Chapter 44 Sweet Heart
EMILY
Heavy tactical boots aren’t meant for sprinting up a grand carpeted staircase, but Leo makes them sound like a percussion solo.
I barely have time to slide the white envelope containing my saved one thousand dollars into my jacket pocket before my bedroom door flies open.
Leo stands in the threshold, his chest rising and falling beneath his dark security uniform. His closely cropped hair is damp at the temples, and his rugged, square face is tight. He doesn’t say a word. He simply extends his massive arm, holding out a black encrypted smartphone that is vibrating violently in his palm.
I stare at the device with a frown, then look back up at him.
"Hmm?"
"The boss," Leo says, his voice a clipped, urgent bark. "Answer it now."
A sudden wave of nerves dries out my throat. I take the device, the glass screen slick from the heat of his hand. Alistair has never called me through Leo or anyone. I assume that if a man like Alistair is calling me through his head of security, the Wolfe estate should be under some kind of attack or the corporate world is collapsing.
That sounds extreme but I’ve learned that nothing is extreme in this house.
I press the green icon and lift the speaker to my ear, my fingers tightening against the hard plastic casing.
"Alistair?" I say, keeping my voice as steady as my raw thumbs will allow.
"Sweetheart," Alistair’s voice comes through the receiver, smooth and dripping with an uncharacteristic, sugary warmth. "Did you finish packing those sweet butter cookies you baked for me this morning? I’m sitting here at my corporate desk, completely distracted by the thought of you waiting for me in our pavilion."
I freeze in the center of the room, my boots rooting to the carpet.
Sweetheart?
I take the phone from my ear and look at it to be sure that the device hasn’t magically turned into something else.
Sweetheart? Cookies?
This is a man who treats our marriage contract like a high-stakes corporate merger and he’s currently using pet names.
It’s like watching a grizzly bear attempt a ballroom dance. It’s completely unnatural and my mind starts to work fast.
With Alistair, I have to be quick on my feet and think fast. Alistair is a reasonable man and he doesn’t do things without a reason. This can only mean that there’s a goal to him acting this way.
My mind quickly pieces the clues together. Leo had to report my destination to him just a few minutes ago. Alistair is at his office which means the possibility that he’s not alone is really high.
Someone must be in the room with me and he’s using me as a human shield to fend off an unwanted visitor.
If he wants a performance, I’ll give him an award-winning one. Survival in this house means knowing when to play the doting wife, especially if I want him to sign off on those shooting lessons with Leo tomorrow. I need to keep him pleased if I ever want to get my cardiology formula licensed by Dr. Aris and escape the shadow of the Vance family for good.
I soften my posture, leaning my shoulder against the dark wood of the bedpost. I let out a low, breathy giggle, making sure the sound carries perfectly through the microphone.
"Since you like them so much, honey, I’ll make a fresh batch for you again today," I say, my voice dropping into a sweet, gentle rhythm that makes my own skin prickle. "You’ve been working so hard at the office. Just promise me you’ll come home early after work, okay? The house feels entirely too big when you’re away."
There’s a brief, heavy pause on the other end of the line. I can almost hear the gears turning in his massive head as he processes my counter-attack.
I grin to myself, thoroughly enjoying the rare opportunity to catch the master of the Wolfe estate completely off guard.
"That’s great. I’ll see you soon, Sweetheart," Alistair says, his tone regaining a bit of its solid, icy edge.
"Alright honey, I love you," I add, sweetening the poison just a little more.
I press the red button before he can break character, cutting off the connection with a sharp beep. I hand the phone back to Leo, who is staring at me with a look of profound, military confusion. I let out a sharp chuckle, patting the pocket where my cash is hidden.
"Let’s go, Leo," I say, walking past his bulky frame. "We have a pizza shop to find."
ALISTAIR
The line goes dead, leaving a flat, rhythmic dial tone that cuts through the thick, suffocating cloud of French perfume in my office. I set the receiver back onto its heavy mahogany cradle, my large fingers lingering on the plastic for a fraction of a second to steady my temper.
