“Hello, darling. How was your day?”
“Daddy,” Isabella says. “You’re here.” I look down at her on the floor and plaster on my fakest smile. No need to show her how angry I am.
“Hi, baby girl. Play with your dolls. Mommy and I are going to have a talk.”
“Okay,” she says, going back to her toys.
“Get up, Chelsea. Don’t make me move you myself,” I say as quietly as I can, not wanting to scare our child.
She rolls her eyes but stands to follow me.
When we’re out of earshot of Isabella, I lay into her. “Are you fucking kidding me? You have the nerve to do that in my house?” I roar.
“Did that bother you?” Her lips tip up in a cat-like smile.
“I couldn’t care less about you. It’s not like it’s the first time. How many times has it been, Chelsea?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know. If you don’t care, then stop asking questions.”
“Oh, I don’t. This marriage has been over for a long time.”
“Yes, it has,” she snips. “This is a marriage of convenience, and that’s all. I’d be happy to leave.”
“Please. Do us both a favor and get the hell out.”
“I could,” she draws, “but you and I both know what that means for you. So, Grant, what will it be?” She trails her perfectly sculpted nails down my chest. I know what she’s implying. The threat of her taking Isabella from me hangs heavy in the air.
“Stay for all I care then. But don’t pretend you want Isabella. You continue to prove that all she is to you is a pawn. You don’t love her. You only love yourself.”
“Have it your way. But don’t tell me who I can and can’t fuck,” she spits, turning to storm out of the room.
What the hell did I get myself into when I married her? My pride has done nothing but fuck me over royally. When will I ever learn?
The weekend crept by in a slow drawl. I couldn’t wait to get back to work. Normally I would have been at the hotel, especially since we’re opening to the public soon, but after Chelsea’s neglect, I took the weekend to be with Isabella. Now it’s Monday, and I’m back. I’d like to say I’ve been hard at work, but that would be a lie. Instead, I’ve sat here for hours thinking about nothing but her. When I walked in this morning all pissed about life, I took it out on Bridget, screaming, barking orders. The girl must think I’m a complete nutjob. Have I always been so horrible? Now I can’t help replay each moment since she started working for me. The way her nose crinkles in frustration whenever I challenge her. The way she breathes deeply trying to stave off the words I know she wants to say but doesn’t dare for the sake of her job. Fuck. She’s exquisite when she’s pissed, and I’m doing a bang-up job making her nothing but. I can’t help it. Being an asshole is the easiest way to keep her at arm’s length. If she gets too close, I’ll cave. The flowery smell of her hair, the mint on her breath, I’ll come undone.
Instead, I need to focus on the task at hand. I have a mound of paperwork to work through, and so far I’ve been staring at the same document for over an hour. Fuck. This distraction isn’t good for business. I can’t focus on legal docs, so I place it to the side and pick up the folder from my investigator.
I’ve hired someone to keep an eye on Chelsea and retrieve all her passcodes for me. I’m monitoring her company phone records, emails—anything to catch her in the act so I can build a case to throw her out on her ass. It seems like a good plan, but at the end of the day, I know it’s worthless. She has me by the balls. I’d do anything for our daughter, and she knows it.
All I’m really doing is keeping an eye on her involvement where my family is concerned. If I’m two steps ahead of her, she can’t really do too much damage, can she? I think that thought too soon. As I’m looking through the email logs, I stop short when I see an email to Karen, Bridget’s recruiter.
Hello, Chelsea,
I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you. I haven’t spoken to Olivia Miller in some time, but she finally called today. From our conversation, it would appear she is not aware that Bridget has been placed with The L, and I can assure you the news of her working directly with Grant would not come as good news.
To follow up on our conversation regarding The Lancaster, they are currently seeking a new marketing director for their European market. I don’t know what they are looking to do, but they are looking for someone with a very impressive résumé. Whatever they have planned, it’s big.
I hope the tip helps. Looking forward to drinks soon.
Best,
Karen
I will myself to calm down. The worst thing that could happen is me snapping at the office. I’ve never put my hands on a woman, but I’d make an exception for her. She never fucking stops.
I’m sitting at a restaurant across the street from the hotel about to have lunch with Lynn. It’s the first time she’s come to visit me for lunch, and I’m excited to see a friendly face. An older woman walks over to our table. Her hair is white like a dove, and her face is etched with lines signifying years of hard work. She hands us our menus, and as she walks away, I start to fidget with the salt and pepper shakers. Lynn is my best friend, but right now I feel awkward. There’s so much to tell her, and I don’t know where to begin.
“So . . .” She points to the hotel. “That’s where you work?”
I nod.
“It’s beautiful from the outside.”
“It is, isn’t it? They sure know how to design a beautiful hotel.”
“What’s it look like from the inside?”
“Insane. It literally goes on forever.”
“I need to check it out once it opens.”
My brow rises in question.
“We all need a break every now and then. I like staycations.” She shrugs.
“Noted,” I reply before I start to fidget uncomfortably. As I’m about to try to change the topic, the waitress comes over and we both order. I think maybe the distraction is enough to get me out of my confession, but just as I’m coming up with something to say, Lynn beats me to the punch.
“What’s up, Bridge? You seem off.”
“I have to tell you something, but you can’t tell Olivia.”
Lynn’s forehead scrunches. “I’m not sure I can make that promise,” she responds as she pinches the bridge of her nose. “You know I’m not good at keeping secrets.”
You used to be.
After Lynn lied to me for months about her affair with her teacher, I made her promise to tell me everything. Now she’s an open book. The only problem is that now if I tell her about my job, I run the risk she might tell Olivia.
“It’s really not a big deal. I, um, the hotel—” Anxiety knots in my shoulders and I lift my hand to massage the corded muscles.
“Just spit it out.”
I hate that I have to tell her this. I hate that I’ve put myself in this position, but I did. And Lynn and I have no secrets. Not anymore, not since high school, so I need to tell her. “It’s owned by Spencer’s brother.”
Her mouth drops open. “That’s The L?”
“Yep.”