It was the culmination of every emotion I’d ever experienced. The high of happy, the depths of sad, and the spine-tingling chill of ecstasy.
He continued grinning at me as my world flashed from black and white to screaming color all around me.
Then he smirked and replied, “They sound horrible, Lissy.”
Not Lizzy.
Lissy.
I’d lived twenty-six years of life before that night.
But, suddenly, I was alive for the very first time.
I knew absolutely nothing about that man.
But I knew he was mine.
And I was meant to be his.
As I snapped back to the present, anger spiraled through my veins. “Don’t call me that,” I hissed.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants and rocked forward on his toes, but he issued no apology. He just stood there arrogantly grinning at me.
Such was life with Roman Leblanc.
And, as it turned out, life without Roman Leblanc, too.
“Mr. and Mrs. Leblanc,” a man’s voice called from the end of the hall.
Roman and I both looked in the direction as an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a Santa Claus belly approached. “I’m Detective Rorke. I apologize for your wait, Mrs.—”
“Ms. Keller,” I corrected before he had the chance to go any farther. Standing in the hall with Roman was bad enough without someone else joining him in his little name game from the past.
“Right. Sorry,” he said, turning sideways in order to slide past Roman. “Let’s move in here.” He opened the door to the room I’d originally been in before they’d relocated me to the hall.
I stood and waited for Roman and his legal entourage to enter the small room, but he swept an arm in a grand gesture for me to go first.
Always the fucking gentleman.
I rolled my eyes and walked inside. Though I did it with attitude, so flounce might be more accurate.
I heard Roman’s deep throaty chuckle as I passed.
I wanted to give him hell, but more than that, I wanted this to be over with. So I kept my mouth closed and settled in a metal folding chair on one side of the table, being sure to give the chair next to me a hard shove, scooting it to the end farthest away.
Roman didn’t react, but I was positive he’d noticed.
“I see you brought your lawyers, Mr. Leblanc,” Rorke stated, opening a manila folder like he had all the time in the world.
Roman crossed his arms over his chest. “I was called to a police station with two hours’ notice. For questioning in a matter I wasn’t informed about. You’ll have to excuse my caution.” Judging by his tone, he didn’t want to be excused at all.
What I took from that exchange was that Roman got two hours’ notice. Meanwhile, I had barely been able to speed-shower, choke a bagel down, let Loretta out, and then apply makeup in the rear-view mirror on the way over.
I secretly hated him even more.
Rorke nodded, but he didn’t seem placated. “Innocent men rarely travel with two attorneys,” he said, poking the beast.
Roman’s eyes darkened as his face turned to stone. “Good cops rarely drag innocent people in for questioning without allowing them time to find proper representation.” His eyes pointedly flashed down to me then back to Rorke. “So, yes, I do travel with two attorneys, but now, I only have one. Mr. Kaplin is with me and Mr. Whitman will now be representing Elisabeth Keller.” He spat my last name, but that wasn’t what caused me to jerk in my chair.
“What? No, he’s not. I don’t need representation.” And I sure as hell didn’t need to be billed whatever hourly wage allowed Mr. Whitman to buy that expensive—albeit stylish and well-fitted—suit.
“Shut it, Lis,” Roman snapped, never dragging his eyes off Rorke.
Oh. Hell. No.
I snapped right back, “You did not just tell me to shut it.”
Roman continued his stare-down with the detective as he called out, “Whit, advise your client.”
Whit inched over to me. “Don’t say anything. I’ll answer all questions for you.”
“You will not!” I replied. “We just met. You don’t know the answers.”
He arched a challenging eyebrow and dragged a chair over to sit next to me. Then he shot me a cocky grin and said, “I know the law, which means, in this room, I know all the answers.”
My mouth fell open, and I glanced back up at Roman.
He smirked at me, and I’ll be damned if that didn’t cause an unwanted, but very real, flutter in my stomach. Shit!
“I don’t need an attorney,” I informed the entire room.
“Well, now, you have one in case you do,” Roman returned.
“I don’t need an attorney, Roman.”
His lips thinned as he scowled. “Well, now, you have one in case you do, Lissy.”
I clenched my teeth and ground out, “Stop calling me that.”
Vaguely, I heard Detective Rorke clear his throat, but just as quickly, Roman’s hand went up in the air, snapping to silence him. Then, bending at the waist, my ex-husband leaned down until he was only inches from my face and growled, “Sure thing, Lissy.”
Yes. Growled. Like some sort of man-cub raised by a pack of bears.