Page 64 of Bargaining

I’m just looking. Is that OK, or shall we get the contract amended to forbid eyeballs?

Jealousy coursed through me. She was taunting me. I had no one to blame but myself. This was my own fucking fault. I’d created this situation. I left the suite and found Charlotte sitting at the hotel bar. A red one-shouldered cocktail dress accentuated her beautiful curves. Her chestnut hair was straight and slicked off herface. She must have come back to the suite to get changed while I was working in the restaurant where they actually had some decent fucking Wi-Fi.

I made my way over. “Hiding from your husband again?”

“If you met him, you’d understand.” She drained her glass and grabbed her handbag. “I was just leaving.”

“Stay for a drink.”

She sighed and traced her fingers absently up the stem of her empty wineglass. Her face was a mask of barely concealed contempt as I ordered more drinks. A grim silence stretched between us. Charlotte stared ahead at the bright bottles behind the bar. She’d been to the Vatican today, and she still looked miserable. This was my fault. I had to lighten the mood somehow and put this right.

“So you’re still mad at this arsehole husband of yours?”

She shot me a glance. “Honestly, I’m over it. I couldn’t care less about him.”

“Cole Thorner, right? I was curious about him. I read his Wikipedia page. There are a lot of factual inaccuracies.”

She rolled her eyes and twisted the corners of a coaster. “No doubt.”

“For a start, it says his first company was Vexo Conglomerate, but I happen to know that’s not true. I know about this guy. I used to work for him.”

She threw me a dubious glance. “You worked for him? In what capacity?”

“I was his . . . handyman.”

“Do you even know what a handyman does?”

“Of course. Handyman things. I hammered nails. Carried large planks of timber around on my shoulder. Sanded wood. You know the kind of thing.”

“Sure. If you say so.” Her gaze dropped over my Armani suit and she raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “You certainly look the part.”

“It’s true. Anyway, this Cole Thorner guy told me his first business was a car-washing gig. He used to go around the neighborhood with his business partner, washing cars.”

She used the coaster to fan her face with casual disinterest. “I heard about that, too. It’s probably not on his Wikipedia page because it was a terrible business venture. He spent so much on equipment he never made any profit.”

“Oh no. He got plenty out of it. He told me it was the best investment of his life.” I leaned in and lowered my voice. Her sweet perfume enveloped me. “Apparently, he had a lot of water fights with his business partner. He often got to see her in a wet T-shirt. You couldn’t put a price on that.”

Her cheeks pinked.Good.Embarrassing her was better than upsetting her.

“I take it you read the part about him being an arsehole?”

“I saw no credible sources. Anyone can edit these things.”

“Probably because there are too many sources to list.” She slipped down from the stool. “If you’ll excuse me. I’m going to bed.”

I grabbed her wrist lightly, holding her in place. “Have you ever wondered why he’s such an arsehole? What made Cole Thorner the way he is?”

“I can’t imagine.” Every inch of her spoke of defiance, apart from her eyes. She couldn’t hide the curiosity flickering in their depths. “Perhaps his handyman, who seems to have such an intimate knowledge, could enlighten me?”

I didn’t do this. I didn’t talk openly about the past. But Charlotte wasn’t just anybody.I wish my wife had looked at me the way yours does.If I was ever going to trust anyone, then I could trust her, even if it was difficult. I had to try, because right now she was looking at me with the same contempt that everyone else showed. And this animosity was ruining the trip I’d wanted her to enjoy.

She studied my face. Her voice was strained and weary. “I didn’t think so. You don’t know anything about Cole Thorner. Honest communication isn’t my husband’s strength, and you must have been so busy ... hammering all those nails.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the restaurant. A few people chatted in the corner by the window, but we were more or less alone. “He told me a few things. But if I tell you, then you have to promise not to tell anyone. You ought to know your husband is a private man.”

She lifted back onto the stool next to me. Her earnest eyes met mine. “If my husband knows anything about me, I hope it’s that he can trust me.”

I nodded. “He knows that.”