Page 24 of What Happens This Christmas
“What does this make?” He looked heavenward before his eyes fixed back on my face, focusing on me before chuckling in a creepy, know-it-all way. “Two that I’m aware of at least.”
I ran my tongue along my teeth before placing it in my cheek. “So what if I thought it’d look good in the holiday card photos? I also thought it wouldn’t hurt for you to take it up as a hobby.”
“I don’t need a hobby.” He crossed his arms.
“Isn’t that what you always say, working at the sheep bar is—a hobby? Now who’s the liar?” I also crossed my arms.
“Come on, Candy. It’s a job, but it’s the first one in my life I’ve ever enjoyed. So, call it whatever you want.”
It was a hobby only when it suited him. But that was neither here nor there. “You don’t need a job!” I shouted. I cleared my throat and took in a lungful of air, finding it necessary before I continued. Man, he knew how to make my blood boil. “We’re billionaires.”
“It fills my time,” he said as though that explained everything.
“Thus, it’s a hobby?” I asked, an eyebrow raised.
“Shit, Candy, what the fuck does this matter, splitting hairs like this?”
Oh, was I making his blood boil now? If so, good. Served him right. “I just thought this piano could fill your time. You couldlearn to play. You’d play beautifully.” I sighed heavily, my chest falling like a deflated balloon. Thisdiscussionhad really taken it out of me.
Silence quilted the room, the only movement the hardening of his jaw as he held my gaze, sneering.
Just then, our photographer was announced, and she entered the room. “Mr. and Mrs. Crane. Sorry if I’m a tad late. Between this weather and traffic, getting a taxi was horrific.”
When neither of us responded, she cleared her throat and set her bags down on the floor. “Anyway, are we ready?”
Chapter 13
An orgasm would do you good
NICK
Motherfucker.
I was a ship caught in opposing currents.
The turbulence and rogue waves were going to be the death of me.
I wanted Candy. That wasn’t the problem. It never had been.
The problem lay in the indisputable fact that she often pissed me off these days. This world had changed Candy. She’d fallen prey to the silly notion that high society members, like ourfriends, mattered. That what they thought mattered.
It was long established that people like our friends weren’t true friends, but Candy didn’t see it that way.
In fact, she made them her everything.
They were the judge, jury, and everything fucking in between. Screw innocent until proven guilty. These people that Candy held on such a high pedestal would send someone to prison and watch them rot in there, innocent or not. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Although I wouldn’t put it past some of them…
Unlike my wife, those people didn’t matter one iota to me.
Candy, on the other hand, did. She was my vice.
Addictive and impossibly difficult to quit.
Potentially hazardous to my health.
And getting involved with her would have a lasting effect that would carry with me for the rest of my days on this earth.
There was a point in time when Candy had told me that my indulging in a cigar or two a day would be the death of me. She’d listed the health risks and begged me to quit, if for no other reason than for her.
