Page 18 of Her Ex's Father
“Because I can’t afford not to be.” His jaw flexes. His hand tightens just a little at my waist.
What does he have going on under this mask? Once again I can’t help wondering if he regrets this already, if he’s disgusted by the circumstances. Although it doesn’t seem it, as we make aturn and he pulls me closer, his hips pressed against my belly, my breasts pressed against his chest.
The music continues. So does the quiet tension between us.
Then, just as the song ends, he leans in—just barely. I feel his breath at my ear.
“Kiss me.”
I do. Reflexively. Because everyone’s watching. My lips ghost over his cheek, the stubble gritty and sharp and bringing everything back into focus.
Benedict steps back, nods once, and disappears into another conversation with another CEO.
I sit. Alone. Again.
The night continues in a haze of champagne and whispered gossip.
Ben doesn’t come back.
The more he keeps his distance, the more Iwanthim to.
Which is, of course, completely insane.
Chapter 6
Benedict
The lawyer clears his throat like we’ve been wasting his time, though he’s the one billing us for the hour—and on my wedding day.
His leather briefcase sits beside his chair, polished so sharply it catches the light. Papers are already spread across the table, the Bronson Hall, and Crown & Range insignias at the bottom.
This feels like mopping up blood after a botched heist. After all, three months ago we already went through all the paperwork. Only then, I was a spectator; now I’m the “Bronson Heir” referenced in the contract.
Rupert Clarke hasn’t touched his drink. He’s slouched in his chair as if this is beneath him—no surprise, considering he’s been acting like this arrangement is a favor he’s doing me, rather than the other way around. He signs the page the lawyer slides toward him without even reading it. His penmanship is clean, efficient. Maddie must’ve gotten her work ethic from somewhere; I doubt it was her mother.
The lawyer looks at me. “Mr. Bronson, this just affirms the original partnership language. As we discussed, since the agreement only specifies last names, and you are now legallymarried to a Clarke, it remains binding. There’s no need to alter it unless you both wish to include additional clauses.”
I glance at Rupert. “I’d like to add one.”
That earns me his first sign of life all night—his eyes lift, flat and calculating.
“I’m willing to let Maddie remain in Montana for now,” I say evenly, though my jaw works. “Continue in her position at the distillery. She’s an asset to the business and?—”
“She’s your wife now,” Rupert interrupts, waving a dismissive hand as if swatting at a fly. “Take her. She’s yours to do with what you wish.”
The words hit harder than they should. I shouldn’t be shocked—he’s been radiating indifference toward her all night—but I’m a father, and although my son is clearly an idiot, I still think I’d do whatever I could to make his lifegood.To protect him to some extent.
Which is why I took his place at the altar when he couldn’t be found.
How can Rupert Clarke not give a shit about his daughter? Anger twists in my chest, followed closely by a possessive pulse.
Mine.
I push the thought back down where it belongs. This isn’t about desire. This is about stabilizing a deal that’s been circling the drain since Derrick decided to vanish into whatever overpriced pit of hedonism he’s currently in.
“You don’t care where she lives?” I ask, just to hear him say it. “Or that she continue working for Crown & Range?”
His mouth curves in a humorless smile. “We already have her replacement secured. As long as she keeps the Clarke name attached to your company’s letterhead, I don’t care if she lives on the moon.”
