Page 8 of The Good Billionaire

“Now you’re gonna live there.”

“It’s temporary. You left me before we could make proper plans to deal with this.”

“What plans? You want me to quit my job to be with you. End of story, Ralph Kramden.”

He bit his lip. “Or, I could have commuted back and forth.”

I stood up, furious. “When? You didn’t have time for me when I was in the bed next to you. Where would that time have materialized if I were three thousand miles away?”

“I don’t know. But I get it now, Kenna. You made your point. Come with me and—”

“No.” I’d gotten a job as head of the department at Memorial Hospital. Double my salary at Mercy. I wasn’t giving that up to follow the rockstar surgeon around like a groupie. “I have to go.”

Seb kicked his chair out, standing too. “No. We’re talking. That’s a step.”

“A step to what? I want a divorce.”

“No, you don’t.”

Okay, no I didn’t, but who was he to tell me that? Even if I were still madly in love with my husband. I’d just been mad for so long...

I choked back a sob, not knowing how to let go of the anger. Not in one day, anyway.

“Kennedy, why didn’t you answer my texts? We’re shoving too much into one conversation over coffee and a shitty cupcake because you wouldn’t take baby steps with me. If you feel like a tidal wave just hit you, then so do I.”

Fury kicked up even more. He didn’t know why those texts had gone unanswered. “You were a husband via text for two years. You dideverythingvia text. We planned a trip to Cancun, which of course you told me to cancel via text. So, texting me to get me back, meant I still wouldn’t have a husband. I had a chime on my phone and words on the screen. I wasn’t worth the time or energy of a phone call, even.” I grabbed my purse. “I deserve better than that. And I thought you were smart enough to figure that out. I’m sorry I let it go for six months, I’ll own that, but I’ve been wrapped up with your sister’s wedding and doing my own damn job, Sebastian. I work a lot too. I’m important too, damn it. I’ll see you Friday.”

“No!” He held my arm. “Please. Sit.Please.”

We’d both made mistakes. I should have been stronger and saved Sebastian from himself, as I watched him turn into a greedy surgeon, playing God, acting like he could walk on water.

My head pounded and I got into blurt-mode, pushing my emotions down. “Tristan is putting us up in a villa next weekend.”

“Is he now?” Apparently, he’d not been toldanyspecifics of the wedding.

“It has two bedrooms. I’m counting on you to respect me and let me sleep in one by myself.”

Seb shook his head. “And you thinkno onewill wander into our room forsomething, see your clothes in there and ask questions?”

My legs felt weak. He was right. Now I’d stress over who’d see a damn dented pillow.

I had to sleep in a bed with him. Or kick him to the couch.

“I’m meeting with the events manager and Tristan to finalize everything Thursday night.”

“Mind if I tag along? Itismy sister’s wedding.”

“Of course. It’s a free country, Seb. And it’s your cousin’s hotel.” I wondered if he still did happy hours there. Had he taken anyone up to one of the rooms? The thought of him with someone else made me want to vomit. “I’ll see you Thursday night.”

Only, I didn’t get very far. Sebastian gripped my hand and pulled me into his lap. His mouth landed on mine again in an aggressive kiss this time, his hold more demanding, his lips more punishing. I ached to feel passion from him again. Why had it taken six months, or heck, me moving out to kickstart the hunger I always relied upon?

His tongue swirled in my mouth, his grip tight on my waist. “Please,” he groaned.

“Seb,” I managed in a hoarse whisper. “This is a public place.”

“I don’t care. Come home. Right now. Stop this madness.” He sounded sincere, but he’d never give up his drive to operate on athletes. Leave that limelight.

“I have to go.”

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