Page 68 of Jace
The bed is made. The evidence gone. The only thing I hope he can’t detect is the amber scent of Jace still lingering in the air. But I do.
It steels my spine.
“Iwasat The Mercier.” I use the truth to hide my deception. “Earlier with Zar Rollins, scouting the spa. But I came back here for my wide-angle zoom. It wasn’t in my bag. I don’t usually shoot clients with it.”
This idiot knows enough about photography, anything that’s focused on him, to understand.
He licks his lips. “You going back to the hotel?”
As if.
“Yeah, I told you; Zar gave me a room while I’m shooting the spa.”
Don’t drop the ball. Keep playing the game.
“Does my wife want some company?”
“Not anymore and no.”
“Oh, come on. Kinda miss you, and you know you miss me.”
Don’t gag.
“I prefer being alone.”
“No, you don’t.” He jeers at my rejection. “You like a gang.”
The heat in my veins is instant. Not from lust. From rage. Funny how the body knows who to trust and who to hate; you just have to listen to it.
“What do you want? Why aren’t you at some bar, hanging with your boys or hoes? Right? That’s what you call them? Since you like posing with all your prep school cred?”
“You went to the same prep school, rich girl.”
“Yeah, and I confront my culture. I don’t appropriate someone else’s because I lack respect and imagination.”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re so woke, Vivian.”
“Better than being dead inside.”
None of that was wrong, and everything I’ve told him before, embarrassed by how he changed over the years.
It’s like once we graduated from college and David had to grow up, he didn’t know how to be a man, so he started posing like other men. The toughest men he could emulate because he’s so weak.
But right now, it works like a charm. He doesn’t want to spend a night with me, holding up a mirror to him.
“Yeah, well. You got a day to shoot that spa, and then my wife is coming home with me.”
I almost laugh. “You know I can’t shoot that space in a day. I worked my ass off to earn The Mercier as my client, and I won’t fail them and do a shitty job.”
“Not my problem.” He jostles his bird balls. “Shoot for a day, then tell your bestie, Zar Rollins, how you’re going home with me and’ll be back in two weeks to finish.”
The sudden ringing in my ears is deafening. I almost can’t speak through its screeching tone. “What? What do you meanhomewith you for two weeks? I live ten blocks from The Mercier.”
His pale face twists, exasperated and annoyed. I echo the feeling.
“I meanmyhome. With Daddy and Mumsie in Palm Beach.”
I balk. “What the fuck for? David, we’redivorced.”
