Page 51 of Bottles & Blades

My day was shit.

It started with shit, finished with shit, and the only positives were being in this apartment with her on either end of it.

“It was fine.”

“Now who’s being stubborn?”

“Aren’t you tired?”

Her mouth tips up. “Iwastired, but then a pesky billionaire turned up on my stoop and started arguing with me.”

Christ, I want to taste her, kiss her, hold her and talk to her until the early hours of morning.

But…she’s tired.

“My day was crap,” I say, giving in.

“Why?”

I shrug and exhale then hop up next to her on the counter and continue eating my sandwich. “If I’m being honest, I’d say most of my days have been shit lately.”

“Is business bad?” she asks softly.

“No, business is better than ever. Something my ex-wife is very aware of.”

Her eyes go wide. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“It isn’t. I mentioned I have a daughter?”

She nods.

“Well, my ex-wife left when she was a baby.” I struggle to moderate my voice because I hate talking about this shit, hate what Angela did. “Chrissy doesn’t remember her and after a while I gave up trying to find her and I filed papers to dissolve the marriage. It was a legal shitshow when I couldn’t afford to rub two quarters together, but eventually she was declared dead and our marriage was over. Then it was done.”

“Only now it’s not?”

I shake my head. “I spent the last two decades building Titan into what it is, and a few months ago she showed up, declared that we’re still married, and is demanding half of everything I own in order to go away.”

“Oh, my God,” she whispers.

“I could deal with that—or not exactly, but it would certainly be easier to swallow if she didn’t treat Chrissy like shit.” Her fingers find mine, squeezing gently, and I stare down at our interconnected hands for a moment before continuing. “She wasn’t a great mom even when Chrissy was a baby, but the first thing she said when she saw her daughter after two and a half decades was that she didn’t like her hair color.”

Tiff’s fingers tighten around mine. “You’re kidding me.”

“Unfortunately not. And she’s only gotten worse. So, she’s fucking with my daughter, fucking with my companies, fucking with the Eagles, and the FBI thinks that she might be fucking with something that’s illegal.”

“Oh my God,” she whispers again. “What a nightmare.”

“Angela or the shit she fucks up with everything she touches?”

“Both.”

“Exactly right.” Our sandwiches are both gone, so I hop down and help her do the same. “She makes my long days already longer and there’s nothing I can do except to be patient while my legal team and the authorities do their work.”

“And you’re a man of action.”

I shrug. “Feel fucking useless sitting here, doing jack all.”

“You’re not doing nothing,” she murmurs, “if you’re working with attorneys and the FBI.”

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