isn’t starting this morning, so we take my Altima to her office. After arriving, I spend an hour in an empty cubicle, reading and trying to relax. Then I walk the few blocks to the offices of Jones & Jones. Once this meeting is over, I’ll go back and get Bethany so we can go home together after lunch. She’s only working four hours today.
Marble, sunlight and the smell of stratospheric levels of success pervade the lobby of Jones & Jones. Ryder’s attorney, Samantha Jones sent me a text requesting a meeting. I hit the elevator button and take a deep breath. She probably wants to talk about the prenup.
The wedding is definitely off, and I assume that means Ryder’s and my prenup becomes invalid. But maybe there are still papers that I have to sign to cancel it or something.
Ryder’s parting words about what walking out would mean still ring in my ears. Given how he isn’t going to compromise or change, I know in my mind that I did the right thing.
Now if I could just convince my heart, I’d be all set.
A well-groomed receptionist stands up when she spots me. She gives me a standard I’m-doing-my-job smile. “Hello Ms. Johnson. Everyone’s waiting.”
She leads me down the hall to the conference room where Ryder and I first came for our prenup discussion with Samantha. Despite her disapproval, he insisted I take his money to ensure my child’s future. And my own as well.
It feels odd to realize that this is how it’s going to end between us. We should’ve never tried to fake a wedding and all the other stuff. It’s partly my fault for wanting to marry rather than just admit to Mom and Simon that I was pregnant. Shame and the need for approval can make people do really stupid things.
I walk into the room. The monolithic conference table still dominates, chairs surrounding it like sunflower petals. The air has the same faint smell of fresh wax and paper.
My gaze falls on the chair where I sat last time. God, the memory heats my face. Ryder pushed me onto the table and gave me not only the hottest orgasm I’ve ever had, but the hottest one I could ever imagine. I climaxed so hard and fast, I finally understood why the French call it the little death.
Ryder is sitting at the table now, and something dark and knowing passes in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, though…just picks up a pitcher and pours water into an empty glass.
He’s wearing a power suit—the dark navy with chocolate pinstripes. The color darkens his eyes to an Atlantic ultramarine. His steel-gray silk tie is knotted perfectly, and an air of dynastic opulence and wealth surrounds him. It says he expects the world to turn as he wills.
Of course I know he doesn’t really expect such things. I’ve seen his struggles, know his issues. You don’t work with somebody for close to half a decade and not notice. But his charisma is such that I almost forget all that as I look at him.
Unlike him, I’m in a cream-colored tunic and a dark brown skirt with silver flowers that ends an inch over my knees. The only accessories I have on are my pearl earrings and the one-of-a-kind engagement ring he gave me.
I sit across from him. “Where’s Samantha?”
“Not coming.” He pushes the glass of water my way.
I frown. “Are we rescheduling?”
“Nope. We don’t need her to talk about what we need to talk about.”
“You could’ve called.”
He raises an eyebrow. “So you can ignore me?”
I look away. “You said it was over.” I don’t care what Elliot said. He can’t possibly know everything between me and Ryder. Besides, Elliot’s always going to be on his brother’s side.
“You walked out.”
“You forced me into the position.”
“And all over some flowers.” He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “for fuck’s sake.”
“To you they were flowers. To me, they symbolized the dictatorial way you’re approaching our relationship.” I shake my head slightly. “Approached.”
The muscles in his jaw tense for a moment, then he shrugs. “Anyway, I’m not here to fight.”