Page 83 of Bound to Him
Noah:If Alton wants me back, he’ll have to prove it. I want someone who wants me, no matter what.
I stared at the message I’d sent before sending another one.
Noah:Ant, you can tell Alton that I didn’t want our marriage to end. But I’m taking care of me now. Standing up for myself. I won’t be bullied anymore. And I’ll only say this once. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough for him, but I won’t change.
Happy with myself, I shut off my phone and cuddled closer to Brutus.
“We only have each other right now, boy.”
Brutus whined in agreement.
21
ALTON
The makeshift officeI’d set up at my new construction site, way out on the west side of New Gothenburg a few miles past the airport, was nothing more than a desk with a couple of electric outlets run to it. I had a Keurig parked next to my laptop. The space was on the twenty-first floor, where some future CEO might sit when I eventually sold or rented out the area, but for now it was just me. I glared out of the floor-to-ceiling window. Afternoon sun made the green grass and the fresh emerald leaves on the willow trees between the building and the lake, which glittered in the distance, seem almost magical. Far away on the lower levels the noise of hammering and other work in progress let me feel like I wasn’t alone, but soon everyone would stop and go home. I was feeling nauseatingly sentimental, so I imagined most of the workers were rushing off to a family or special someone. Maybe a few of the guys had a husband waiting.
I’d been feeling this way formonthsand I fucking hated it.
I hadn’t come from money, so I knew it didn’t solve every problem, but I’d hoped it would fix most of them. Diving into new project after new project hadn’t helped, though it did make the company look good. I spun my wedding ring on my finger and sighed. I’d taken the band off a couple of times, only to end up putting it back on a few days later. At this point wearing it was pure self-indulgence, but no one who worked with me would comment on it. Being the boss made it easy to get away with things most people would take a ribbing for. Or maybe they were all laughing at me behind my back. The billionaire with the tragically short marriage—how fucking funny.
I wasn’t certain surrounding myself with yes-men was good. Noah had been soft-spoken most of the time but tended to point out the obvious things I didn’t want to think about. He had carefully crafted insights—when he shared them—because he wasn’t one to blurt his feelings. I bet he would’ve lowered his dark eyelashes and touched my hand, maybe not even asking about my wedding ring out loud. I walked away from the window and plopped onto my chair, rolling across the plywood flooring to my desk. I spun the business card sitting there. It belonged to a man namedIbiza, who’d probably never been to the island. He was new at the Courtesan, and Madam Winters had sent me the card in an express envelope today with a note mentioning she thought I would enjoy the services at the hotel for a “staycation.”
“Fuck,” I snapped, still drowning in that nostalgia of something I’d lost. I wanted to go home, too, but there was nothing fucking there, except Tucker looking at me with accusing eyes and Antoine being a snotty shit. Sometimes I would be quiet when I came in the front door. I’d walk up the stairs and stand outside my bedroom door and just pretend. Go to the office and pretend. It was stupid. If I didn’t look, I could imagine Noah was sleeping in my bed.
I spun the card again. Madam Winters was a business owner, and I hadn’t been in since last year, so I knew the game. She wanted to draw me back. I even appreciated her efforts to keep me as a client, I just hadn’t felt like going there and spending my money on the pretty boys at the hotel. Standing, I shucked my suit jacket and rolled my sleeves up to the elbows. It was getting warmer outside, so I would probably work somewhere else next week because the air-conditioning wasn’t functional in the new building yet. Not at home, though. I’d hung the painting of Noah in my office and couldn’t stand to be in it. Picking up the card I tucked it in my pocket, but I didn’t call ahead to the hotel to check if he was available. I wasn’t sure what the hell I was doing, but I didn’t want to go home yet.
