Mr. Beautiful (Up in the Air #4)(53)

Hatred, raw and fresh, rushed through me.

"She could do better, and you know it," he continued.  "She could find a nice man, a normal guy that loved her and treated her with respect, someone that didn't subject her to that vile stuff you do to her for your own entertainment.  She could find someone to help her heal, instead of exploiting her issues."

"And I suppose you think you're that guy?" I bit out.

He didn't answer, but he didn't need to.

"You don't get it," I said scathingly.  "You don't understand her at all.  You are just the sort of man that would make her miserable.  You'd expect her to hide who she is, make her hate it.  You would make her feel bad about herself, when there is no f**king thing about her that she should feel bad about."

"You should feel bad about it.  I saw her wrists yesterday.  Saw the marks, yet again.  Shame on you."

I stood, smiling nastily.  The joke was on him.  I was shameless, always had been.

I held out an arm, indicating the door.  "If you can't reconcile yourself to working for a man of my particular proclivities, by all means, resign.  No one is stopping you."

He shook his head, over and over, glaring at me.  "No, no I will not quit.  You want me gone, you'll have to fire me, and we both know your wife won't like that."

The way he said your wife, that sneer in his voice, it was too much.

Some tight thread inside of me snapped, and I had his shirt in my hands between one breath and the next.  I shoved him against the wall, getting in his face.

"That's right," I growled at him.  "My wife.  Mine.  Mine in ways you'll never know.  You think you've seen the marks?  You haven't seen the half of it.  I've marred every inch of her, staking my claim."

He took a swing at me.  I was pretty happy about it, even while he clipped me in the chin.

Happy because, well, game on.

I slugged him back, with relish, catching his jaw.  I'd wanted to do that for years, and so I did it again.

I had him on the floor, and we were both a few hits in, panting, when he spoke.

"She's not an object to be owned," he gritted, hands on my hands on his shirt.  I'd started slamming his back, is head, into the floor.

"Not an object, no, but mine nonetheless.  And that will never change."  My voice was quiet.  The words were each pushed out of me on jagged breaths, but they were full of conviction all the same.

I cocked my fist back to punch him in the face when her voice stopped me.

"James," Bianca gasped, sounding shocked, distraught.

With a curse, I straightened, getting to my feet.

She stood in the doorway, Clark just behind her.

I raised a brow at him.  "I'm surprised you didn't interfere."  As I spoke, I moved to her, pulling her into my chest.

"It looked like you had it under control," Clark shot back.  He sounded smug about it, too.

He had been the one to teach me to fight.

Protectively, possessively, I took Bianca from the room.

Her reaction was not what I expected.  She could still manage to surprise me.

She wasn't mad at me, not at all.  Instead she fretted over my bruises, kissed each one, and demanded gently that I tell her everything.

I was helpless against her tender onslaught.  I told it all.

In the end, it was Bianca that fixed things.  Quietly and resolutely, she fired him herself.

"I'm so sorry," she said simply, right after she'd done it.

My gut clenched.  "Why are you sorry?  Did you have feelings for him?'

She sent me a baffled look that mollified me.  "Of course not.  Not like you're suggesting.  He was a friend.  That was all.  I honestly think I just got along so well, so comfortably with him because he's a lot like Stephan, personality wise.  To be honest, for the longest time, I thought he was g*y.  Makes this whole thing extra shocking to me."

That startled a laugh out of me.  And the first real smile in days.

All was right again in my world.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

MY FAITHFUL HEART

It wasn't long after the Joseph incident that another outside force attempted to assail our marriage.

I wasn't the only one that struggled with jealousy in our marriage, though she managed hers much differently than I did mine.

We were staying in New York for a spell.  Luckily Bianca didn't mind traveling, since it was something we did often.  She said the changes of scene were nice, and that she liked to paint in different places.

I was working more hours than usual at the Cavendish Manhattan property.  I'd been gone from the city a long time, and had to play catch up on a few crucial business ventures.

Clark had stayed back in Vegas, unfortunately, to represent me at some meetings for the casino.  He was more than my bodyguard.  He assisted me in all things, was a partner in several ventures, but still worked as a personal assistant/jack of all trades.  I paid him dual salaries for it, because the more he could do for me the better, as I trusted him implicitly.  He'd been with me since I was very young, and I knew he was loyal to a fault.

His absence was particularly unfortunate, as I needed extra assistance in the New York hotel, and since I didn't want to shake up the normal of order of things there for a temporary stay, I had to hire a new assistant.