Page 83 of Conflagration
And even still, her words seep in, and I have to wonder… No, fuck that. Why am I even listening to this shit?
“You’re wrong, Megan. That isn’t what happened.”
“Then what did? Why did they break up?”
“They weren’t in love,” I say, remembering Ariana’s own words. “He didn’t love her.”
She shakes her head, rising from her chair. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me, and I don’t blame you, but think about it. The proof is right in front of you. And if you don’t believe that, then listen to him.”
Dread wells up in my stomach as she moves to the door and opens it, beckoning for someone to come in. I recognize him from the wedding announcement. Benjamin fucking Cunningham.
Anger floods his face when he spots me, and he starts forward until Megan stops him in his tracks. “Did you two plan this?” he seethes, catching me off guard. “My company wasn’t enough? You had to take my fiancée, too?”
What.
The.
Fuck.
As he rails on about losing everything, the pieces start to fit together in the worst way.
Megan interrupts Cunningham’s rant and gives me a sad smile. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this.” Her tone sounds sincere, yet I can hear the underlying glee. I know that, deep down, she’s loving every second of this. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.”
As she closes the door behind her, the room descends into silence. The only sound is his heavy breathing, and the fury on his face is palpable as he focuses his gaze on me.
Holding my hands up, I try to diffuse the situation. “Look, I don’t know what the hell you think I planned, but I had no knowledge of the acquisition of your company until five minutes before my ex-wife walked in. I don’t keep tabs on the Atlanta division, and I sure as hell don’t use my personal life to propel my career. It’s unnecessary.” I see his shoulders slump as he takes the seat Megan recently occupied. “Now, start from the beginning. Why the hell are you here?”
He plays the distraught, heartbroken, jilted fiancé role extremely well, and some part of me buys what he’s saying. It all starts flooding my mind. Shane’s warning. “Do you know why they broke up?”Her hesitancy to disclose everything. Not wanting to work at Wellington. The fake engagement announcement. All of it compounds one on top of the other. The world I’ve known since I met her suddenly shifts, and I no longer know what to believe anymore.
He tells me of the day of the rehearsal, when his father informed him that the company—the one he runs with Ariana’s father—was going bankrupt and they were in talks to be taken over. My mind reels from that fact, as I had no idea their fathers were even business partners. The more he talks, the more upset he becomes, and either he’s the world’s best actor or she really did a number on him. I feel a weird sense of kindred spirit with him, and as much as I want to ignore his implications of why Ariana left that day, he’s the only one who’s filled in those blanks—even though she had the chance to before.
As I give his story some credence, I shake my head, trying to knock some sense into myself. There’s no way Ariana planned this, but even I have to admit how coincidentally it’s all worked out in her favor.
What the fuck am I saying? This is insane. He’s wrong. She overheard something else. There has to be more to this. I struggle to hold on to the logical part of my brain, but as I look down at the papers on my desk, I know that Megan’s right. I can’t argue with proof.
And then she walks in, the blood draining from her face when she sees him. I take a moment to study her. Her face is pale. She swallows hard, her eyes reverting from him to me and back to him again. I’ve seen that look—in the eyes of someone with something to hide. Of someone who’s just been caught.
And just like the pen in my hand, I snap.
EVEN THOUGH I hate bothering Branson at work, he’s not answering his phone, and we have to decide on a date today if we have any hope of his childhood minister marrying us. His mother was practically hysterical when she called, ranting about not being able to have a December wedding if we didn’t get back to her within the hour, so I get into my brand-new car, the neon-green Mustang convertible I purchased with the insurance money from my car accident, and head to his office.
As I get out of my car, I spot a familiar face, and an unpleasant feeling washes over me.
“Megan,” I say tersely, giving her a head nod as she walks past me.
When she hears her name, she stops in her tracks, eyes widening before a slow, satisfying grin crosses her face, confusing the hell out of me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask her.
“Oh, I was just visiting my ex-husband,” she responds cheerfully.
“Why the hell would he want to see you?” I inquire, ridiculous jealousy welling up inside me.
She flips her hair over her shoulder and gives me a look of annoyance. “Why don’t you go on up and find out?” she retorts, an ominous tone in her voice. “I told you not to screw with me. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With that, she turns and flounces away.
A pit settles in my stomach, and I wonder just what the hell that’s supposed to mean. I force myself to ignore her parting words, and as the elevator ascends to Branson’s floor, apprehension floods my senses.
As soon as I step off the elevator, the uneasy feeling seeing Megan caused has me on edge. When Caroline tells me that Branson’s in a meeting, her tone tells me that something’s not right. Normally, I’d never even dream of stepping into his office while he’s preoccupied, but a little feeling in the back of my mind has me doing otherwise.
