Fake Empire (Kensingtons Book 1)
Fake Empire: Chapter 14

When I walk into the conference room for the weekly eight a.m. chat on Monday morning, my father and brother are uncharacteristically silent. I’m uncharacteristically cheerful. Scarlett and I returned from Italy on Saturday. Things between us are good—shockingly good. She wandered into the home gym when I was working out this morning and we ended up having sex on a yoga mat. But our relationship hasn’t become just physical. We agreed we’d both be home by eight p.m. and eat dinner together. It feels like the start of a new normal, one I want a surprising amount.

I take a seat at the table meant for thirty. “Morning.”

Oliver looks uncomfortable while my father appears grim. Something is wrong. For once, I wish someone else was in charge to handle whatever problem has surfaced. The final vestiges of the peace I felt with Scarlett last week slip away.

“What’s wrong?”

Apprehension grows when neither of them answer.

“Is this an actual problem or did one of you lose to a potential client on the course?”

My father speaks first. “I’ve been talking to Nathaniel Stewart about some investments.”

I look from my father to Oliver, searching for some clue of why that’s an issue. “Okay.”

Nathaniel Stewart was a couple of years ahead of me at Harvard. He’s built up a solid reputation on Wall Street for smart investments in up-and-coming companies. Not the sort of business my father usually bothers with, but I could not care less. It’s not something that should rise to the level of these meetings. There must be more to the story.

“How are things with Scarlett?” my father asks abruptly.

I tense, realizing the lack of transition means this must have something to do with her. “Fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really,” I reply. “I don’t think my marriage is any of your business.”

“Of course it is. She serves a purpose.” My father tosses a manilla envelope onto the shiny wood separating us. “She’s cheating on you, Crew.”

Shock freezes me for a few seconds.

“What?”

“My best PI took these two weeks ago. They met outside The Chatwell and were inside for over an hour. He had a room booked. It wasn’t the first time. All the records are in there. They’ve been meeting regularly for the past year.”

I don’t say a word as I open the envelope and let the glossy photographs spill out. They’re bad. Nathaniel’s hand resting on Scarlett’s lower back. His lips on her cheek. One shows them standing in the lobby while he whispers into her ear. I can’t see her expression in any of them, but Nathaniel looks smug.

Two weeks ago. These were taken before Italy, before we slept together. It doesn’t feel like much of a consolation. We were already married. The surgeon was bad enough, but at least I didn’t have to see evidence of it. Nathaniel Stewart rarely pops up at parties, but he attends some events. I’ll have to see his smug face in person at some point—and not plant my fist in it.

“Do you spy on all of your business partners?”

My father leans back in his chair, studying me closely. “Yes. I’m not about to climb into a crowded bed. A man about to be bled dry by a vengeful wife isn’t of much use to me. Not every woman is as understanding as Candace.” The cavalier way he talks about his second wife looking away from his affairs would bother me if I could look away from the photographs.

I gather them up and stuff them back into the envelope so I don’t have to keep staring at them.

“Scarlett can do whatever the hell she wants. I do.” The words taste bitter on my tongue.

“No, she can’t, Crew. She’s a Kensington, part of the future of this family. Spreading her legs for potential business partners is not an option. Keep her in line.”

I work my jaw. “I’ll handle it, okay?”

“Handle it how?”

“I don’t know yet. Give me more than five minutes to think about it.” I may disagree with plenty of the things my dad says and does, but he’s my father, my boss, and arguably the most powerful man in the country. The sharp tone I snap those two sentences in isn’t one I’ve ever used with him before.

He doesn’t call me out on it, even when Oliver’s eyes widen. “I spoke with Sebastian Crane last week. Talked him out of taking his business elsewhere, after you assaulted his son.”

“Camden had it coming.”

My father shakes his head. “This spell of stupidity ends now, Crew. She may be beautiful, but she’s just a piece of pussy. Pull it together, before you embarrass this family.”

I’ve never wanted to hit my father more. “I said I’ll handle it.”

Brown eyes pin me in place. I’ve never been more grateful I inherited my mother’s blue ones instead. I look more like her than Oliver does, and I’ve always wondered if that’s why my father heaps me with more. More responsibility, more praise, more disappointment. It all depends on the day. Whatever he finds seems sufficient.

“Good.”

Oliver was too cowardly to interject in our conversation before, but he does me a solid and brings up some production issue with an overseas company. I pretend to listen, scratching out notes on a legal pad and stealing glares at the manilla envelope that puts Scarlett and me right back where we started: strangers.