The drive to downtown New Gothenburg didn’t take too long, and before I knew it I was pulling my Jag to a stop in front of the gold-and-glass doors of the glitzy Courtesan Hotel and tossing my keys at a harried-looking valet. The hotel didn’t always have someone to park the cars, but the lot was full, and a group of laughing men went through the doors in front of me. I glanced up at the converted brick mansion. There were three stories and multiple wings. Arched windows with historic cornice molding along the top and curved balconies broke up the facade. An excited buzz used to settle on me the second I stepped foot on the property, but that feeling was missing. I was glad the men in front of me didn’t turn around to try to include me in whatever they were talking about. I just wanted to get inside.
The entryway was full of people and I navigated through the crowded front hall and glanced toward the gold-swirled white marble grand staircase, feeling itchy between my shoulder blades. The cut-crystal chandeliers overhead gave off a dazzling glow. I spun the wedding ring on my finger and sighed, heading in the direction of the bar to the right, past decorative stone pillars that soared to the ceiling and sumptuous red couches—rather than going to the front desk to book in.
The small stage against the far wall of the barroom was empty, but nearly every table was full. The dreamy blue lights that took the place of the regular ones after sundown were already switched on. I slid my hand over the gleaming silver-topped bar, and as usual I wondered how they kept it so clean. There wasn’t a glass ring in sight. I took a seat on a stool.
“Hey, Mr. Bouchard.” Fen, a bartender I’d always liked, winked at me. He looked good tonight with his black hair combed to the side. The thin green sweater clinging to his torso highlighted every muscle on his arms and drew my eye to his trim hips as he brought me a Shiner Bock. I had to laugh. I’d asked for the beeronce, joking about it because I knew no one in New Gothenburg had it in stock. I didn’t know if the appearance of my favorite lager meant Madam Winters—the lovely Southern belle who ran the Courtesan—knew me well enough to guess I would come here tonight. Maybe they’d just started carrying the beer I’d grown up with in Texas as part of their selection. Either way, I drank deep and sighed, glancing at the bottle. But the good brew made me think of home, which only reminded me of Noah. I set the bottle down and glared at it.
Someone came up to me on my left, and I wasn’t too shocked when I turned and squinted at Holland’s glitter-dusted face. Every millimeter of his visible skin glimmered as he moved, like he was a living jewel. The smile he flashed made his pointed chin more apparent. Add in the most innocent wide brown eyes I’d ever seen, and the skintight green leggings and long tunic top he wore, and he could’ve been an elf from a fantasy movie. I couldn’t help but smile back. An uncomfortable emotional garbage heap bogged me down when he hugged me. I froze and both wanted to lean into his hold and shove him away. No one had hugged me sinceNoah. Prickles broke out over my chest and raced around my body—bad ones.
He stepped back and his smile dipped to something like concern. “Long time no see, Alton. I am so lucky.” He patted my forearm.
“Why’s that?” I asked.
He tossed his head and laughed, and I found myself smiling a little. I’d been with him in the past and he was nice, but I wasn’t feeling it.
He lightly poked my side. “I’m lucky because I’m free.”
I tugged the card I’d received out of my pocket and tossed it on the bar. “Madam Winters seemed to think I’d like a man named Ibiza.”
Holland rolled his eyes and shoved at the card until it fluttered down on the other side of the bar, and I chuckled at the sour pout he sent in that direction. “He’s booked solid for the next millennium. No dice.”
“Is he good?”
“Oh, probably.” He wriggled closer and his body was warm and friendly along my side. “Legs forever. Tall. Perfect teeth. Long, glossy brown hair. Some people think he looks like that actor, Sebastian Stan, but it’s a big stretch if you ask me.” Holland rolled a shoulder in irritation. “You know the drill. Everyone wants the new toy.”
“I do. But shouldn’t you be saying I’m lucky? Not the other way around. You’re the cute one.” I tried to play the game, but my tone fell flat.
He huffed and laughed, and I felt better when his smile bounced back. “Trust me, the way you tip, it is always me who is lucky.”
I had to chuckle again because his expression told me he expected it, but this whole interaction felt like work.
