Wickedly Wicked

Chapter Two

Thomas stared at the finger of his left hand. It was missing his wedding band.

It was almost a year since the ink had dried on the papers that had ended the tenuous relationship he had shared with his ex-wife.

They had kept growing apart, and by the fourth year of their marriage, both of them had been living separate lives. At first, they had slept in different bedrooms, and after receiving the silent treatment from him, Carol had moved out. Soon, she had demanded a divorce. By then, he had already written her off.

The buzzing of the phone brought him back to the present. He put down the crystal tumbler to retrieve it. It was Brent.

What does he want? He let the call go to voicemail. He didn't feel like having a conversation, even with his sibling.

Reaching out for the whisky again, Thomas tipped his head and drank it in one go. The fiery liquid burned at the back of his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut as warmth spread to his extremities, relaxing his tensed muscles. With a grimace, he discarded the empty tumbler and shucked off his tuxedo jacket.

His phone rang again. Once more, he didn't take the call.

Tonight, Thomas did what he had done in the past year. He buried himself in the pile of work that awaited him, working steadily until the night was chased away by the midsummer morning. It bore a promise of another sunny day.

He was typing on his laptop when a soft knock interrupted him. It must be the housekeeper.

"Come in."

He was right. It was the housekeeper, which meant it was seven-thirty in the morning. She hovered at the door, taking in his dishevelled state.

"Yes, Angela?" he asked, unrolling his shirt's sleeves. He could only imagine what she thought; a workaholic insomniac who could whip through the paperwork but was a complete failure at his marriage.

"Good morning. Your friend, Noah, is here to see you."

"Can you tell him I am occupied?" Thomas was still not in the mood for company.

"Um, he's right... outside this room." Angela's eyes darted to her left side.

Typical Noah. Thomas sighed. His friend had a blatant habit of ignoring the ways of the world. All he had to do was charm the pants off everyone, but usually, panties were more of his forte.

Before he could think of another way of brushing off Noah, the door to his study room swung open and his friend stood beside Angela. He seemed like a man on a mission, and this wasn't good news for Thomas.

"Angela, baby, can you please get us breakfast? You'll make me the luckiest man in the world." Noah flashed his trademark grin, making the poor woman blush.

Once they were alone, Thomas said, "There will be no sleeping with the help. Angela is a happy single mother. Leave her be."

Noah Richardson, with his boyish looks, surpassed even Brent when it came to women and trouble.

"Hey man, I appreciate the ladies, and they appreciate me."

"Yes, I saw how you made a fool of yourself at Williamson's ball."

Last night, he had returned from a mindless party where women, dressed to the nines, had eyeballed him. It hadn't fazed him a bit. They were all like Carol with their impeccable sartorial tastes, coquettish natures and the same drive for hunting wealthy men. And Thomas refused to be the bait at thirty-one. Not anymore.

"Jealous?" A smirk quirked Noah's lips.

"You wish."

"Anyway, speaking of yesterday, you went into hiding rather early."