My mood hasn’t improved by the time I stalk into my office. I nod at everyone who greets me, not even bothering with a hello.

Asher is in his usual spot: feet propped up on the corner of my desk. He grins when he sees me, waiting for me to comment. I’m too pissed to care where he sets his shoes. My skin hums with restless energy that simmers in my blood.

The last time I felt this unhinged, I punched Camden Crane. Before the Fourth of July, I’d been in one fight. It was in a Boston bar. A guy bumped into me and was drunk enough to think I shoved him. He threw the first punch, and I dropped him in one blow I’d consider self-defense. I’m not an irrational guy. I have a temper but I keep it closely leashed. Or at least I used to, before I married Scarlett.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Asher says. When I don’t reply, he adds, “I thought people were supposed to come back from vacation all relaxed. You look like you just attended your own funeral. I mean…” He lifts his feet and raises his eyebrows. “You didn’t even say anything.”

Sunshine. I snort. He should have seen me before eight a.m. I was fucking whistling when I walked into the building. Now, I yank my chair away from the desk so hard it almost topples. “I’m fine.”

Asher’s eyebrows are close to his hairline. “Holy fuck. What the hell happened? I’ve never seen you so pissed.”

“Just some bullshit with my dad,” I half-answer. “Forget it.”

“Bullshit about what?”

I shake my head.

“So…how was your trip?”

“Great.”

“Really?” He drawls the question in a disbelieving tone.

“Yep.” I log into my computer and start sorting through the stack of papers Celeste left on my desk.

“What about things with Scarlett?”

I force myself to keep sorting through the papers. “Good.”

The second “Really?” sounds even more dubious than the first.

There’s a knock on the door of my office. “Come in,” I call out.

It opens to reveal Isabel. I’m not surprised to see her; I half-expected she would be waiting in my office next to Asher.

“Hi, Crew.”

“Morning, Isabel.”

“Welcome back. You have a nice trip?”

“It was fine.”

“I thought it was great?” Asher interjects. I shoot him a glare, and he wisely shuts up.

“If you have some time this morning, I thought I’d catch you up on where the projects stand.”

“I’m free until ten. Take a seat.” I nod toward the open chair next to Asher.

“Guess that’s my cue.” Asher stands and buttons his suit jacket. “Great to have you back, buddy.”

I grunt a response as I grab a fresh sheet of paper to take notes on.

The four changes to a five. Quarter to eight, instead of 7:44. I’ve spent all day debating whether to honor the promise I made to Scarlett this morning—that I’d be home by eight. It was an easy one to, especially since she usually works later than I do. I was happy to; wanted to. But a big, petty part of me now wants to show her that I can be indifferent too.

I can put other things first.

Except I can’t, apparently, because I’m standing and grabbing my briefcase and heading for the elevators. All day, I’ve battled the urge to confront her. To show up at Haute’s offices and demand answers. But I didn’t. And now that the chance to get answers about the photos in my briefcase is approaching, I don’t know if I really want them.

The drive to the penthouse takes thirteen minutes. I step out of the elevator at 7:58. There’s commotion in the kitchen, so I head there first. Phillipe is standing in front of the stove, manning three pans at once. “Good evening, Mr. Kensington.”

“Evening, Phillipe. Is Scarlett home?”

“I don’t believe so.”

I glance at the clock. 7:59. “Okay. I’ll wait until she gets home to eat.”

“I’ll make sure everything is ready.”

“Thank you.”

I head upstairs. I’ve slept in Scarlett’s room for the two nights we’ve been back, so I go there first. My only detour is to the library to pour myself a drink.

There’s a loveseat in the corner of her bedroom. I drop my briefcase next to the closet, strip off my suit jacket, loosen my tie, and take a seat. Most of the far wall is glass. The skyline of Manhattan twinkles in the distance, the outlines of buildings lit up like Christmas trees.

I sit and swirl whiskey and stew as minutes tick by.

Scarlett appears in the doorway at 8:47. When she sees me, she smiles. I savor the sight for a second.

“You’re late.”

She kicks her heels off and drops her phone on the dresser. Sighs. “I know.”

I watch the whiskey paint the inside of the glass before it drips down. “We agreed on eight, Scarlett.”

“I know,” she repeats. “I’m sorry, okay? I’ve been gone for a week and a lot has piled up. It had to get done tonight.”

I learn it’s possible to admire and despise someone all at once.

“Get on the bed.”

