Fake Empire(72)

She clears her throat. “Hi.”

I watch her closely. Her head is still tipped back. She’s chewing on her bottom lip furiously. “Did you need something?” I ask.

A beat of silence. “I, uh, I’m about to leave the office,” she says. Lies, rather.

“I won’t be home for a while.” I look at the car dash. It’s almost eight.

She doesn’t call me out on breaking our promise. “Oh. Okay. I’m going to pick up Chinese on my way home. Do you want me to get you anything?”

Her expression twists as soon as she’s spoken the question. It’s strange, seeing her reactions to what she’s saying. She sounds normal. She looks pained and unsure. Not guilty. What does that mean? “Sure. Thanks.”

“Want anything specific?”

“You know what I like.” I don’t mean for the words to sound suggestive, but there’s definitely some innuendo.

“Do I?” Rather than confident, she sounds unsure.

“I’ll try to get out of here soon, okay? We can…talk.”

“Okay. Bye.” She hangs up but doesn’t move. Her posture doesn’t change until she swipes at one cheek. She’s crying. The realization hits me like a bolt of lightning and flattens me like a two-ton weight.

“Let’s go,” I tell Oliver.

“What did she say?”

“Nothing relevant.”

“Are you going to—”

“Oliver. I swear to God. For the last fucking time. This is none. Of. Your. Business. Coming here was a mistake.”

The rest of the ride back to the office is silent. I don’t bother going back upstairs. I say good night to Oliver and then head straight into the garage and my waiting car.

Scarlett beats me back. When I walk into the penthouse, she’s sitting cross-legged on one of the couches that overlooks the terrace, poking at a takeout box. Her expression is blank when she looks up, and I hate it. I want the smile she gifted me with last night.

“You’re home.”

I strip my suit jacket and toss it on the couch. “Yes.”

“Are you hungry? Your food is—”

“Do you know Nathaniel Stewart?”

I watch her reaction closely. She coughs. Swallows. Takes a sip of water from the glass on the coffee table. Incriminating. “Yes.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Earlier tonight.” She holds my gaze. At least she’s being honest. Although she’s smart enough to know I wouldn’t be broaching this topic unless I knew something.

“Are you sleeping with him?”

“No.” Her answer is swift.

“Don’t lie to me, Scarlett,” I warn. “If you’re screwing him, just tell me the fucking truth.”

“That is the truth.” She shoves the chopsticks in her food and stands, crossing her arms. “I swear.”

“If you’re not sleeping with him, then why would you meet him at a hotel? Multiple times.”

Her eyes narrow. “You’re having me followed?”

“My father is. And not you. Stewart. He’s interested in a business opportunity and wanted to make sure the guy was clean.”

“When did you find out about this?”

“Yesterday morning,” I admit. “He has photos.”

“Of me fucking Nathaniel?”

I wince. “Of course not.”

“That’s why you…last night. You believed him. You thought I was cheating.” The anger I can handle. The hurt in her voice is worse.

“It looked bad, Scarlett. And it’s not like you haven’t.”

She breaks eye contact for the first time. “That was before, Crew.”

“I know.”

“And I’m sick of having that flung in my face. Like you haven’t been with anyone since we got married.”

“Actually, I haven’t.”

She looks shocked. “You haven’t?”

“Nope.” I roll up my sleeves and head for the couch, pulling the takeout containers I assume are for me out of the bag and grabbing a pair of chopsticks. My chest feels lighter for the first time in thirty-six hours. And I’m starving as a result.

“I—why?”

I shrug and start eating. “Wasn’t interested.”

That admission is met with a long beat of silence as she sinks back down on the couch and picks up her food. “He gave me money,” Scarlett finally says. When I look over, she’s fiddling with her chopsticks again. “For Haute.”

“Why the hell would you need money?” I ask. Even before she married me, Scarlett was set to become the richest woman in the country.

“I’m going to inherit a lot. My parents paid for everything: cars, penthouses, tuition, credit cards. But I don’t have direct access to anything. Or I didn’t, until I got married.”

“What?”

“I’m an only child. If I didn’t get married and have kids, there wouldn’t be an Ellsworth heir.” She purses her lips. “My father didn’t want to take any chances, apparently. He put some strict conditions on my trust fund. I’m sure Haute turning profitable gave him quite the scare.”