My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(79)
My index finger sank onto the intercom button. “Cara.”
My assistant materialized, scurrying behind me on high heels, an iPad clutched between her manicured fingers. “Yes, Mr. Costa?”
“I’ll send you a list of people I need to be put through with for an urgent call.”
“Urgent when?”
“Urgent now.”
For fifty-five minutes, Dallas and Madison simmered in their own awkwardness as I finished a conference call, followed by a full plate of Brussel sprouts and chicken breast prepared by the company chef. Alan’s texts buzzed through in periodic increments.
Alan Reece
Very odd, sir.
They’re just staring at each other without talking.
Looks like they’re waiting for something?
That something was me.
Alan Reece
They’re both eating bluefin tuna.
The man is checking his watch every two seconds.
If Madison hoped for me to beat the living lights out of him in public, he was in for crushing disappointment. I’d give my young wife one thing.
For a man who prided himself in having a flatlined range of emotions, she somehow made me feel. Anger, frustration, annoyance, and disgust—but feel nonetheless.
Finally, an hour after Dallas and her ex-fiancé paraded into Le Bleu, I made my way there.
I met Bruce in the elevator downstairs.
“Seems like there’s more drama with your little Southern belle.” He pressed the lobby button, watching the numbers atop the sliding doors roll down. He must’ve seen Madison and Dallas from his office. Hard to miss the sea of paparazzi out front. “Can’t be good for your reputation.”
I smoothed a hand over my suit. “Neither would a Page Six item about a certain CEO candidate’s affair with a golf-course attendant.”
His smile disappeared faster than a complimentary breadstick basket in front of Dallas at the Olive Garden. “That is a blatantly malicious rumor.”
“Tell it to little Ginny, who promised me she’d write a tell-all about you if I cover her student debt.”
As soon as I marched through the revolving entrance door of Costa Industries, the paparazzi circled me like hungry piranhas, snapping hundreds of pictures.
Sixty minutes of smug anticipation melted together as I crossed the street.
Shortbread was slouched on the edge of a Wassily chair atop Le Bleu’s balcony. At the sight of me, her back went ramrod straight.
She pored over every inch of me, hawkish eyes desperate to read my blank face.
Following her line of vision, Madison glared at me, too.
With a rare sunny smile—and using every drop of serenity in my bloodstream—I breezed up three flights of stairs to the restaurant.
At the double doors, a hostess and two waiters offered deep bows as they opened both sides.
So. Word had gotten out to management.
Already, I enjoyed the fruit of my labor.
I proceeded to Shortbread, seized a chair from an occupied table without permission, and invited myself to join my wife and her ex-fiancé.
“How’s the tuna, my dear?”
I swiped her fork and carved myself a nice, juicy piece, popping it into my mouth. Dallas scratched her temple, brows squishing together.
Camera flashes glittered in my periphery.
“Darling, please close your mouth.” I used the tip of my finger to shut it for her, then speared a chunk of dead fish, hovering it between us. “It is so unbecoming to look like what you eat.”
Madison cleared his throat. “We were in the middle of something.” Sweat bled from his pores, as he sought a meltdown that would never come. “No one invited you to join us.”
I faced him. “You’re absolutely right. But I’m here with a proposition.”
He arched a single eyebrow. “Whatever it is, it won’t allure me.”
“Humor me.”
“Romeo…” Shortbread captured her glass. Water sloshed to the rim, courtesy of her shaky hand.
Whatever happened to the fountain of defiant attitude she drowned me in every waking moment of the day?
Surprisingly, I did not find this timid version of her as appealing as the fiery one I’d grown accustomed to. That I thought of her enough to develop preferences should have concerned me.
Madison’s jaw flexed. His failed attempt to stare me down elicited rare, genuine laughter from me.
I plucked Dallas’s linen napkin and patted the corners of my lips. “Since you two obviously find it difficult to stay away from one another, I have come to the inevitable conclusion that I can no longer stand in the way of what is clearly a once-in-a-lifetime love story.”
The silence at the table was so thick and loud, you’d think this was a morgue.
Madison spoke first. “You married her.”
“That, I did. See, there is a certain invention called divorce. It is incredibly effective and quick, especially for people with iron-clad prenuptial agreements such as ours.” I squeezed Dallas’s rigid hand. “Isn’t this true, sweetheart?”
She was pale as freshly fallen snow—and just as frozen.
As always, her feelings were clearly written on her face.