Page 87 of Falling for the Wife

With one glance upon my menacing demeanor, one didn’t have to guess how much I loathed being here. Had it not been for my team of lawyers ceaselessly insisting my forlorn appearance was vital to sit here, I would not be. They had successfully argued since there was so much wealth and assets involved, and they feared something would go amiss. And as they irately stated for the umpteenth time, they simply needed this last leg of negotiations to wrap up so we could proceed as efficiently as possible. So, I tuned out both of our lawyers, wishing I were anywhere else but here.

There was no mistaking that my top lawyer, Mr. Cologne, wanted to secure most, if not all, of my wealth. I’d been his client for years, and he seemed quite territorial when protecting my assets. He boldly mentioned his adverse opinion when I reminded him about prenuptial agreements. As much as I despised to be proved wrong, he had every right to voice his unabashed view of the arrangement. Therefore, here we were, proceeding as scheduled.

“Lastly, Miss Weber refuses to sign her board member privilege to exclusively vote for Mr. St. James in the foreseeable future due to…the obvious impending circumstances.”

Cologne cleared his throat.

“Mr. St. James, will you contest her condition?” My esteemed lawyer leaned close to me, irritation and agitation bouncing off of him.

Without glancing at him, I remained stoic. Unperturbed. “Go ahead.”

Cologne wasn’t having it. The fifty-five-year-old man pulled himself closer to me, to the point where his stale coffee breath hit my senses, much to my disgust. “Sir, with all due respect, snap the fuck out of it! This is your life—your bread and butter. You’ve worked your fucking ass off for this company. You can’t honestly just fucking hand it all to her. Peter wouldn’t approve of this, and you know it!” he furiously hissed, sweating profusely as his pallor turned as red as a plump tomato.

Clearing my throat, I raised my eyes to look at the woman sitting across from me. It caught her off guard. “If Gisele wishes to vote me out of her father’s company, that’s her right. Like I stated before, just give the woman what she needs, and let’s be done with it. I have better things to do than deal with petty squabbles. I’m quite ready to sign off my life’s work if it means I get to walk out of here in the next minute.”

The entire room ceased, all eyes trained on me.

“What will you do?This is your life’s work!” Cologne sure seemed to look like he was about to drop dead any second now.

“I’m to return home. I’ve already bought land. So, no need to fret for me.” I had anticipated this. Gisele was on a vengeful path, and she would hit where it hurt me the most. But I was done playing her games. If she wanted to vote in David Berg, then she could have at it. She knew what her father wanted; she didn’t need to be reminded of that.

“Gentlemen, I need a moment to speak to Mr. St. James.” Gisele unwaveringly pierced me with her stormy crystal-like eyes. “Now!” she bellowed, her voice echoing within the room before the scrambling men scattered and dissipated, exiting the heavy double oak doors. There was no mistaking that from the men’s tense forms, they were quite relieved to be temporarily dismissed.

Apathetic, my blank stare didn’t flicker away from her as the doors shut. With just her and me boldly glaring at each other, I mused how long it would take for her to blow her gasket. Noting the tumultuous blistering way she was gazing at me, I’d give her a minute, maybe two, tops.

Severe cerulean blues drilling into her, I daringly arched my brow as if to taunt her, as if to goad her to break the continuing battle of silence—of prides, of wills—she and I were embroiled in.

“You’re planning on leaving?”she shrieked as she placed her palms on the polished table, pushing up to her full height.

She wore a cream suit but had sacrificed any use of brassiere. A long gold chain grazed the valley of her breasts and torso. The fitted skirt skimmed her figure. If she was aiming for demure and pristine, the woman had miserably failed. Her arse looked obscene from this angle. One didn’t have to wonder at the type of view it gave from behind. She was beautiful, and she knew it, too. The woman had found her purpose, merely using her beauty, her sexuality as a weapon to any man. More importantly, to the man she wished to erase from her life. There was no trace of softness in her. She was just as I anticipated—ever so calculating, heady with the idea of pulling one over on me.

“Have you gone deaf, too?”

My jaw locked. Her shrilling and hollering wouldn’t get her anywhere. Engaging her was out of the question. Gisele had sashayed in here with all the intentions of a fight. Her claws were out. She craved conflict, to draw blood, to punish me in any way possible. Giving in would merely fuel the flames, and Christ, the woman was scorching. She was a blazing inferno. She salivated for a fight, and little old me wasn’t going to grant her one.

“Fucking answer me!”

A week and she was about to come apart at her hinges. In another week, she’d continue her scathing pilgrimage of trying to hurt me. The inner workings of her loathsome mind were predictable. She didn’t know how to handle it, so she lashed out. No words, no actions could ever fix the damage I had caused her. And for that, I’d forever regret it.

Dragging my sight away from her, I impassively got up from my chair and strode towards the glass wall, frowning as I stared out at the stunning San Francisco afternoon skyline before me. Guilt, bitterness, anger, frustration blocked my view from appreciating the beauty. “Fighting is pointless when there’s nothing else to fight about. I vowed to give you whatever you wanted, and I have—I am. Let’s leave it on that note, Gisele.”

“You’re going back to Australia. Is it because you’re afraid you’ll run into me if you stayed around town with Rose and your new baby in tow?” she disdainfully spat.“She’s pregnant, isn’t she? She’s carrying your child!”her hateful tirade continued. “Oh, I get it!” She snapped her fingers, as if something brilliant had just occurred to her. “You aren’t fighting me because your dead wife’s lookalike is pregnant with your baby, and you plan to marry her.Am I right or am I damn right?”

My, she was on a roll today. Still, I persisted, unengaged. I was done fighting her. Quite exhaustively done fighting for her. Grim, my hands slipped into my tailored Dolce suit, prepared to close this chapter of my life as I spun to face the woman I had fallen in love with. “If you have nothing else of substance to spew, let’s call the lawyers back in. Let’s not waste each other’s time more than we already have.”

She scoffed.“I’m wasting your precious time now, is it?”

My nostrils flared, my bridled temper teetering. “This is what you wanted. You have everything you wished for, everything your cold heart desires, so if you’re done fuming, let’s wrap this up so we can get back to our jolly old lives and be done with it!”

She speedily struck my cheek, determined as ever to undermine my resolve.

Seething, my lips pressed together as I contained myself. “Lay a hand on me again, and I'm going to choke the living daylights out of you!”

She barely gave me a second before her blasted palm hit me again. She did. She bloody did!

“You wretched woman!” I thundered out as my hand curled, gripping her throat while I pinned her against the wall. “You vengeful, miserable cunt! What the bloody hell is wrong with you!” Obvious disdain strained all over me as I furiously spat at her. “You're rousing for a fight, and I refuse to give you one, so you choose to fucking hurt me!”

Her chin proudly tilted as she squirmed from my hold. “Hurt you? Am I not the one you lied to, cheated on during the entire time you were married to me?”

---