Faking Forever (First Wives #4)(85)
She turned her back to him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “I was telling him goodbye, Victor.”
He ran his hands through his hair. “I thought you did that years ago.”
“Divorce doesn’t always mean you stop caring for someone. He needed to hear it again.”
Victor stood back. “You still love the man.”
“Loved . . . past tense. But if you need me to spell that out for you, maybe I was wrong about us.”
“All this posturing about me taking time to get over Corrie, and it was you needing time to get over Paul.”
Shannon turned in a circle, put space between them. “This is a ridiculous argument.”
“I went to your house.”
“So?” She was pissed. How was she the one upset when it was him getting screwed?
“You threw away my flowers.”
Her jaw dropped. “I thought they were from him.”
It was Victor’s turn to pace the room. “He’s sending you flowers?”
Her hands flew in the air. “You went through my trash?”
“They were on top of your trash.”
She walked past him and to the front door. “Enough. Get out. You either trust me or you don’t. And obviously, you don’t.”
Some of his fire started to turn to smoke. “Shannon . . .”
She shook her head vehemently. “No. Go. I can’t.” She opened the door wide and pushed him through.
When he had to back up to keep the door from slamming in his face, he realized his mistake.
He knocked, heard the click of a lock sliding into place followed by her music being turned on and the volume placed on high.
Shit!
Chapter Thirty-One
Shannon paced the loft, clearly heard Victor trying to talk to her through the door. How could he believe anything the papers said?
When it was obvious that he’d left, she slid down the wall and stared at the bucket and sponge that had occupied her morning.
She’d seriously miscalculated the man, and all for what? She’d promised herself years ago to never let a man make her cry again, and here she was, sitting in the middle of her brand-new loft with tears running down her cheeks.
Runaway emotions were the worst.
Her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen, expecting to see Victor’s image pop up. She’d taken a few snapshots during their time in Tulum and had attached one to his number . . . only it wasn’t him.
She picked up the call. “What do you want, Paul?”
“Hello, beautiful.”
She scrambled to her feet, turned off the music. “Stop. You have no right to call me that anymore.”
“I want to take you to dinner . . . so we can talk.”
“No. Paul, stop. Okay. Just stop.”
“You saw the papers.”
“Of course I saw the papers. Everyone saw the papers. Which is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
The fact he didn’t immediately deny her accusation told her what she wanted to know.
“I want you back.”
The teeth in the back of her mouth started to strain under the pressure of her clenched jaw. “You need me back. It isn’t the same as want, so be honest with yourself. Your campaign manager is probably waiting for your call to tell him I’m on the hook.”
“You weren’t like this when we were married, Shannon. Victor Brooks isn’t good for you.”
Hearing Victor’s name roll off Paul’s tongue was like ice on a bad tooth. “You know nothing about Victor.”
“He’s a garbage man, Shannon. Takes trash from others and sells it abroad. You deserve better.”
“How dare you.”
“I’m sorry. That was out of line. You belong in cocktail parties and diamonds, the life we had together.”
“Had, Paul. And it was all a facade.”
“You wanted it to last,” he pointed out.
“At one time, yes. But we’ve been over this. I’m finally over you. And if you think selling pictures to the tabloids was the way to win me back, you’d be wrong. All it did was point out the kind of man you are. You used me to get what you wanted the first time. I won’t fall for it a second time.”
“You signed the Alliance contract just like me. Who is the one pretending now?”
“I said goodbye last night. I meant it.”
She heard him take a breath. “Fine.” His voice changed. “What will it take?”
She pinched her brows together. “What do you mean?”
“Six million was your price the last time. How much do you want now? Double?”
The knot in her throat stuck.
“Fifteen?” he asked. “Name your price.”
“You make me sick.”
“Will twenty million make you less ill?”
“Fuck you, Paul.” Any feelings she’d had for the man disappeared with his proposition.
She hung up.
Her phone immediately rang again. This time it was her mother.
“Good Lord, now what?”
Drying her eyes with the back of her hand, she faced her mother’s call because ignoring it would bring twice the pain. “Hello.”
“Shannon, honey, how are you?”