Page 61 of An Improper Deal (Elliot & Annabelle 1)
She doesn’t respond. I check the time. She has five more minutes before a break.
Finally a text comes. Veggie pizza. No mushrooms. I frown.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“She wants a veggie pizza, no mushrooms.”
“We can do that. I like pizza.”
“You…do?”
“Sure. Who doesn’t like pizza? Although I prefer mine with pepperoni.”
“But that’s so…normal,” I blurt out. “I thought you’d eat, I don’t know, caviar pizza or something.”
He laughs. “That actually sounds pretty gross.”
“You don’t like caviar?”
“I do, just not on my pizza.”
“Oh.” I clear my throat, squirming under his amused regard. “Either today or tomorrow, I need to go back to my apartment and get my car.”
“It’s already in the parking garage, but it’s probably better if you don’t drive it.”
“I can’t be without a car.” Another text pops up on my phone screen. Don’t avoid me. My stomach knots. As if I could.
“Of course not. You can drive the Mercedes.”
The huge diamond on my finger catches the sunlight, fracturing it brilliantly. “I really prefer my own car.”
Dennis texts me again. You owe me that much.
My lips thin. That’s too convenient and simplified a view of our tangled family background. We’ll meet as soon as I sort out my calendar. Stop harassing me.
Apparently unaware of my mood, Elliot makes a vague, noncommittal noise that says the discussion’s over as far as he is concerned.
I too am through with talking. He thinks he can just exert his will, and I’ll do as he says. The deal calls for my body for his use. I’ll honor that because I agreed—I need the money, the freedom it’s going to provide me with—but I’m not giving him any more control.
* * *
Annabelle
After changing into a comfortably loose gray skirt and an oversized, pink off-the-shoulder T-shirt, I spend the rest of the day going over the course catalog from the local community college. It’s too late for me to enroll for the current term, but I can start next year. I’ll probably complete about a semester’s worth, and then some, before the divorce proceedings start. It gives me a little sense of satisfaction. I’ll be that much closer to getting the four-year degree I want.
“You finished with that?” Elliot asks. He’s in a pair of gray lounging pants and a black V-neck shirt that molds to his perfect physique. Veins stand out on his arms, his muscles the kind you can’t get unless you work at it. His hair stands in spikes as though he’s run his fingers through it. Unlike his previously neat style, it makes him look utterly touchable, like he’s just rolled out of bed.
The thought of bed warms my cheeks, and tremors ripple over me like a phantom breeze. I deliberately shove it out of my mind. I’m not going to think about sex at all, no matter how scrumptious he looks. I close my old laptop and push it aside on the dining table. “Yes.”
He takes a seat to my left. It’s close enough that I can get a faint whiff of aftershave and something else that’s uniquely Elliot. My muscles soften at the decadently sinful smell. Even though I’ve only known him for so little time, I can pick that scent out anywhere, any time.
“We need to have a reception,” he says. “I’ll leave the planning up to you.”
I blink. “A reception?”
“For our wedding.”
“Yeah, but…it’s already over.” Our simple and efficient courthouse ceremony. A perfect reflection of our relationship.
