Page 39 of Incognito

“No,” she blurted, realising how rude it sounded a second too late. “Thanks, but I’d rather not. Goodnight, Dante.”

She couldn’t bear to see the bewildered hurt in his eyes so she turned away almost sprinted towards the front door.

“Good night, Tasha,” he said, his smoother than caramel voice not affecting her as much as his use of the pet name Paolo had given her.

Something about the way Dante said it—soft, personal, intimate, as if he couldn’t imagine calling her anything else—made tears spring to her eyes and she blinked rapidly to dispel them.

She couldn’t show weakness in front of Clay. He thrived on that sort of thing, something she’d learned far too late.

Natasha ducked into the front office, waiting until Dante took the express elevator before stepping out and crossing the marble foyer to the Lobby Bar where her traitorous ex waited.

Taking a deep breath, she patted her back pocket, felt the reassuring rustle of paper, and headed for the man who had torn her world apart, and that of her family.

“You’re late,” Clay said, not looking up from his double whiskey on the rocks.

“And you’re only welcome here because you’re a paying customer.”

She noted the slight flush beneath his collar, deriving petty satisfaction from her barb. Stupid, stooping to his level, but he brought out the worst in her these days, and in her current frame of mind he’d be lucky if she let him walk out of here without a martini olive skewer between the eyes.

Draining his drink in one, long gulp, he swivelled on the bar stool to stare at her with cold avarice in his emotionless eyes. “You have something for me, I presume?”

Eyeballing him, she reached into her back pocket and handed him the folded piece of paper. “Here.”

She expected him to grab the cheque, scan it like he usually did, slip it into his pocket, and give her one of his signature sleazy smiles before strutting out the door. It would be much easier to do a simple bank transfer online, but that meant Clay wouldn’t get to see her squirm, delighting in her embarrassment. That’s why he’d stipulated cheque payments, even though many banks were phasing them out.

Her prick of an ex liked to gloat and insisting she make her repayments by cheque ensured he could do that. Asshole.

They’d been through this scenario three times previously and thankfully, there would only be one more.

One more month and she’d be done with him, and her family would be free.

If they didn’t lose Telford Towers in the meantime.

However, this time, Clay surprised her. Rather than grabbing the cheque as he usually did, he captured her hand and, taking advantage of her shock, used his superior strength to pull her close.

“How are things with lover boy?” He snickered. “If it doesn’t work out, you know I’m more than enough man for you.”

Natasha almost retched as his whiskey-laden breath hit her in the face, but rather than struggle—he would like that too much—she went slack against him.

“You’re not a man, you’re a sub-human who has the intelligence of a gnat, with the rest of you in proportion too,” she said, lingering long enough to insult him before pushing off his chest so hard he would’ve fallen backwards if the bar hadn’t propped him up.

“And one more thing.” She jabbed a finger in his direction. “If you ever touch me again, you won’t get another cent out of me. I don’t care how many threats you throw my way, I’ll let the world know exactly what you are.”

She ignored his string of muttered expletives—heard them all before when she exposed him for being a creep first time around—and walked out the door, shoulders squared.

Her heart thumped, her head ached, and she wanted to hide away for a week. Instead, she didn’t look left or right. She couldn’t. She needed the sanctity of her room in the next few minutes before she fell apart.

There was only so much she could take and after the day she’d had, she’d well and truly reached her limit.

21

Dante slammed into his room, headed for the mini bar, screwed the top off a sparkling water, and drank deeply. He needed to expunge the bitter taste in his mouth after what he’d just seen, even if he knew nothing could erase the awful image.

He gripped the half empty bottle in his fist, his anger so intense he could crush the glass bottle to sand.

The woman he had come to like, respect, and want more with every passing minute, had been too tired to have a nightcap with him.

However, she hadn’t been too tired to cosy up to her ex.

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