Page 99 of Whiskey Chase
“I want to call it off. I want you to give us another try.”
Baffled, I stared at her. “What about Ralston?” I demanded.
“He was a... poor choice. A mistake which I deeply regret.”
“And so you thought you’d just come back, and we could pick back up where we left off.”
Her cheeks flushed slightly, but it was the only show of emotion. “Quite frankly, yes. I’ve known for some time that I hadn’t made the right choice. I hurt you deeply, embarrassed you. And, for that, I’m sorry.”
She was speaking Klingon or Portuguese because I wasn’t comprehending a word she was saying. Nothing made sense.
“I don’t think I’m understanding. Why would I ever take you back?”
“We make sense, Devlin. Together, we make a very good team. If we get back together, this whole scandal goes away. I understand it will take some time before you can trust me, but I promise to be a good partner. Therightpartner.”
It was becoming clear through the fog in my brain. “You’re here because of Scarlett.”
“I wanted to give you some time to clear your head and possibly even forgive me. But I didn’t expect you to move on so quickly or with someone so… unsuited.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“Your mother is justifiably concerned. If you get re-elected, you have a very real shot at Congress in a handful of years, and from there, who knows where we could go. It’s your dream, and I can help you make that happen,” she insisted calmly.
“All I have to do is take you back?” I asked bitterly.
She nodded, looking hopeful. “We can find a new house together. It might even be fun.”
“Why is Ralston suddenly a mistake? Did he move on to someone else already?”
I saw the shadow in her eyes and knew my accusation had hit its mark.
“I see,” I said quietly.
“I made a mistake,” she pleaded.
I shook my head. “No. You didn’t.”
“And justwhat the hell is this?” a sweet voice drawled with Southern charm. Scarlett stood with her hands on her hips just above her tool belt. She wore jeans and a Bootleg Cockspurs tank top.
“Thisis Scarlett?” Johanna asked, aghast.
“Oh, you must be the lying, cheating, piece of garbage ex-wife. Bless your heart,” Scarlett said, batting her lashes.
Oh, shit.
The music stopped on the deck, and the door darkened with frames of four men all watching in rapt attention.
“Who’s that?” Gibson hissed.
“How the hell should I know?” Bowie whispered back. “I know all the same people you know.”
“Guessing she’s the ex,” Jonah added.
Jameson grunted.
If Scarlett noticed the audience, she didn’t care.
“Now what would a disgraced ex-wife be doing at her ex-husband’s lookin’ all pretty in her pearls?” she mused, tapping a finger to her chin. “Did you come to renegotiate the divorce? Are you here to lay claim to the Crock-pot and the fine china?”
