Page 157 of The Reluctant Hero

“I’ve gotten so used to seeing that expression on your face. This kind of shit is a little pathetic,” I try to joke, but it falls flat from my bland tone. “Leave. I have some private matters to discuss with your boss.”

Blake is in the middle of protesting when a blond head appears, and a woman shuffles by his chair on her knees. She straightens and tries to look casual, which makes me crack up. Her eyes narrow at the sound, and her lips curl up into a sneer.

“What’s so funny?” She snaps, which makes the laughter worse.

“You need to fix your lipstick,” I point to the corners of my lips. She was so into it that she looks like she’s ready for her clown debut. If she knew what Blake was really like she would gargle a whole bottle of mouthwash and still be puking.

“Get out of here,” Blake’s eyes narrow on me as he slaps her on the ass. As if he’s trying to get a reaction out of me.

Classy.

I take the seat across from him as she hurries out.

“So, you don’t mind it now?” He asks, his expression turning smug.

“I don’t care,” I sigh, glancing around at all the diplomas and useless art around him.

“If you want money from me, there will be rules when you get home,” his lips start to lift in a grin. My expression stays blank when I return my attention to him.

“Why do you want me back, Blake? You’ve got plenty of action to keep you busy.” My stomach twists at the thought. I push that away to stay focused.

“Because I miss you so much,” he reaches across the desk as if he wants to hold my hand. I look at the gesture and then to him. His turnaround from smug asshole to devoted husband is nauseating by itself.

“Uh-huh.”

“Please come home.”

I sigh again. The nerves are slowly settling, but my shoulders are tensing up. Readying for the violence I know is coming. I can feel that pulse of doom under my breastbone. It’s light for now, but it will get worse soon enough.

“What happened to yourface, sweetheart? And why do you have a cane?” His voice is sickly sweet with concern but the gleam in his eyes is all pleasure as he takes in my wounds.

“Stairs have it out for me. What can you do?” I mock flatly.

“Youfell?” He widens his eyes in a perfect imitation of a jackass pretending to care. He deserves an Oscar.

“I was pushed, actually.”

He goes through a medley of fake shock and rage on my behalf. I watch the play with a flat expression, not bothering to interrupt. By the time he winds down with a promise of finding out who could have possibly done something so horrible, I’m ready to be done with this.

“I’m going to ask you questions, and you’re going to answer,” I say, pulling the baton into my lap to keep it at the ready. The pressure on my chest increases.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he says with an innocent expression. He looks like he prepared a statement in case I ever showed up, which makes my eyes narrow. He knows I was at the site, and he’s still playing useless games.

“Who is buying the properties?”

He freezes up in surprise. A flash of panic hits him before he laughs in a choked sound. “What properties?”

“Which one should I choose?” My voice stays even as I play the game along with him. “I can’t remember the exact address for most of them. Hard to memorize that many. Let me think. The property that you planned to turn into housing? Where was that again?”

“What?” He scowls with honest confusion and a dash of hope. He doesn’t have any plans for housing development. I’ve got an honest reaction out of him, though. Underneath all the slick, innocent husband guise, he’s scared. He has no idea how much worse that feeling is going to get today.

“Oh shit,” I shake my head. “That’s not right, is it? I meant thegolfingproperty. How’s the construction going on that?”

His face quickly drops into an expression I don’t recognize. It fluctuates rapidly between fear, horror, panic, and anger. He settles on a grim look of disgust.

As ifI’mthe one that’s gross. Unbelievable.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sweetie, are you feeling okay?” The words are right, but the tone darkens with anger.

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