Pride and Papercuts (The Austens #5) - Staci Hart Page 0,35
wolf in sheepskin, hiding his teeth and fur.
It was how he’d convinced Georgie they didn’t need a prenup. And if it wasn’t for my suspicions—despite the fact that Wickham and I had been friends for a decade—I wouldn’t have discovered his gambling debt or the frequent trips to Atlantic City when he was supposed to be traveling for business. I’d thought I knew him, and maybe I did. But addiction had changed him, twisted him into something unrecognizable, insatiable. My objective hadn’t been to break them up—I wanted to force the prenup, with the addition of an allowance provision, and the written agreement that he’d get help. But he refused and implemented plan B—convince Georgie that I wanted to control them, break them up. Persuade her that I believed him beneath us and would say anything to remove him from the picture. He called me a liar, promised her it had all been fabricated, insisting that if she loved him, she’d leave with him and abandon me.
When she didn’t, his anger twisted him into a creature of resent. But despite it all, when it was over, I gave him the money to pay his debts with his promise he’d never show his face again. Last I heard, he’d blown every penny.
And now here he was, with Laney.
The thought of her broken beyond repair like Georgie sent a roar tearing through my chest.
Fucking Wickham.
The park was dark and quiet and cold, and by the time I reached our building, I couldn’t feel my fingertips. Judging by the doorman’s face, I must have looked as angry as I felt, and by the time I spanned the warm lobby to reach the penthouse elevators, I was hot and cold all over. Beads of sweat gathered on my brow as I pulled off my coat in the elevator, but my hands and feet were ice. The thought of my treadmill brought me some relief—I wanted to run until I couldn’t move. Until I was so tired that I wouldn’t stare at my ceiling all night, so exhausted that I wouldn’t dream.
The house was well lit, the sound of Billie Holiday floating into the entry from the kitchen along with the scent of garlic and spices.
“Liam?” Georgie called from that direction. “Where have you been? Are you hungry?”
My stomach twisted in answer. The encounter with Wyatt fought for a way out, but I wouldn’t burden Georgie. Barking about Wickham would only serve me—she’d be left shaken, and upsetting her without cause wasn’t something I was willing to do. Really, what I wanted was to be alone where I could burn off my anger, but it’d been too long since I’d eaten to run as hard as I planned to. So I strode into the kitchen and set my things in a chair at the island.
Georgie smiled over her shoulder at me, absently nudging chicken around in the pan as I pulled off my coat. She looked so young without makeup, her hair piled on top of her head in a bun so messy, I wasn’t exactly sure how it stayed in place. A gigantic sweater hung off one of her shoulders, adding to the teenage effect she wore. And when that smile of hers hit me, the tension thrumming in me eased just a little. A long breath left me, taking a pound of rage with it.
“Your nose is all red,” she noted, her brow quirking. “Did you walk home?”
“From Wasted Words.”
At that, she was smiling again, and I didn’t miss the flush of her cheeks. “What were you doing over there?”
“Laney Bennet and I are splitting up the team to compete for the campaign win.”
Her smile froze in a strange sort of confused expression. “You’re what?”
“She proposed it yesterday after the meeting. She was pushing the parties again—”
“Because it’s a good idea.”
My face flattened. “Not you too.”
A shrug. “It’s wise. Half the team thinks so too.”
“Good. She can have that half.”
“How in the world did she convince you to step down from your throne to get in the dirt with the lackeys?”
“I’m not. I’m just giving her a throne of her own.”
Georgie shook her head. “You realize that’s even weirder, right?”
“She promised she’d quit making my life difficult if I win.”
“God, she is so smart.” She set her spatula down and moved for the wineglasses. “Have any big ideas?” she asked as she pulled a bottle of wine out of the fridge.
“I always have ideas. And if I’m being honest, I’m looking forward to