Page 64 of Bottles & Blades

A tremble.

A thread of fear.

Dammit.

I stop, look down at the woman who’s maybe five feet tall. Her face is familiar but it takes me a moment to remember her name. “Samantha,” I say.

“Mr. Dubois,” she repeats quietly. “I know you’re a busy man, but—” She breaks off, lips pressing together, throat working.

Sensing she needs privacy, I nod to a round table sequestered in a quiet corner of the space. “Should we talk there?”

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time,” she whispers. “I can make an appointment.”

Instead of wasting more time trying to put her at ease, I just start walking toward that table then sit in one of the chairs.

After a blip of hesitation, she follows, hesitating again before sitting in the chair opposite me.

“Tell me how I can help you,” I prompt gently.

I’m impatient to get to Tiff, but she’s freaked. I’m not going to add to that.

“I—” She wipes her hands on her thighs. “I have a problem.”

“What problem?” I press when she doesn’t go on, settling my own hands on my legs, clenching tightly, striving for patience.

“I made a mistake,” she says quietly.

“Tell me.”

A long blip of silence, her head down, gaze on her hands.

I tighten my grip on my thighs, grind my teeth, and manage to hold on to my patience.

“She said she was your wife.”

The words are so soft I barely hear them, and because they don’t make any sense, I don’t know how to respond.

“Tiff isn’t?—”

Samantha’s head lifts, her brows dragged together, confusion in hazel eyes. “She said her name was Angela.”

That’sa rock sinking to the bottom of my stomach.

Fucking hell.

“Angela isn’t my wife either.” I force my voice to remain even. “What did she ask for?”

“The Duarte contract.”

The rock becomes a boulder.

“Hang on a second.” I reach into my pocket and pull out my cell, typing out a message to Marie.

JEAN-MICHEL: Where are you?

MARIE: Just finishing up the paperwork with Justin and Suzanne.

Suzanne being our attorney—the sharkiest shark of them.

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