She studies me, starting to absorb something has shifted. “I don’t take orders.”

My control is dangerously close to snapping. I want to watch this glass shatter against the wall. I want to yell at her, to ask how she manages to keep doing this. Keep reeling me over and over again. I thought Italy was a turning point.

I down the glass, savoring the smoky burn as it sears a path down my throat. I stand. “Get on the bed, Scarlett.”

Holding my gaze, she reaches behind her dress. I can hear the slide of the zipper as the teeth separate. The fabric pools at her feet, leaving her in a matching set of black lingerie. My dick twitches.

My control snaps. I advance on her like a predator hunting prey. I attack her lips, kissing her with punishing pressure and plenty of nips. She moans as her nails press into the back of my neck, biting down on my lip and sucking it between her teeth. I haul her up against me, moving toward the bed and dropping her unceremoniously on the mattress.

I yank my tie over my head and undo my pants. “Hands and knees.”

Scarlett hesitates. She knows something is wrong. But she doesn’t ask, just moves into the position I requested. I yank her lacy underwear down and pull out my cock. I’m painfully hard, like I always seem to be around her.

I hate how much I want her. My jaw clenches as I roll a condom on. Protection was already a tense subject between us before I saw those photos this morning.

I slam into her without warning, bottoming out on the first thrust. I grip her hips as I pound into her over and over again, trying to pretend she’s someone else. Just a warm body I’m using to get off.

I don’t touch her anywhere else besides her waist. My thrusts are selfish and primal and desperate. Right now, I’m chasing the chance to forget. The irony of the fact I’m using Scarlett to try to forget Scarlett doesn’t escape me. I could have gone out to a bar or a club and found a random woman—or two—to distract me from my train wreck of a marriage for the night. Instead, I came home and waited for her.

Scarlett moans as her inner muscles tighten around me. She’s close to coming. And I can’t forget it’s her I’m fucking. Her scent is familiar. So are the greedy little whimpers she’s making.

Annoyance quickens my movements. I thought this would make me feel better, treating her like the property she’s set against becoming. But this—screwing like she’s a woman I met for the first time tonight—isn’t impersonal. The sound of my name falling out of her mouth as she clenches around me is what sends me over the edge right after her. She’s still spasming when I pull out of her and stalk into the bathroom to get rid of the condom.

Scarlett is sprawled out on the bed when I walk back into the bedroom. I ignore her as I buckle my pants and pick my tie up off the floor.

She sits up, naked aside from her bra. “What the fuck, Crew?”

“What the fuck what, Scarlett?” My response is caustic, and I watch her flinch at my tone. I didn’t think it was possible to feel worse right now, but that subtle movement managed to do so. I need to get out of here.

“If this was some role play shit, you can drop the act now.”

I chuckle darkly.

“You want me to pretend that was normal?”

“Do whatever you want,” I retort. “You always do anyway.”

She stands and walks over to me. Despite the fact I came minutes ago, my body reacts. My dick hasn’t gotten the memo she’s a liar and a cheater.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing.” I turn away.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“Where?” she presses.

“None of your business.”

“Sure. I’m only your wife.” That’s probably the worst thing she could say right now.

I laugh, and the dead sound of it scares me a little. “It’s awfully fucking convenient, when you’re my wife and when you’re not. When we’re an arrangement and when this is a marriage.”

“I told you I would try, Crew. I’m trying.”

I shake my head and stalk toward the door.

“You said you’ll always want me,” she tells me. I still, hating how she’s bringing that up now. Marring that perfect memory with the anger and hurt swirling between us. “In Italy, everything you said—”

“I do want you, Scarlett. That’s the fucking problem.”

“Guess I was right about you hating me. I did think it would take a little longer.” The words are harsh, but I don’t miss the sadness not far beneath. It cuts deep.

“We both know you’re an overachiever.”

I walk out of her bedroom without another word.

“You look terrible,” Asher tells me when I walk into the conference room for the monthly board meeting the following morning. “More trouble in paradise?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I clip. I only left my office for meetings yesterday, going so far as to skip our usual lunch.

Wisely, Asher doesn’t push. My dark mood from yesterday is still hovering, fueled by the copious amount of whiskey I drank last night and the little sleep I got in my penthouse. I’m used to sleeping beside Scarlett. My old mattress felt cold and empty.

Oliver studies me closely as he enters the room and takes a seat across from me. I keep my face impassive. He and my father will want an update. Results from a confrontation I’m not ready to make. At least the surgeon was before we started to feel like a real couple. Knowing she was with someone else right before we left for Europe? That will be far worse than simply simmering with the possibility.

