Page 85 of Takeover

“I’ve been patient with you, but you just crossed a line. I’ve known girls like you my entire life. You’re all talk. Empty inside. Touch me one more time, Lindsay. I dare you. Just one more time and I’ll throw you on the floor like the dog you are and make you eat that glass.” I shove her hard and her back hits the wall, bumping her head in the process. She tries to walk around me, but I block her, daring her to hit me so I can finally kick her ass. I slap her face again. “Hit me back, bitch,” I taunt.

Luckily for her, I hear footsteps, and the thought of Vincent seeing me attack his mother forces me to take several steps back. The minute Ethan walks into the kitchen, he pauses, immediately on alert. He looks down and sees the glass and blood on the floor.

He picks Vincent up, facing him away from the damage. His eyes find mine, and I shake my head, imploring him not to make a scene. Lindsay sees her chance to escape, and she walks to Vincent.

“Are you ready to go, baby?” She reaches for him, but Ethan moves him out of the way.

“Son, run back upstairs and make sure you packed your dinosaur. I can’t remember if I packed it or not.”

“Dad,” Vincent whines, elongating the word, but as soon as his father walks him out of the kitchen, I hear his little feet running across the room and up the stairs.

“What the fuck have you done, Lindsay?” Lindsay visibly shrinks at Ethan’s rage, and inches away from him, but she has nowhere to go when her back hits the wall. “This is the last fucking time you will ever step foot in this house, do you hear me?”

“My son lives here!” she practically hisses. “You can’t keep me out.”

“You want to fucking bet? I don’t owe you a goddamn thing, and whatever arrangement we have, it’s because Iallowit.”

“I’m so fucking sick of you reminding me that I only get to see my son because of you. Whether you like it or not, he’smyson too. And she’s the one,” she says, pointing at me, “who just attacked me.”

Ethan looks from me to her, and I can see the wheels turning in his head.

“Bullshit. How did the glass break, Tara?” Before a word can come out of my mouth, Lindsay speaks.

“She threw it at me,” she lies.

“Shut the fuck up,” he spits at Lindsay without so much as looking at her. “What happened, baby?” he asks me.

“She smacked it out of my hand.” He takes a menacing step closer to Lindsay, but I grab his hand, stopping him.

“I handled it,” I tell him. “I don’t want Vincent to overhear anything.” His advances stop and a few seconds later, we hear Vincent’s footsteps. Lindsay seizes her moment and runs out of the kitchen, scooping up Vincent and grabbing his suitcase along the way.

“Bye, Tara. Bye, Daddy,” he yells as they step into the elevator. We both say goodbye, and the doors to the elevator close, but I don’t miss the wild look in Lindsay’s eyes.

47

As soon as the elevator door closes, Ethan lifts me and places me in a chair. He sits in front of me, grabs my injured foot, and places it on his lap. There’s a cut on the top and one on the side of my foot. The one on top is still bleeding. Ethan lets out a string of curses in the kitchen.

“Goddammit,” he hisses before he gets up and runs out of the room. He returns shortly with a first aid kit and cleans my cuts. “I can have a doctor come over and look at you.”

“I’m fine. It’s just a cut. And your ex-wife slapped my wine glass out of my hand when I failed to engage her in petty, high school level bullshit. The glass cut my foot when it fell, and when I stood up, I cut it again. And I lost my shit and slapped her twice across the face. If you and Vincent hadn’t come down, I would have kicked her ass.” I don’t know if I’m relieved or happy that they came down, but if they hadn’t arrived when they did, I would have lost it and caused a lot more damage than a bruised cheek. There would have been more than one broken glass in the kitchen as well. Ethan’s quiet as he bandages my foot, and when he’s done, he lifts me from my chair and puts me on his lap.

“I’m sorry. I promise this is the last time she steps foot in this house.” He leans down and kisses my ankle before putting my foot down.

“You don’t have to apologize, Ethan. Honestly, I’d rather just get on with our Friday and not think about her anymore, okay? What are we doing for dinner? I can make something.” I stand up, but pain shoots through my foot, and I end up hopping on my good foot until I sit back down in my chair.

Ethan lets out a string of expletives before he picks me up and brings me to the living room. He props my feet up on pillows and starts to pace. I lean back, hands behind my head, and watch him. He jams a hand through his hair and pulls so hard, I’m afraid he’ll have bald spots. He grabs his phone, types something, and then tosses the phone on the coffee table. I lean back and look at the ceiling, laughing to myself at the hell he’s going to bring down on Lindsay the minute Vincent returns home on Sunday.

“Hey! Mr. Bradford,” I say, interrupting his pacing. “Didn’t you hear me? First, we’re not going to think about her again tonight. And second, I’m hungry.” His eyes soften, and he sits on the end of the couch, putting both of my feet on his lap. I sigh in contentment when he massages my uninjured foot.

“Dinner is on its way. I’m going to take care of you tonight.”

And he does just that. He gets me another glass of wine, and when our dinner is delivered from a local Thai restaurant, he carries me to the table and we eat in silence, the sexual tension thick between us as we exchange sly glances. Once we’ve eaten, he takes our plates to the kitchen and returns with a decadent slice of chocolate cake, which he places in front of me. I share it with him, and as soon as we finish the last bite, he scoops me up in his arms, carries me upstairs and worships my body.

48

“The evil one wants me to bring dessert, so I’m making lemon squares. Dad loves them,” Tara says as she grabs items out of the pantry and places them on the kitchen island. “I’ll wait until Vincent gets here so he can help me.”

She’s no longer limping around, and I’ve done my best not to show how angry I am about what happened on Friday. But I’ve thought of little else.

---