I overheard between Joe and his father last month where his father asked him to commit a crime.
Just who am I married to?
As Griff reverses out of the driveway, Joe hands me a folder. “Study this. It’s everything you need to know for tonight’s function.”
I open the folder and take in the information about each of the men who’ll be at the dinner tonight. “Why do I need to know all this?” He’s never asked me to study this kind of information before. I’ve never had anything to do with convincing people to donate. My job is simply to wear a fucking dress, have my hair out, and smile all night while pretending to love the hell out of my husband and support my father.
“For once, Chelsea, can you please just fucking do what I say without asking me a thousand fucking questions.”
I look at him. Like, really look at him. He’s tense. Rattled over something. So unlike the man I’ve come to know over the last four months who’s all cool and held together.
Interesting.
“Fine,” I snap. “Honestly, though, if you wanted a doormat, you married the wrong girl.” Yep, suddenly feeling frisky.
“I didn’t want a doormat, but I do want a wife who trusts me and does what I say.”
“Perhaps you should go back to school, dear husband, because you just defined a fucking doormat.”
His hand clamps around my wrist tightly. “I’ve had enough of you today.” The words fall from his lips low and harsh and contain one of his warnings that I know not to ignore. “Just read the fucking file.”
I pull my wrist from his hold and bury my gaze in the file. I’ll read it all right. I’ll memorise the shit out of it, because if I know my husband, I know there’ll likely be a pop fucking quiz on it later. And not passing his damn quiz is something I don’t want to do. Not when he’s on edge like this.
15
Gunnar
Christ, this is fucked up. I don’t know why I hadn’t clued on to the fact Chelsea and her fucking husband would be travelling with her father this week. I’d assumed that because she works, she wouldn’t be on this trip. If there’s one fucking thing Chelsea’s taught me, it’s that I should never fucking assume anything.
We picked up her parents after leaving her place and then drove to the hotel we’re staying at tonight. Hearst’s security guy who I’m with is a fucking dick. He seems pissed that Griff and I are here. It’s the only thing we have in common. If I make it through this week without punching him, it’ll be a fucking miracle.
“Tom and I will watch from the stage while Novak gives his speech,” the dickhead says to Griff and me before the dinner starts. “You two keep watch from the door.”
Griff nods. He’s just as annoyed to be on this trip as I am. Not that he’s said it, but I know his tells after working closely with him for years.
“You doing okay?” Griff asks after they leave us.
I run my gaze over the crowd filling the room. “Don’t worry about me, brother. I can handle these assholes.”
“It’s not them I’m worried about.”
I look at him. He’s watching me closely; he knows the deal here. “Yeah, me either,” I admit. There’s no point trying to fool Griff.
“You think you’ll last the week?”
“I’ll do my fucking best.”
I catch sight of Chelsea and Hearst walking our way and wish I fucking didn’t. That long red dress she’s wearing that hugs her tits and waist sends me close to the edge of insanity. It’s Hearst’s hand in hers, though, that pushes me right to the edge. The motherfucker holds her like he fucking owns her.
His eyes meet mine, and I don’t miss the smug look of satisfaction. He might not have wanted me here, but he’s sure as fuck making the most of it.
Chelsea doesn’t look at me or acknowledge me in any way as they glide past us. She hasn’t made eye contact with me since I arrived at her place earlier today. It pisses me off that she ignores me, and then that fucking pisses me off too.
We said we were fucking done. I need to get myself on fucking board with that.
Novak and his wife walk past, drawing my attention from their daughter. Griff moves next to me after Novak enters the room. “I’m gonna keep an eye on things outside.”
I nod, and we move into our positions.