“Did you see the email about the company party?” Asher asks me.

“Yes.” The reminder doesn’t improve my mood. An annual event I was looking forward to—our first outing as a real couple. Up until yesterday morning, when time spent with Scarlett became slow and painful torture. As the future CEO and son of the current one, there’s no way I’ll be able to get out of going.

“Did you watch the Giants game last night?”

“Not really, I…” My voice fades when a familiar face strides into the conference room. “What are you doing here?” I ask Scarlett, far louder than I mean to.

Her face is an indifferent mask. Exactly how she used to look at me. “I’m here for the board meeting. Same as you are, I’d imagine.”

“Why are you here for the board meeting?” I grit out as she pulls at the chair beside me and takes a seat.

“Because I’m a member of the board.” The light floral scent of her perfume surrounds me.

“No you’re not.” The dispute is automatic.

“Yes, I am. The company bylaws state the number of shares I need to hold, and I do. Thanks to our marriage.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and let out a long exhale, ignoring the confused looks from everyone but Asher.

This is payback for last night. I ran that show, so now she’s taking counter measures to prove I’m not in control. Our relationship is an endless chess match.

Scarlett opens a folder, signs some paper with a flourish, and sets it aside before looking at me, challenge dancing in her eyes. I can feel a headache forming. I’m pissed. “Last night, you seemed to think I should act more like a wife,” she tells me. “Here to support you, Sport.”

“This is not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Maybe you should have clarified, then. Not walked out.”

“Do you want me to show up at one of your magazine meetings?” I demand.

Scarlett smirks. “You can’t. Because I own all the shares of my company, remember?”

Always two moves ahead. I lean forward, trying not to get distracted by how she smells. How I can’t help but react to her proximity. “Scarlett—”

Her phone rings. She answers it, like I’m not trying to talk to her. Like we’re not in a boardroom waiting for an important meeting she shouldn’t be attending.

“Hello?” A pause. “No that won’t work. I don’t care. It’s unacceptable.” Whoever she’s talking to replies. “Put him through. I’ll handle it.”

She stands and strides out of the room with the phone pressed to her ear. Everyone watches her leave.

If I were alone, I’d bang my head against the table right now.

Asher leans closer. “Dude.”

“Not now.” I grit my teeth as I open one of the folders that’s been distributed around the table, pretending to look through the graphs and expense reports.

The coffee cart comes around, delivering drinks. Asher orders an espresso, and then it’s my turn.

“Plain coffee, please. Black.” The middle-aged woman who works the small cafe on this floor complies, placing a steaming cup of dark brown liquid in front of me.

“Anything here?” She nods to Scarlett’s bag beside me.

I’m so tempted to say no. But I got into this mess by pissing her off. I sigh. “Do you have non-dairy milk? Soy or something?”

Asher chortles, and I give him a look that promises a slow and painful death if he utters another sound.

“Yes. I have soy.”

“She’ll have a soy cappuccino.”

Isabel walks into the conference room as the barista is making Scarlett’s drink. The look on her face suggests she already knows who owns the stuff strewn beside me. Scarlett must not have gone far to wrap up her phone conversation. There’s only one hallway that leads down here.

Scarlett reappears a couple of minutes later, capturing the attention of the room once more.

“Did he cry?” I mutter sarcastically as she sits down beside me.

“Nope. But he did discount his fabric to half cost when I was willing to pay double.”

“How exciting,” I drone.

“What’s this?” She’s looking at the cappuccino.

“What you think it is.”

“You got me a coffee?”

“There’s a cart,” I reply, excruciatingly aware of how everyone in a ten-seat radius is listening to this conversation.

“I can’t drink this.”

I sigh. “It’s soy, okay?”

Her eyes burn into me as I continue to pretend to look at papers. In reality, the numbers are blurring together.

“You think dairy substitutes are ludicrous.”

“They are. I just didn’t feel like listening to you complain about how you can’t drink dairy, despite the fact you’re not lactose intolerant.”

“The way I had to listen to you complain about the missing carton of two percent?”

I close the folder. “It’s not missing if you threw it out.”

“I relocated it.”

“Into the trash.”

“You don’t even take coffee to work in the mornings. I do.”

“There’s more oat milk in our fridge than ten people could drink in a month. But my one carton—”

“There were three,” Scarlett interjects.

Asher laughs. He tries to hide it in a cough, but it’s too late.

