Accidentally Married to the Billionaire 3(41)

She occupied herself by stopping off at a couple of department stores and asking to speak to the managers about donating or providing a major discount on interview style clothes for underprivileged teens. White shirt and tie, trousers, dress socks, and shoes for the boys. Blouse and skirt or pants and shoes for the girls. Marj knew these kids had to look the part if they wanted to be taken seriously for part time jobs or for scholarship consideration. So rather than simply donating clothes herself when the time came, she thought to give local department stores the opportunity to help the youth in the community.

She left with the business cards of two managers and one verbal promise to at least provide basics at reduced cost. By that time, it was coming on evening and Marj was starving. Rather than go home, as she usually did, she chose not to face Brandon yet. She was feeling good about what she’d accomplished today and didn’t want the misery of confrontation to spoil it.

So she stopped for a salad and decided to treat herself to a margarita afterward. She stopped in at a bar she used to frequent back in her single days. She wasn’t looking for a man this time, just the perfect salt rim and twist of lime. In fact, she wanted to avoid the man she loved. So she sat down and drained that tall glass and licked the salt off her lips with satisfaction. She felt steadier, less like she was coming apart from missing him and fearing the worst about their relationship and his intentions and this debacle with the blond in Dubai. When the waitress brought her another round, she smiled but couldn’t muster a thank you.

Marj sat and sipped this one thoughtfully. She turned the situation over and over in her mind, wondering what she could possibly say to Brandon when she had to face him. There were several possibilities. None of them grand.

So it’s pretty obvious that this asshole prefers curvy, drop-dead gorgeous blondes. Feel free to wire the settlement to my bank account ASAP.

Stop bullshitting me. I know you don’t want me, and you just said nice things to keep me in the marriage for six months. I pretty much hate you now so just stay away from me until the time’s up.

I’m working on a job skills program for youth in poverty at a local high school. See, I have something to do besides obsess about whether my husband likes me or not.

She figured she might as well leave a note in his locker or pull his hair on the playground if she was going to say any of that crap. She scrolled through the notifications on her phone, looked at the incriminating picture a few more times. She looked at it long enough that she could close her eyes and still see it. The perfect cut of that same Hugo Boss jacket he’d worn for their magazine shoot. The line of his jaw, the tilt of his head, the half smile that she knew so intimately, the one that shows a crack in his armor, a warmth and attention that she coveted.

She burned with jealousy that this blond had sat so near him, had basked in that particular smile while Marj sat home in New York feeling sorry for herself. She wished she’d gone to Dubai, and then she hated herself for wishing it because she couldn’t police him, couldn’t stop him from ever being attracted to another woman. Yet, she wanted to. She wanted to put up that yellow Police Line Do Not Cross tape all around him and blow an air horn at any woman who stared at him too long.

She imaged the air horn with some satisfaction when he touched her shoulder. She knew before she opened her eyes that it was Brandon. His touch, the barest brush of his hand on her shoulder was enough for recognition, damn him. She looked at him sadly, ruefully.

“I can explain,” he said, taking the chair opposite hers. She shrugged as if even the weight of her own shoulders was too great to bear.

“I don’t want you to explain. There’s nothing you can say that I’ll like. So let’s just leave it alone,” she said.

“You don’t care? You actually don’t care what I was doing in the Emirates with the lawyer?”

“Is she a lawyer? Not that it matters. It doesn’t, really,” Marj said listlessly, tracing the rim of her glass, causing salt to flake off onto the table.

“It matters to me. I didn’t do anything with her. I mean, I ate some really terrible food with her and the zoning commissioner, but he left to go to a recital, and then I left a little while later, alone. I’m not involved with her.”

“Like I said, doesn’t matter.”

“It matters if my wife believes me or not!”

“How did you find me here?”

“Lucky guess,” he faltered.

“How did you find me? I never mentioned this place to you.”

“I reported your phone missing and used the GPS tracker to find you here,” he said.