Page 57 of Perfect Satisfaction

“Because you are worried about me,” she surmises astutely.

“Because I hate him for what he did to you.”

Angie reaches over and laces her fingers in mine. “Do you? Or do you hate him for what he did to you—you and him?”

Aren’t they one and the same, a little voice whispers. Instead of answering her, I whisper, “I need to turn off my emotions. It will make what’s about to happen easier.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I won’t be going back to the island house any time soon.”

Then I tell her what I know I shouldn’t. I need her advice.

When she gasps in righteous indignation, I know I did the right thing.

The next year of my life is going to be a true test. A hell on earth designed for me by my own father.

CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX

Brendan Blake is considered by many to be the most legendary singer of his generation. Beloved by all genders, the man is who he is and makes no bones about it.

Everyone gushes about what a good person he is, it makes me speculate about his deepest, darkest secrets. Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t wondered about them in the dark—likely while you’re fantasizing about him in bed.

I had the opportunity to speak with him recently and probed him about who Ursula Moore was to him. To quote the man himself, “Other than none of your damned business?”

Like I said, everyone has secrets.

—StellaNova

There’s a knock against the frame of the door.I’m in the middle of typing of my notes from my interview with Brendan Blake. Furious at the interruption, I shout, “Go away!” I can’t get this article written the way I want it to and I’m due to go to press with it in just a few hours.

“Ronan, there are a bunch of lawyers to see you.” Hastings voice is subdued.

“I don’t have time for bullshit.”

“Neither do we, Mr. Ronan,” an unfamiliar voice enunciates in a crisp British accent.

I lower my head to the cool glass of my desk. “Christ, you weren’t kidding? What did you do, round them up on the street corner?”

Before Hastings can speak, another voice joins in. “No. Now, may we come in?”

“Have I done something? Do I need to contact my lawyer to represent me?”

“We’d prefer you didn’t,” a third voice announces.

I scoot back and stand. That’s when I realize there are six individuals, including Hastings, in my office. “Who the fuck are you people?”

“We represent your wife’s father,” Number One says.

“Wife?” Hastings parrots. Then again in disbelief, “Wife?”

My eyes widen to the point of boggling. I point at him and jerk my chin. “Not now. The rest of you, come inside.”

Five lawyers enter my office. Hastings sends me a confused look as he closes the door behind them. As soon as I hear the locks engage, I whirl on the men and women now lounging in front of my desk. “After confirming this is some kind of sick joke, I want you all out of my office.”

Number One doesn’t bat an eyelash. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, Mr. Ronan.”

I snort in derision. “Right. And the point is?