Chapter 91 - 90 Jealous Ex-Girlfriend
*** EMILY ***
Hot water and a massive corporate victory are the two best cures for physical pain.
I stand under the scalding spray of the shower for a long time. The heat soothes the throbbing ache in my right shoulder. Slapping Victor Sterling required a significant amount of force, but the resulting pharmaceutical partnership is worth every ounce of discomfort.
I step out of the glass enclosure and dry off quickly. I wrap a thick white terrycloth towel around my wet hair. I slip my arms into my heavy silk robe and tie the sash tightly around my waist. The faint scent of lavender soap lingers on my skin. I’m in a fantastic mood. I’m finally building my own empire.
I push the heavy oak bathroom door open and step into the cool air of my bedroom.
I stop walking immediately.
Alistair stands directly in the center of my room. He looks like a violent storm waiting to break. He wears a tailored black tuxedo, but the formal bow tie is missing. The top button of his crisp white shirt is undone. His broad shoulders are rigidly tense. His dark eyes lock onto mine the exact second I enter the space.
I don’t jump. I just look at him.
"You could knock," I say calmly. I pull the towel from my head and start drying the damp ends of my hair.
Alistair doesn’t move. He doesn’t apologize for the sudden intrusion. He simply stares at me with a heavy, suffocating intensity.
I decide to ignore his dark energy entirely. I refuse to let his typical arrogance ruin my triumphant evening.
"I found a business partner tonight," I tell him. A genuine, proud smile touches my lips. "A highly capable one. The SN1818 formula is officially moving into the manufacturing phase."
Alistair doesn’t congratulate me. He doesn’t ask about the logistics or the projected profit margins.
He reaches into his tuxedo jacket. He pulls out his sleek black smartphone. He taps the glass screen once and holds the device out toward me.
"Is this your highly capable partner?" Alistair asks. His voice is a low, dangerous rasp.
I drop the damp towel onto a nearby velvet armchair. I walk across the plush carpet and stop right in front of him. I look down at the glowing digital screen.
It’s a high-resolution photograph. I see myself sitting in the private booth at Bordeaux 101. I’m wearing my black blazer. I’m reaching across the mahogany table and shaking hands with Victor. The angle of the shot perfectly captures the intense, mutual respect passing between us. It also clearly shows Victor looking at me with profound, undivided admiration.
I recognize the exact angle of the camera lens. The photo was taken directly through the tiny gap in the heavy velvet curtains.
My proud smile vanishes entirely. Pure, toxic anger replaces it.
Warren Sinclair. That arrogant, creeping menace actually stood in the dark shadows and took photos of my private corporate meeting like a cheap tabloid paparazzi. He deliberately invaded my privacy. Then he immediately sent the evidence to Alistair to stir up domestic trouble.
I look up from the phone. I look directly into Alistair’s furious, dark eyes.
"Does Warren Sinclair have a massive crush on you?" I ask bluntly.
The bizarre question hits Alistair like a physical blow. The dangerous, possessive anger rolling off his large frame stalls completely. His dark eyebrows snap together in absolute, pure confusion.
"What?" Alistair asks. The single word is flat and entirely bewildered.
"It’s a very simple question," I say. I cross my arms over my chest and tighten my silk robe. "Does Warren harbor secret romantic feelings for you?"
Alistair stares at me as if I just started speaking a foreign language. "Emily, what are you talking about?"
"I’m talking about his completely unhinged behavior," I explain. I point a bandaged finger squarely at the phone screen. "He sneaks around his own luxury restaurant. He spies on a highly private business meeting. He interrogates me about my personal relationship with Victor. Then, he hides in a dark corner, takes a creepy photograph, and sends it directly to you."
I let out a harsh, sarcastic laugh.
"He acts exactly like a jealous, bitter ex-girlfriend trying to ruin a marriage," I continue. "He clearly hates the fact that I’m occupying your time and your resources. He sent you this picture specifically to create a massive misunderstanding between us. So, I will ask you again. Is he in love with you?"
Alistair looks down at the photograph on his phone. He looks back at my highly annoyed face.
The terrifying, icy tension in his broad shoulders finally breaks. A low, rich chuckle escapes his chest. He lowers the phone and slides it back into his pocket.
"No, Emily," Alistair says. A faint, genuine smile touches the corners of his mouth. "Warren doesn’t have a crush on me. I can assure you with absolute certainty that we both heavily prefer women."
"Then he is just a deeply bored, highly intrusive menace," I state firmly. "I told him to leave my booth tonight. I established a clear, verbal boundary. He completely ignored it and decided to play petty high school games with my professional reputation."
Alistair watches me closely. The dark anger is entirely gone from his expression. A strange, quiet intensity replaces it. He realizes I’m not acting defensive about Victor Sterling. I’m simply furious about the blatant disrespect from his business partner.
"You told Warren Sinclair to leave your table?" Alistair asks. He sounds genuinely impressed.
"I told him to take his expensive drink and get out," I clarify. "I was in the middle of a billion-dollar negotiation. I don’t have the patience to entertain his childish spying."
Alistair steps slightly closer. The faint scent of aged scotch and crisp night air wraps around me. He reaches out and gently touches the silk sleeve of my robe.
"You are absolutely right," Alistair says quietly. "His behavior was entirely out of line. He crossed a severe professional boundary by photographing your meeting."
He drops his hand and steps back. His expression turns serious and formal.
"I apologize on his behalf, Emily," Alistair states. "He thought he was being clever, but he was just being incredibly disrespectful to my wife."
I tilt my head. I study his handsome face in the dim bedroom light. He’s actually defending my right to privacy. He’s validating my anger instead of demanding an explanation about Victor.
"An apology from you means absolutely nothing to me," I tell him flatly. "You didn’t take the photo. You didn’t violate my privacy."
"I know," Alistair agrees. He buttons his tuxedo jacket. The dark, ruthless CEO returns to his green eyes. "Which is exactly why I will make sure he apologizes to you directly. Face to face. I will handle it personally."
I nod once. I’m perfectly satisfied with that arrangement.
I’m going to make Warren Sinclair sweat for every single word of that apology.