Page 47 of Fool Me Twice

“And you expect me to just drop everything now, because you’ve decided you want to talk? What about what I want?”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He ended the call and headed home.

Home. It felt strange calling it that. It had never felt like his home, even when he’d lived there. It was too big, and sterile, with its white minimalist furnishings, all sharp corners and angles, and stark white walls. But Shari had fallen in love with it the moment she’d stepped inside the gaping hallway, her eyes drawn to the double-height vaulted ceiling built entirely of glass. Back then he’d cared about what Shari wanted and put an offer in immediately, but seriously, what had he been thinking?

He ran the bell when he arrived, it hadn’t felt right to let himself in. The door opened and Peter opened his mouth to greet Michael, their estate manager. He was surprised to be greeted by tall, slim man with blonde hair and teeth so white Peter almost squinted.

“Yes?” the young man said, his face blank.

“I’m Peter.”

The man continued to stare at him, with clearly no idea who he was.

“Peter Cook?” Still nothing. “I own this house.” He hated the “do you know who I am?” shit, but sometimes it just had to be done. “Shari’s husband,” he added as a last resort.

“Ah, yes.” He stepped aside to let Peter in. “The mistress is expecting you.”

Mistress?

“Is Michael around?” Peter asked.

“He retired,” the man informed him.

Michael was nowhere near retirement age. Shari had never liked him; she felt his manner was too informal with her.

“Mrs Shari said I was to show you into the drawing room. This way, please.”

“I know the way,” Peter cut in

Mrs Shari? Show him into the drawing room? What the fuck?

It was his house. He knew the way, for God’s sake, but the young man kept walking in front of Peter toward the drawing room. He threw open the doors and beckoned him inside. “Can I get you a drink?”

“I can get my own drink, thank you,” Peter snapped.

The man inclined his head before backing out of the room and closing the doors behind him.

What the hell had been going on?

Shari kept him waiting ten minutes before making her grand entrance. “Peter.” She walked up to him and kissed him on both cheeks. “I’m so glad you finally found some time in your busy schedule to visit your wife and unborn child.”

“Look, Shari—“

“Drink?”

“Er, no.” His eyes widened as she poured herself a generous measure of whisky. “Should you be drinking that?”

“Why? Because it’s a bottle of your expensive shit?” She glared at him as she slugged it back.

“No.” Peter stared at her. “Because of the baby.”

She shrugged and took another drink.

“That’s enough.” He walked toward her. “Do you realise the damage that stuff can do to an unborn child?”

“Relax.” Shari rolled her eyes. “It was only a couple of sips. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Me?” What was the point? “Leland says you won’t sign off on the custody agreement or divorce settlement.”

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