She looks different—more confident, in charge, as they talk about the stations, the ordering system, purchase specifications, and work flow.
I let out a breath, feeling something loosen inside me. This, I know, is exactly what Liv wanted. Even through all we’ve had to deal with, she’s stood her ground, found a goal, and gotten it done. She’s finally realized how strong she is and has proven it to herself.
When she sets the papers down and approaches me, I’m grinning like a fool.
Liv stops, amused. “Well, you look happy.”
“Sure I’m happy. You’re here, aren’t you?”
“Aw.” She smiles, giving me a little pinch on the arm. “Good one.”
“Can I take you to lunch?”
“Of course. Just give me a sec.”
We return to the main room, and Liv goes behind the front counter to her open laptop. I sit down at one of the chairs, which has upholstery covered with a playing card design in honor of Alice in Wonderland, and wait for Liv to finish typing on the computer.
The phone rings. Still looking at her computer, Liv answers it.
“Good afternoon, Wonderland Café.”
She pauses. Something radiates from her suddenly that gets me to my feet. I cross the room in a few strides, tension clawing at me.
“Yes?” Liv says into the phone.
She turns, her gaze meeting mine. My instinct kicks into gear, and I’m reaching for the phone before I can think. Liv puts her hand up and steps back, the phone still pressed to her ear.
“What?” she says into the receiver, her skin paling. “No. I don’t want to talk to him.”
I go around the counter and grab the phone from her, knowing to my bones what this is about.
“This is Dean West,” I tell the caller. “Who’s this?”
“Um… I was speaking to Olivia West,” replies a woman.
“This is her husband.” My grip is about to break the phone. “Who is this?”
“This is Mary Frederick, assistant to Mr. Edward Hamilton. Mr. Hamilton would like to make an appointment to speak to Mrs. West about—”
I slam the phone down, anger flooding me, my heart hammering. Liv is watching me, wary now, her eyes dark with the realization of what that phone call means. Edward Hamilton is now a very real threat to her and possibly her new business.
“What does he want?” she asks.
“To get to me.” Through you.
Edward Hamilton is an asshole, but he’s not stupid. He figured out early on that Liv is the one guaranteed way he can scare me. That if he goes after her… I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.
Liv knows that too.
Her brown eyes fill with fear, pain, worry. A sharp ache cuts through my chest. And as my wife and I stand there in the Wonderland Café looking at each other, the decision solidifies inside me like ice.
I reach out to tuck a lock of Liv’s hair behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. Not that I need an excuse. Most of the time I touch her just because I want to. Because I can. Because she’s mine.
“I need you to do something for me,” I finally say.
“Anything.”
“Don’t change your mind. Don’t tell me you want to talk to Hamilton and defend me or defend us. Not now. Not ever. I will go bat-shit crazy if I have to let you go to him.”
She curls her hand around my wrist. My pulse beats against her fingers. She shakes her head.
“I won’t,” she promises. “I’d never talk to him about us.”
“Okay.” Relief melts away some of the ice.
“What if he…”
Her voice trails off, leaving a hundred questions unspoken. A seething anger snakes into my blood at the thought of what the answers could be.
“I’m going to deal with this.” I tug my arm from Liv’s grasp. “And you’re going to let me.”
If there is one certainty in the world, it’s that my wife knows me. She knows that this is not a question, not a negotiation.
“What are you going to do?” she asks.
“I’m going to talk to him.”
Liv nods, her expression clouding. “Please be careful.”
“If his assistant calls again, hang up on her,” I say.
“What if he calls?”
“He won’t.” I check the caller ID on the café phone, then take out my cell phone and program Hamilton’s office number in. “I’ll take care of this.”
There’s no other option. Not with Hamilton closing in.
Instead of taking Liv to lunch, I go home and make arrangements for the hour-and-a-half flight to Chicago the following day, with a return flight the same evening. I call Frances Hunter and keep the conversation short. Apologize. Don’t listen to her protests. Thank her and apologize a second time.
Then I call Hamilton’s office and tell his assistant when I’ll be there.
The next morning, I say goodbye to my wife yet again.
The hot, sweet crush of her body against mine, a tangle of silky hair, the peach softness of her cheek, the press of her mouth.
She’s all I’m thinking about as the flight lands in Chicago. She’s all that matters. I catch a taxi from the airport, and the driver stops in front of a downtown high-rise. I grab my briefcase and go inside, taking the elevator to the twelfth floor.