Naya stands on the opposite side of my desk, her tailored crimson dress wrinkled from the aggressive way she marched past my secretary. Her long blonde hair is styled into stiff, unnatural waves that bounce against her shoulders as she breathes. She’s the daughter of a congressman who currently controls the upcoming presidential primary, and she carries that political weight like a weapon.
Her dark eyes are wide, her heavy mascara smudging slightly at the corners as she glares at me.
"Who was that?" Naya demands, her red-glossed lips twisting into a sharp sneer. She slams her leather clutch onto my financial reports, the gold hardware clinking loudly against the wood. "Is it true, Alistair? The rumors from the country clubs? You actually married a common girl from the Vance family? The one who grew up in a storage room or something like that"
I lean back in my heavy leather swivel chair, crossing my legs as I study her frantic expression. I keep my face a perfect, unreadable sheet of ice. The brief conversation with Emily still echoes in my mind. Her soft, dripping words were a surprise. She saw right through my ruse and raised the stakes, turning my own play into a domestic performance that successfully established a barrier in this room. She has a terrifyingly adaptive mind.
And I really admire it.
"You heard her, Naya," I say, my tone flat and devoid of any warmth. "My wife expects me home for dinner. The Wolfe family doesn’t ignore its domestic obligations."
Naya lets out a sharp, hysterical laugh, her diamond earrings rattling against her neck. She steps around the side of the desk, her high heels clicking a frantic rhythm against the polished floorboards. She stops inches from my chair, the heavy scent of her perfume filling my senses until I want to open a window.
"You don’t love her," Naya whispers, leaning down until her face is level with mine. Her eyes are desperate, hunting for a crack in my composure. "I know how your grandmother operates. This is a business transaction. She’s just a vessel, Alistair. A nobody you kept around because of a pregnancy fluke. You married her for the child, not for her name."
She reaches out, her long, red-painted nails digging into the dark charcoal wool of my suit jacket. She presses her weight against my shoulder, her breathing turning hot and uneven against the skin of my neck. Before I can even lift a hand to remove her, she leans closer, her lips brushing my jaw line as she attempts to nip sharply at my earlobe.
My reaction is entirely physical and instantaneous.
I don’t touch her. I refuse to let her perfume stain my skin any further. I drive my heavy leather boots hard into the hardwood floor, pushing my body backward with a sudden, violent surge of force.
The heavy leather swivel chair flies backward across the smooth floor tracks, covering three feet of space in a split second.
The sudden removal of my support leaves Naya completely suspended in the air. Her red high heel catches the edge of the plush Persian rug, her ankle twisting outward with a sharp, sickening snap of leather and bone.
She lets out a loud, piercing shriek as her balance disintegrates. She tumbles sideways, her crimson dress bunching around her thighs as she crashes heavily onto the hard floor near the leather sofa. Her clutch bursts open, sending gold credit cards, designer lipsticks, and ivory powder compacts skittering across the polished wood.
"Alistair!" Naya wails, her face contorting into a mask of theatrical agony. She clutches her left ankle with both hands, her chest heaving as big, messy tears begin to track through her thick foundation. "My foot! I think it’s broken! How can you be so cruel? Help me up!"
I remain seated in the chair, my hands resting calmly on the armrests as I look down at her from across the gap. I don’t stand. I don’t reach for the intercom to call a doctor.
"Your performance hasn’t improved since your father’s last press conference, Naya," I say, my voice cutting through her sobbing like a winter wind. "Save the tears for the cameras. I know exactly what you came here to do."
She freezes, her hand still hovering over her swollen ankle, her eyes narrowing as she realizes the pity play isn’t working.
"You walked into my private office intending to worm your way into my bed as a mistress," I continue, keeping my words direct and clear. "You thought a pregnancy contract meant my marriage was an open door. Let me make this completely plain so you can report it back to your father. I have absolutely zero interest in keeping women on the side. I don’t do mistresses, Naya. And I don’t tolerate trash in my workspace."
I slide my chair back to the desk, pulling my financial reports back into view as if she were nothing more than a piece of discarded paper on the rug.
"Get out of my office," I tell the documents in front of me. "Before I have Leo’s men carry you to the service elevator by your designer straps."