Scarlett glances past me. “Hi, Asher.”

“Scarlett. Pleasure, as always. I haven’t enjoyed a board meeting this much…ever.”

“It won’t be a regular occurrence. I’ve got plenty of work already. But I’m an overachiever, so…”

I grit my teeth as she delivers that little dig.

“I saw the announcement about rouge. Congrats.”

“Thanks, Asher.” Scarlett sounds genuine.

“And it already sold out? No pressure, huh?”

I look over at her, ignoring Asher entirely. “It sold out?”

“Yes.”

She doesn’t meet my gaze, sliding a folder back into her bag.

“You didn’t tell me.”

The words are out before I’ve thought them through, nothing more than a reflex. I know they’re a mistake, even before she scoffs. “I was going to tell you last night. Part of why I was late. You had other plans for the evening, apparently.”

Before I can decide how to respond or deal with the guilt, my father appears. The room falls silent as he takes his seat at the head of the table. There are no round tables at Kensington Consolidated. The pecking order might as well be spraypainted on the walls in here. Even among the board, the hierarchy is clear.

His eyes linger on Scarlett, but he doesn’t react to her presence. I knew he wouldn’t. I’ll hear about this at our next “chat” though.

Arthur Kensington doesn’t bother with pleasantries. He delves right into today’s agenda, taking updates from different departments on current projects and different acquisitions. The projectors display a series of graphs and charts disclosing profits and margins.

Scarlett seems engrossed in the material. I wonder if this is how she acted at Harvard.

I’m sipping my coffee when she speaks.

“Where are the November earning projections?”

Total silence follows Scarlett’s question. It’s carpeted in here, but if someone dropped a pen, you could hear it fall. You don’t interrupt Arthur Kensington. Not while he’s leading a meeting. Not when he’s complaining about the weather. Some of the executives sitting at the table have never said a single word during a board meeting, they’re so petrified of my father.

Scarlett isn’t stupid; she’s making a statement.

My father holds her gaze while the rest of us hold our breath. I have the bizarre urge to make a sound and break the quiet. To protect Scarlett from the heavy weight of Arthur Kensington’s disapproval.

Ridiculous on many levels, not the least of which is that Scarlett doesn’t need my protection—doesn’t need me for anything. She’s made that clear.

The rush of pride is also unexpected. Not many people have the confidence to question my father about anything, let alone business.

Silence continues to stretch. If I had to guess, I’d say that my father is wondering if dealing with Scarlett’s boldness is worth the billions we gained. He should try being married to her. I don’t regret agreeing to it—don’t hate her, the way she implied last night—but I most definitely underestimated what a challenge it would be.

“Isabel?”

I wonder if Scarlett knew Isabel is responsible for calculating the projections for our new projects. She definitely knew my father approves the packet before the meeting. I flip to the section containing the projections. September, October, December. No November.

My father missed a mistake, and Scarlett caught it.

“Yes, Mr. Kensington?” To Isabel’s credit, her voice doesn’t waver as she gets called out.

“Did your department exclude November from the projections?”

“It appears so. My apologies. I’ll correct the section and recirculate a copy to the board.”

My father nods. “Do that.” He looks to Scarlett. “I’m glad to see your talents extend beyond designing clothes and networking, Mrs. Kensington.”

The muscles in my jaw protest from how tightly I’m clenching it. I know exactly what he meant by networking, and the mention of fashion wasn’t a compliment.

“Even a CEO can make mistakes, Arthur.”

People don’t interrupt my father and they don’t call him by his first name either. Scarlett managed to break both rules in a span of two minutes.

My father tilts his head. He underestimated her. I knew it before; he knows it now.

The rest of the meeting passes without incident. I get pulled into a conversation with the head of our finance department as soon as it ends. I watch as Scarlett talks to Asher for a minute, then turns and leaves the conference room without sparing me a glance. A stupid part of me wants to chase after her. But I let her go.

When I walk out of the conference room, Oliver is waiting for me.

“What the fuck was she doing here, Crew?” He whispers the question angrily. “Dad is pissed. What if she’s leaking information to Nathaniel Stewart?”

I grind my teeth at the insinuation and the name. “She’s my wife. She’s entitled to a spot on the board; she owns the necessary shares.”

“She’s making a fool of you.”

“Butt out of my marriage, Oliver. I’m handling it.”

He tsks, and it’s grating as fuck. “Interesting you call it a marriage now, not a business arrangement.”

“Business arrangements are what I handle at the office. I don’t go home and sleep next to it.”

