An Improper Deal(69)

Ryder barks out a laugh. “No. She’d probably try to brain me.”

I make a noncommittal noise. “Mine would probably do the same.”

“Reeeeeaaaaaally?” He cocks an eyebrow. “So where did you find her?”

“At one of my favorite clubs, then out of that cake you didn’t send.”

“Bro, I swear I didn’t. Did you ever find out who did?”

“Nope.” That still bothers me. The cake company said it was handled by some guy who paid cash. Since their clients don’t always want their information made public, a lot of them don’t even give out their real names when booking a service. But the man wasn’t that old—maybe in his late thirties or forties, the company rep couldn’t say for certain—with rather ordinary brown hair and brown eyes and nothing else to notice.

“Maybe they got something mixed up.”

“Maybe.” I stare at the water. A breeze ripples the surface. “Strippers are supposed to be simple.”

Ryder gives me an unreadable look. “All women are simple…so long as you don’t care.”





Chapter Thirty



Annabelle

When I open my eyes, I’m still on the floor in the same position I was in last night. My neck protests as I move, and my knees actually creak and pop. I rub my face and check the clock. It’s almost nine, and Elliot didn’t come home.

Or if he did, he certainly didn’t come into the master suite.

I raise myself up with care, moving like an old lady. I shouldn’t have said the things I did last night.

Now that I have some time to digest what happened, it’s obvious I overreacted and lashed out at Elliot and ruined what should’ve been a nice dinner with his siblings and father. He’s not responsible for his stepmother. She acted like a spoiled brat, determined to do whatever she wanted because she’s the “mom”.

I shouldn’t have freaked out the way I did, and I shouldn’t have said half the things I said. I’m the one who’s trying to turn what’s between us into something it’s not. It’s unfair for me to say okay to it then later complain about it being not good enough when Elliot has done everything he promised. Actually more than what he promised. He didn’t have to go out of his way to arrange for Nonny’s transfer. Or get me into an investment house.

I strip the dress off and shower quickly. Then I throw on a blue cotton housedress that says Keep Calm and Let It Go, leaving my feet bare. My hair hangs damp over my shoulders. I’m feeling too defeated to bother drying it.

The guest suite is empty, and so is Elliot’s office. So he didn’t come home last night. Where did he go? A hotel? A friend’s place?

Maybe Ryder’s. His brother is back in town.

I sigh. I should call and apologize. Then just get through the year without any more drama. I can do that. I’m a survivor. I can survive anything.

My phone’s in the living room, where I left it last night. Nonny’s still sleeping, and I leave her be. It’s Saturday, and sleep will be good for her hangover.

I unlock the screen. Notifications for missed texts pop up. The first one’s from Mr. Grayson. Congratulations on your marriage. You chose wisely.

My teeth grind together. He has no idea how much I dislike him now. He used to be helpful, but not anymore. To him, I’m just a girl who owes him…who can’t even eat without him. Thanking him would be the polite thing to do, but I can’t bring myself to type the words. I skip to the other missed texts. They are all from Dennis.

We have to talk.

What the fuck?

Don’t ignore me!

What’s wrong with you?

You owe me! Damn it!

You bitch! Are you trying to ruin me?

I rub my eyes. I have no idea what he’s talking about. Did he even text the right person? I told him I’d get back to him. As a matter of fact, I was planning to contact him after the family dinner was over to figure out when we can sit down and talk. Whatever we have to say to each other won’t be pleasant, but it’s a necessary step given our history.

I start the coffee. After caffeinating myself, I’m calling Elliot, then texting Dennis. Just as the machine’s done brewing, the doorbell rings.

As I get close to the door, I hear voices—one female and the other Elliot’s. He’s speaking softly but forcefully, while the woman’s talking rather loudly with a lot of heat.

I open the door just as he says, “Annabelle.”

I almost let go, stunned that he’s using my name. He’s in the clothes from last night, except now they’re rumpled. Even so he’s still heartbreakingly gorgeous.

The woman is a willowy brunette with lush breasts and hips. She looks to be around Elliot’s age, and the makeup on her heart-shaped face is so flawless, it almost looks photoshopped. Dark hair tumbles over her slender shoulders, and the diamonds around her throat sparkle expensively. Her brown-eyed gaze flicks to me for a fraction of a second, then dismisses me as inconsequential. She rests a hand on his forearm. “Yes, love?”