Married to a powerful businessman feared all-over Portland, Mia Kingston has a reputation to uphold. As the CEO of MK, her own lingerie brand, everyone believes she has everything, including the perfect marriage most women envy.
She's beautiful, s...
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I'm in a hurry to dash into the car when Red holds my hand tentatively. I give him a sharp glance, holding the car door open as I'm stuck halfway. Ignoring Bill's same worried expression, Red doesn't seem ready to let this slide without explanation.
"Is there any problem?" he asks me.
"Yes—a big one. But I'm going to settle it right now," I reply sternly. "Let's go." I scramble inside and he slams the door with a million-questions look.
Laters, sugar. I'm not in the mood.
Bill drives off immediately after we all settle down. My head is excogitating the possible speech I'm going to give the man I'm married to. It's so frustrating that he has my life under the leash—controlling everything as he pleases.
But no, this has got to stop.
Long, restless minutes later the car halts inside the mansion and I make my exit as ungracious as I am at the moment. My two boys look even more confused, but they already know it has everything to do with Patrick. After all, it's not the first time.
The first thing I see is the black Rolls Royce, the only car brand my husband uses. My anger feels amplified as I stride fast toward the front door, where I come face to face with Butler Lucas. Is he always on standby? He amazes me.
Seeing me in such a frenzy, he mutters, "Why are—"
"Is my husband home?" I cut him off, my steps audible through my heels on the tiled floor.
"Yes. He's upstairs." The old man can smell the storm.
I walk past him and stride through the snaked staircase as though it's flat. The bedroom door is unlocked and my first stop is right inside after slamming it hard behind me. Agitated and fed up, my gaze rests on Patrick standing near the great window, a phone in his ear.
He glances back at me instantly and scowls. "Hold on. I'll get back to you later," he tells whoever on the phone, his silver eyes alarmed by the sight of me.
Dressed in a white polo shirt, body fit, and dark blue dress pants tucking that shirt with an expensive leather belt, this jerk still looks like a hunk in his late twenties. But he disgusts me nonetheless and all I want is to see less of him . . . if not at all.
"Who do you think you are, huh?" The words slide out of my mouth with a balm of pure anger.
Patrick sighs softly and makes his way toward me, his face undisturbed. "What a wonderful way to greet your husband, huh!" He drops his cellphone on the little coffee table as he marches closer. "Don't tell me it's about cutting off your vacation in the country house. For God's sake, baby, I couldn't let you stay there with—"
"Don't even start with your sleazy fuckery with me, Patrick!" I snarl at him, my eyes raw and wide. "It was you, wasn't it? Only you are capable of doing that, you asshole!" I pounce on him like a stray cat but he easily holds my hands to his chest.