“You sleep in the same bed?”

“None of your fucking business.” I spin and walk away, headed toward my office. I need a minute to fume in silence. Except, when I enter my office, it’s not empty. Scarlett is leaning against the front of my desk.

“What are you doing in here?” I slam the door shut.

“Lock it.”

I don’t move at first. My emotions are all over the place. I care way too much.

Scarlett is the strongest woman—person—I know, and she weakens my resolve whenever she’s involved. Against my better judgment, I flick the lock shut. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“My last name is on the side of the building.”

“My last name.” I can’t resist the jab.

She clucks her tongue. “Are we an arrangement or a marriage, Crew?” She throws my words back at me, making me tense. Even more so as she walks over to me. “Which is more convenient right now?”

I hold her gaze, and we wage war with our eyes. I know I’ll break first when she sinks to her knees and unzips my pants. All the blood in my body rushes south.

She’s not actually going to… She is. She does.

We’re in my office. Scarlet is kneeling in front of me. I should feel in complete control. Instead, I’ve never felt more powerless, more awed. She walked into this building like she owns it, and now she’s sucking my cock like she owns it too.

She does.

I haven’t so much as kissed another woman since we got married. Not out of loyalty or obligation or love, but because I know they would fall short. That I would picture fisting brunette hair and the red lips currently wrapped around my dick.

I’ve never fooled around in my office before. I keep work and pleasure separate—for good reason. I want people to think I earned the CEO position, not that I had it handed to me. But I’m in no position to think clearly right now. To consider consequences.

Scarlett pulls back to lick and swirl the sensitive tip of my shaft, her hand rubbing my length before she guides me back into the wet heat of her mouth until I hit the back of her throat. I give up on acting indifferent to the warm suction—acting like I’m not already embarrassingly close to exploding.

I’m glad her hair is up. It allows me an unobstructed view as I focus on the mesmerizing motion of her mouth. One of her hands stays wrapped around the base of my dick, while the other moves lower to cup and caress my balls. I groan as I feel the familiar tingle form at the base of my spine. I’m going to come soon. Embarrassingly soon.

My hips start to rock, instinctually driving my cock deeper and deeper into her mouth as I get closer and closer.

Her name falls out of my mouth with a raspy growl. “I’m going to come.” She keeps sucking and pumping, swirling her tongue around the slit in the tip. My breathing grows ragged and my heart pounds as heat spreads up my spine. “Scarlett.”

I gave her two warnings, which is two more than I’d give anyone else. I come with a groan, filling her mouth. Her throat bobs as she swallows everything I give her. I lean back against the door, letting it support most of my weight as the pleasure slowly dissipates.

My muscles feel loose.

My mind: blown.

Scarlett sits back on her heels and wipes her lips with the back of one hand. Then she rises, strolling over to the purse she left on my desk. She pulls out a tube of lipstick, and—fuck me—slicks a fresh coat of red on her plump, full pair.

I clear my throat. “Scarlett—”

“I have to go.” She glances at her watch. “I have a meeting in ten minutes. This took longer than I expected.”

“The meeting or the blowjob?”

She smirks. Then she brushes past, leaving me to zip up my pants and wonder—once again—what the hell just happened?

I’m sitting at my desk debating whether I should go home yet when Oliver opens my door.

“Ever heard of knocking?” I snap.

“She’s meeting with him.”

“Who is meeting with who?”

“Scarlett. The PI Dad hired just reported she’s at a hotel with Nathaniel Stewart.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. Is that what earlier was about? Guilt? “Right now?”

“That’s what I just said. Come on, let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“To the hotel, Crew.”

“I told you I would handle it.”

“Yeah, well, you handling it seems a lot like you doing nothing. I’m going. You can stay if you want.”

That gets me moving. Oliver showing up alone won’t end well.

The drive starts out in silence, but it doesn’t last long. “Is she like that with you? That shit in the meeting earlier? Dad actually read the two company emails ‘he’ sent out earlier, you know.” Oliver laughs.

“It’s complicated.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“Guess I don’t see the appeal of being with a doormat, the way you and Dad do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Aren’t you sleeping with Candace?”

Oliver’s Porsche swerves to the right and then back straight as he corrects the steering. “Who told you that?”

“You just did.” I laugh. “Wow. Seriously?”

His hands look white thanks to the pressure he’s exerting on the wheel. “Does Dad know?”

“Considering he hasn’t punched you, I doubt it.”

Oliver scoffs. “He doesn’t care about her.”

