Filthy Vows - Alessandra Torre Page 0,27

Aaron prodded.

“Oh. Yeah.” Easton turned back to him. “Like a sexual chemistry. Just meet her. You’ll see what I mean.”

“A sexual chemistry,” I repeated, glaring at him.

He laughed. “Not with me. Just in general.”

“Uh-huh.” My comfort level with his new client suddenly took a sharp right turn.

“To be honest, I can’t even think about meeting someone else right now.” Aaron opened the grill and peered at the steaks. “I think—”

“Wait.” I pointed to Aaron and turned back to Easton. “Is this client going to be a problem?”

“Babe.” He set down his beer and placed both hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes. “No woman is ever going to be a problem.”

“Don’t flirt with her,” I instructed.

“You told me to flirt with her,” he reminded me, and it was an excellent and annoying point. I cringed at the memory of me shoving him out the door with instructions to close the deal. Flirt with her if you have to. “That was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before I found out that she has some sort of potent sexual chemistry that you feel the need to scamper off and tell Aaron about!” I snapped. “He’s right, you know. She’s okay. Barely pretty.” I could hear the insecure cruelty in my words, but didn’t care, not in the alarming awareness that my husband found his new client attractive.

“Scamper off?” Easton cocked a brow at me. “I don’t scamper. Confidently stride.”

“Stroll,” Aaron suggested.

“Pace.”

“March.”

“I like that one.” E pointed at Aaron. “March. Very authoritative and decisive.”

They’re lucky I didn’t have that beer still in my hand. I would have dumped it over their heads. I let out a highly controlled exhale and watched Easton’s smirk soften. He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on me. I twisted away. “You have nothing to worry about,” he said quietly. “You’re everything to me.”

I knew it, believed it, but still felt a knot of stress unfurl at the words. Feigning irritation, I pushed away from him. “I’m going to get the corn ready. Don’t burn the steaks.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Aaron called out. I glared at him in response, then bit back a smile when he laughed.

10

I decided somewhere around the middle of my ribeye that I hated Becca. Vehemently hated her. The cheating was one thing, and unforgivable in itself. But it was her attitude about it that was sending my fury into a new direction. She was being dismissive to Aaron, as if she didn’t have to explain herself to him, as if the last three years of their marriage didn’t grant him the right to ask questions about her reasons for filing for divorce. In love with another man? THAT WASN’T GOOD ENOUGH.

“So you don’t know anything?” I stabbed at a piece of meat. “Nothing about what she plans to do? If she’s marrying him? How long they’ve been seeing each other?”

“She said I need to respect her privacy.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Whatever that means.”

“But she’s not even considering the idea of working through this and staying together?” Chelsea hunched forward, cupping her wine glass with both hands as if it were a cup of coffee.

“I don’t know. I tried to talk to her about it and she said I was pressuring her.”

I met Chelsea’s gaze across the table and could see her mutual contempt. “Honestly, I think we’re focused on the wrong thing,” I announced, setting down my fork. “Screw begging her to give your marriage another try. Do you even want to stay married to her after this?” My voice rose with each statement, and I watched Wayland tuck his tail between his legs and run out of the room in anticipation of a fight.

“Elle’s right.” Chelsea popped a crispy chunk of potato into her mouth. “You should be leaving her. For two reasons.” She stuck out the index finger of her right hand. “One, because she isn’t trying to win you back. And two”—her middle finger joined the party—“She wasn’t that great of a wife to begin. And falling in love with someone else? Total chicken shit move.”

Aaron winced, and I glared at her complete lack of tact.

“We aren’t sure that she’s in love with this other guy.” I nudged her leg with my toe in an attempt to punctuate my point. “She could be emotionally confused. Or maybe this is just a mid-life crisis.” In her twenties.

“Uh-uh. She’s committed to this guy. Or at the least—committed to the idea of abandoning her marriage. If there was a chance Becca wanted