He glanced at Zandra. “Be right back.”
She nodded, watching as he turned and strode from the kitchen. Moments later she heard the balcony doors open and close, and she frowned.
If Remy felt the need to step outside to take the call, it had to be a woman. Why else would he require such privacy?
Don’t jump to conclusions, a small voice reasoned. He could be discussing work. Given the sensitive nature of his profession, it’d make perfect sense for him to want privacy to speak to an employee or a client. You of all people should understand that. Besides, why should it matter if he’s talking to one of his bimbos? He doesn’t belong to you any more than you belong to him.
Gritting her teeth, Zandra finished washing the plate and fork, then stood there debating whether to cut into the strawberry tart or put the damn thing back into the refrigerator.
She still hadn’t decided by the time Remy returned to the kitchen carrying the bottle of wine and the glass they’d shared over dinner.
“Sorry about that,” he murmured.
“No problem.” Zandra strove for aloofness. “Is everything okay?”
He nodded, setting down the bottle and empty glass.
She hesitated, then couldn’t resist asking casually, “Who was on the phone?”
Pause. “Work.”
Though Remy had always been frighteningly adept at hiding his emotions, Zandra knew him well enough to detect when he was lying.
He was lying now.
As a knot of jealousy unfurled inside her, she walked over and picked up the covered glass dish containing the strawberry tart.
Remy frowned, watching as she shoved the dessert back inside the refrigerator. “What’re you doing? I thought we were gonna eat that.”
“Not anymore.”
“Why not?”
“It’s late,” she said curtly, “and I need to be up early.”
His eyes narrowed on her face.
She stared back defiantly.
After another moment, he nodded slowly. “All right.”
His acquiescence further incensed her, confirming her suspicion that he’d been talking to another woman. A woman who was probably waiting for him this very moment.
As he turned and left the kitchen, Zandra followed him, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor.
She watched as he crossed to the chair where they’d made love and picked up his shirt, which she’d folded and draped neatly over the back. His muscles flexed as he shrugged into the ruined shirt, then sat down and shoved his feet into those humongous combat boots he’d worn with his suit—a look only he could pull off.
“I have to go out of the country on business for a few days,” he told her. “You can reach me on my cell if you need anything.”
Zandra folded her arms across her chest. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
He nodded, tying his boots. “You still going to that fundraiser on Sunday?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I thought we could go together.”
Zandra sniffed. “Actually, I already invited Colin to go with me,” she lied.
Remy glanced up sharply. His expression was so ominous she took an unconscious step backward. “I suggest you uninvite him,” he growled.
Her temper flared. “I suggest you go to hell.”
He glared at her, a muscle throbbing in his jaw.
She returned the glare.
“Fine,” he muttered darkly. “I’ll go with one of your girls, then.”
Zandra froze, staring at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Set me up on a date with one of your escorts.”
Her jaw went slack. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.” He pushed to his feet. “I was invited to the fundraiser. Since you won’t go with me, I’d like to take one of your escorts.”
Zandra was outraged, though she realized she probably had no right to be. “Why can’t you take one of your girlfriends?”
Remy gave her a small, grim smile. “Let’s just say we’re not on the best terms right now.”