“He doesn’t,” I agree. “But he’ll definitely care his son is having sex with his wife. If that got out…it would be a PR nightmare for the company.”

“It’s not going to get out.”

I’m not so certain, but I don’t say so. “How did it start?”

He sighs. “I went over there a few months ago, when Dad was in Chicago. I thought Candace had gone with him. She hadn’t. She was there, asked me to stay for a drink. Things evolved from there.”

I shake my head. “Jesus. Is it still going on?”

“It happened a few more times. It was kinda hot, you know? She’s—”

I interrupt. “I don’t want any details. I can’t picture you two together, and I don’t want to.”

Oliver is silent for a few minutes. “I can picture you together. You and Scarlett. Not like that, just in general. And you can deny it all you want, but it’s obvious you care about her.”

“I don’t.” My response sounds empty, even to my own ears.

He hums. “I heard she was in your office after the board meeting.”

I squint over at him as another pair of headlights illuminate the car. “Where did you hear that?” His office is on the opposite end of the floor.

“From at least ten people. Overheard some of the secretaries talking about it too.”

I scoff.

Oliver pulls over opposite the hotel and shifts the car into park. We sit and stare at the building.

“Well?” I ask.

“Well what?”

“This was your idea. What’s next, Sherlock Holmes?”

“Maybe we should go inside. Or you should.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe if you catch her, she’ll feel guilty and tell you what is really going on.”

“That’s the stupidest idea you’ve ever had.”

“My wife isn’t the one cheating on me.”

“No, you’re the Nathaniel in your scenario and I’m Dad.” I lean my head against the glass and close my eyes. “Fuck.”

“There she is.”

I raise my head and open my eyes, fully prepared to see Scarlett kissing another man. Instead, she walks out of the hotel alone, wearing the same dress she had on this morning. Her hair is up in the same fancy twist I was careful not to disturb while she was blowing me. She doesn’t look like she was just rolling around in hotel sheets or engaging in a passionate affair, but looks can be deceiving.

Rather than head straight for the car waiting along the curb, she hesitates. I watch her give the driver a wait a minute gesture and then retreat toward the hotel. She doesn’t walk back inside. Instead, she leans against the brick exterior of the building with her head tipped upward.

After a couple of minutes, she pulls her phone out of her pocket. She stares at it for a few more minutes, then starts tapping on the screen. Eventually, she raises it to her ear.

Oliver swears. “Dammit. I told Dad he should have the PI tap her phone. She’s probably calling Jonathan. Now we won’t—” He stops talking when my phone lights up in the cupholder. Scarlett’s name and the photo of us at the top of the Eiffel Tower light up the screen. “She’s calling you?”

I’m just as shocked as he is.

“Answer it!”

Silently, I grab the phone and tap the green button. I pull in a deep breath as the call connects.

“Crew?”

I shove the anger and jealously and turmoil far, far down and attempt to sound normal. “Hi.”

She clears her throat. “Hi.”

I watch her closely. Her head is still tipped back. She’s chewing on her bottom lip furiously. “Did you need something?” I ask.

A beat of silence. “I, uh, I’m about to leave the office,” she says. Lies, rather.

“I won’t be home for a while.” I look at the car dash. It’s almost eight.

She doesn’t call me out on breaking our promise. “Oh. Okay. I’m going to pick up Chinese on my way home. Do you want me to get you anything?”

Her expression twists as soon as she’s spoken the question. It’s strange, seeing her reactions to what she’s saying. She sounds normal. She looks pained and unsure. Not guilty. What does that mean? “Sure. Thanks.”

“Want anything specific?”

“You know what I like.” I don’t mean for the words to sound suggestive, but there’s definitely some innuendo.

“Do I?” Rather than confident, she sounds unsure.

“I’ll try to get out of here soon, okay? We can…talk.”

“Okay. Bye.” She hangs up but doesn’t move. Her posture doesn’t change until she swipes at one cheek. She’s crying. The realization hits me like a bolt of lightning and flattens me like a two-ton weight.

“Let’s go,” I tell Oliver.

“What did she say?”

“Nothing relevant.”

“Are you going to—”

“Oliver. I swear to God. For the last fucking time. This is none. Of. Your. Business. Coming here was a mistake.”

The rest of the ride back to the office is silent. I don’t bother going back upstairs. I say good night to Oliver and then head straight into the garage and my waiting car.

