Fake Empire(104)

I don’t miss how his eyes skim over my body. We haven’t had sex since we left Switzerland, the longest it’s been in a while. If he drowned his annoyances balls deep in another woman last night, it doesn’t look like it was very satisfying.

His gaze lingers on the framed photograph of us on my desk before he speaks.

“You’re mad.”

I snort. “I’m pissed, and I don’t have time for this. I have a lot of work to get done today.”

“Cut the shit, Scarlett. You were supposed to have this whole week off.”

“That was before I became the sole breadwinner in the family.” It’s a low blow, one I almost feel bad for.

Crew doesn’t even flinch. “Please, Scarlett. I just need to—”

“Nice suit,” I interrupt. “Did you sneak in after I left?”

“No. I kept some stuff at my old place. It’s closer to my office.”

“Contingency plan?”

He studies me. “Is this your way of asking where I slept last night?”

Yes. “No.”

He knows me too well.

“I was at my dad’s. On the couch in his study, if you want details.”

“I didn’t ask.”

Crew grips the back of one of the chairs that face my desk. “This mess with the feds…there’s some stuff there, Scarlett. He said it won’t stick, but I can’t make any promises.”

“Promises about what?” I question.

“You might not want your last name to be Kensington. It could affect Haute and rouge. Financially, or at the very least, you’ll get questions. I might not be the CEO of a successful company. Or a respected one. Right now, we’re bleeding money. That’s not what you signed up for.” I watch his lips tighten. His jaw muscles flex and shift. “So, I guess I’m asking… Do you want a divorce?”

I inhale sharply. “I can’t have this conversation right now, Crew. I’m at work! You can’t just—”

He steps forward, faster and closer than I’m expecting. “I know. But please, Scarlett. Just answer the question. I can’t… I’ve got to go meet with my dad. The lawyers. The board. And I can handle it. I will handle it.”

“Okay. What does that have to do with me?”

“I’ll fight harder if I have something to fight for.” He pauses. “Otherwise, I’d consider walking away. I’d take Royce Raymond up on his offer, if it wasn’t in LA.”

I tilt my head to see his face better. “You told me the job was here.”

“I lied. I wanted your honest opinion, and I knew California would tip the scales. It’s not an option now though, obviously, with the baby.”

“The baby,” I repeat. “So, what? I’m worth fighting for until I’m no longer a human incubator? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I—God, no! Don’t twist what I’m saying. This is exactly what you did last night.”

“Last night. Right. When you accused me of downloading company documents for the sole purpose of blabbing about them to—”

“I didn’t accuse you of anything!” Crew shouts. “I asked, Scarlett. I found out who the leak was. You know him; I don’t. We’re a team. I was trying to—”

“If we’re a team, then maybe you should have trusted me. Maybe you should have believed me!”

“When did I not trust you? When did I not believe you?” Crew retorts.

My phone rings, shrill and loud. I hesitate, but I pick up the receiver. Only a few people have the direct number rather than going through Leah, suggesting it’s important. “Scarlett Kensington.”

“Hi, Scarlett. It’s Jeff. I’m looking through the proofs for the next issue, and I think that…” I tune him out. Crew leans forward and scribbles something on a pink sticky note.

He tilts the photo of us so it’s directly facing me, and then walks out of my office. Jeff, Haute’s head graphic designer, keeps talking. About image placement and positioning and presets.

I pick up the note and read what he wrote. If you decide to file, just have your attorney tell mine. I’ll be working late.

My gaze ping-pongs between the photo and the closed door.

Fuck. I fucked up.

“Jeff, I’m going to have to call you back.” Without waiting for a response, I hang up and run over to the door of my office. I scan the floor, but there’s no sign of Crew. Not in the kitchenette, not loitering by the elevators.

“Leah!” I rush over to my assistant, who’s standing by the main conference room, talking to Andrea. “Did you see Crew leave my office?”

“Um, yeah. A few minutes ago.”

“Where did he go?”

She shifts uncomfortably. “Um, he left.”

I swear. Loudly. Then keep walking until I reach the elevators. I bang on the down button a couple of times, hoping the doors will magically open. No such luck. That leaves the stairwell. I shove through the door, glad it doesn’t set off some alarm. Evacuating the whole building is not on today’s to-do list.

The long descent is spent deliberating on how far I should take this chase. If he’s not in the lobby—which I doubt, based on how many steps I still have to go—do I go to Kensington Consolidated? Barge in and do exactly what I just chastised him for? He’ll be home tonight, I assume. But then I think of the wording in his note. I’ll be working late. Not I’ll be home late. Not I’ll see you later.