Page 73 of Bottles & Blades

“You’re leaving,” I say before she can release any of that rot inside of her out into the fresh spring air. “And if you don’t,” I growl out over the protest that’s already forming on her lips, “I’m calling the police and having you arrested for trespassing.”

She laughs. “You know this would all be so much easier if you just give me what I want.”

“You mean,” I grit out. “Give you half of everything I’ve built while you’ve spent your life snorting blow, drinking your liver into a pickled state, and fucking everything with a dick all while pretending to be dead?”

There’s the slightest bit of surprise in her eyes.

“Yeah, Angela,” I say, my tone ice, “you may have surprised the shit out of me by reappearing from the other side, but I know you’re here now.” I step closer, lower my voice. “I know you’re back. I know you’re trying to fuck up my life and my businesses. I know you want to get close to my daughter?—”

“Ourdaughter.”

“No,” I say. “You lost the privilege of calling her that long ago.”

She sways like I’ve smacked her.

Good. Maybe she’ll finally get that no one wants her here and crawl back into whatever hole she emerged from.

“And I don’t care how hard I have to fight and how much I spend doing it, but I will not let your filth touch Chrissy.” Not her life. Not her inheritance. “I will sell every share, every piece of property, every fucking car if I have to, but you will not win this, Angela. I fucking swear it.”

There’s a long blip of quiet.

Then the rot strikes again.

“Gosh,” she drawls, inspecting her nails, my threats apparently not meaning one fucking thing, “you never used to have so much anger, darling.”

“Right,” I mutter, yanking my phone out of my pocket. “You’ve never made anything easy for me a day in our lives. Why would you start now?”

I jab at the screen, calling Pascal.

“Angela is at Chrissy’s house?—”

“Chrissy, what a ridiculous name for a grown woman.” Angela sniffs.

“Are you a bully all the time? Or just when it comes to Jean-Michel?”

I freeze, frustration and fear twisting through my insides. “Your next call is the police,” I growl to Pascal, hanging up and turning to Tiff. “I thought I told you to wait in the car,” I grind out.

“You did,” she says softly, and there are threads of both steel and hesitation in her voice. I like the first, but wish the second had won out, and when she speaks, I decide that I have some love and hate with her fucking words too. “I just didn’t listen,” she continues quietly, lacing her fingers with mine, then turning her gaze toward Angela. “I believe you’ve been asked to leave.”

Angela’s beady, snake-like eyes narrow. “Who are you?”

“None of your business,” I snap.

A slow, venomous smile spreads over my ex’s face, and I tug at Tiff’s hand, trying to tuck her behind me, to get her away from Angela and all of the awfulness that she represents.

“Isn’t she a little young for you?” Angela drawls.

Tiff stiffens, but she doesn’t move from my side.

And I don’t have the heart to tell her to go again.

Besides, I have bigger problems.

“Now,” she says calmly, “You’ve been asked to leave. I suggest that you do just that.”

“Neither of you are the homeowners.” Angela shrugs delicately. “You don’t have the authority to tell me anything?—”

“ButIdo.”

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