Scarlett beats me back. When I walk into the penthouse, she’s sitting cross-legged on one of the couches that overlooks the terrace, poking at a takeout box. Her expression is blank when she looks up, and I hate it. I want the smile she gifted me with last night.

“You’re home.”

I strip my suit jacket and toss it on the couch. “Yes.”

“Are you hungry? Your food is—”

“Do you know Nathaniel Stewart?”

I watch her reaction closely. She coughs. Swallows. Takes a sip of water from the glass on the coffee table. Incriminating. “Yes.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Earlier tonight.” She holds my gaze. At least she’s being honest. Although she’s smart enough to know I wouldn’t be broaching this topic unless I knew something.

“Are you sleeping with him?”

“No.” Her answer is swift.

“Don’t lie to me, Scarlett,” I warn. “If you’re screwing him, just tell me the fucking truth.”

“That is the truth.” She shoves the chopsticks in her food and stands, crossing her arms. “I swear.”

“If you’re not sleeping with him, then why would you meet him at a hotel? Multiple times.”

Her eyes narrow. “You’re having me followed?”

“My father is. And not you. Stewart. He’s interested in a business opportunity and wanted to make sure the guy was clean.”

“When did you find out about this?”

“Yesterday morning,” I admit. “He has photos.”

“Of me fucking Nathaniel?”

I wince. “Of course not.”

“That’s why you…last night. You believed him. You thought I was cheating.” The anger I can handle. The hurt in her voice is worse.

“It looked bad, Scarlett. And it’s not like you haven’t.”

She breaks eye contact for the first time. “That was before, Crew.”

“I know.”

“And I’m sick of having that flung in my face. Like you haven’t been with anyone since we got married.”

“Actually, I haven’t.”

She looks shocked. “You haven’t?”

“Nope.” I roll up my sleeves and head for the couch, pulling the takeout containers I assume are for me out of the bag and grabbing a pair of chopsticks. My chest feels lighter for the first time in thirty-six hours. And I’m starving as a result.

“I—why?”

I shrug and start eating. “Wasn’t interested.”

That admission is met with a long beat of silence as she sinks back down on the couch and picks up her food. “He gave me money,” Scarlett finally says. When I look over, she’s fiddling with her chopsticks again. “For Haute.”

“Why the hell would you need money?” I ask. Even before she married me, Scarlett was set to become the richest woman in the country.

“I’m going to inherit a lot. My parents paid for everything: cars, penthouses, tuition, credit cards. But I don’t have direct access to anything. Or I didn’t, until I got married.”

“What?”

“I’m an only child. If I didn’t get married and have kids, there wouldn’t be an Ellsworth heir.” She purses her lips. “My father didn’t want to take any chances, apparently. He put some strict conditions on my trust fund. I’m sure Haute turning profitable gave him quite the scare.”

“You wouldn’t need to get married then,” I realize.

She nods. “I wasn’t…opposed to this.” She gestures between us. “I just wanted to do it on my own terms, I guess. And if I’d waited until we got married, then Haute would have already sold. I didn’t have many options.”

“I would have given you the money.”

“Like I said, I didn’t have many options.”

I half-smile at that. “Is he still involved?”

“No. I paid him back as soon as we got married. In full.”

“Did you sleep with him? Back then.”

“No. I don’t mix business and sex.”

“So he tried to.”

“Yes,” she admits.

“And tonight?”

“He wants to pursue another investment together.” She leans back and tucks her legs underneath her. “I took the meeting as a courtesy, but I told him no. That I have my hands full with Haute and now rouge. And.” She clears her throat. “I mentioned that I’m happily married.”

Like hell is this guy getting involved in Kensington Consolidated.

“He made another pass at you?”

“Yes.” She catches sight of my expression, and hers turns amused. “I handled it, Crew.”

I sigh. “I’m sorry. Last night…I was pissed.”

“Yep. Figured that out.”

“I thought we were finally in a good place. And then I saw those photos and I just…if it was true, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know. That’s why I didn’t say anything to you until now.”

“I should have told you about it. Possibly when you insinuated I didn’t earn Haute.”

I wince. “I’m an ass sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

I set my food down on the coffee table and move closer to her. I tilt her head up and trace my thumb across her bottom lip. “Scarlett.” Her name is my favorite word in the English language. I love saying it. Caressing the syllables.

I’m about to kiss her when she asks, “Where were you last night?”

“My old place. Alone.”

She holds my gaze. “Okay.”

“Would it bother you? If I hadn’t been?”

“Yes.”

I smile. “Good.”

For the first time, all our steps feel forward.

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