Page 32 of Breathing Wisteria
“I’m only going to say this once, so you need to listen very carefully,” I seethe, my voice low and deadly. “I am not divorcing Wyatt. That is never going to happen.”
Campbell blows out a breath of pure frustration.
“Fine, then I hope she’s ready to have her life put on show for everyone to judge.”
“You know what, Cam? Don’t worry about my girl. She might not like it, but she can handle it. She can handle any shit they throw at her.”
A loud groan of frustration reminds us both of Simon’s presence.
“Hey, here’s an idea. Just throwing this out there, but why don’t you ask her what she thinks about all of this?”
The stairs creak under my feet as I climb the three flights to Wyatt’s apartment. Once again, I notice the yellowing paint is peeling away on the walls and hand railings. While the building isn’t decrepit by any stretch of the imagination, it is obviously old with an air of disrepair. All of which makes sense now that I know she has been refusing my money.
She always was fucking stubborn, determined to do things for herself with no help from anyone.
I finally reach her door and after noting that it’s only nine o’clock, definitely not too late for a visit, but late enough that I might not actually be able to get this night back on track, I knock.
The low hum of the television that I had heard only moments before suddenly stops and I wait expectantly. When her footsteps never appear, I cock an eyebrow in disbelief.
“Really, Wyatt? This is how you’re going to play it? Okay, then.” I slide down on my ass, taking a seat by her door. “I’ve got all night.”
I don’t have to wait long before I hear her storming toward the door. She yanks it open and glares at me with an impressive scowl.
“You know, you used to listen better.”
“Yeah, well you used to be braver, I guess we both changed some, huh.”
Standing, I stretch quickly and move past her into the apartment before she can stop me.
But I do hear her whispered, “Asshole,” as I walk by.
“We need to talk, Cherry.” I flop down on the sofa, making myself at home. As I swing my legs up and recline back, I flash back to the last time I was on this couch and my cock twitches at the memory. I’ll have to find a place for this when I finally get her moved in with me. Can’t go throwing out happy memories like that.
“Jesus, make yourself at home, why don’t you?” she grouses, taking a seat on the armchair opposite me, her legs curled under her ass.
I lick along my bottom lip as I recall the vivid memories I have of that ass reddening under the bite of my hand. Shit. I try to discreetly adjust myself and concentrate on something other than how good her pussy feels tightening around my cock when I’m buried deep inside her.
“So, I met Giselle Cross.”
Her words have the same effect as a bucket of cold water and I no longer have to worry about disguising my hardening cock.
“Of course, you fucking did.” I’m pissed at myself for not realizing Wyatt was vulnerable when I didn’t see Giselle out front of the spa. “What did she say?”
“Something about you talking to your manager about an offer she had made.” She shrugs. “She knew my name.”
I scrub a hand through my hair, my earlier annoyance back in full force.
“She knows about you. The marriage, I mean.”
Her shoulders slump and she sags back in the seat.
“I was worried that’s what it was about.” She glances across at me, her eyes concerned. “Does she know about Carys?”
“No,” I assure her, and she nods, her expression contemplative.
“What does this mean for you? Will it cause trouble for the album release?”
“Doesn’t mean shit to me.” I sit up and lean forward, my elbows on my knees. “It does mean you’re about to be thrown to the wolves though. You gonna be okay with that?”
