been when he’d been handed the reins, and still had plenty of freedom to enjoy everything he liked.
Sure, he had to answer to a persnickety board of directors with their heads stuck in the past. But for the most part, he’d been pretty happy with his world.
Now he knew he’d barely been living.
Because he’d never felt anything compared to what he’d felt in Dedra’s arms. He’d fallen asleep with the realization that this was it, he’d finally found happiness. True, inner joy. He’d never experienced anything like it.
He scowled, looking around the room for Dedra. Why wasn’t he feeling it now? Where the hell had she gone? He glanced at the ornate clock, all gilt and crystal shaped like a pumpkin. A few minutes past midnight. He hadn’t dozed long. She was probably out in the other room. The girl was a work-addict. He was going to have to change that. He grinned as he slid from the bed, and just in case she was suddenly modest, hauled the sheet with him.
“Dedra?” he called out.
He stepped into the dim living area and frowned. Well she wasn’t working.
What was going on?
Why had she left?
And when would she be back?
Unless she was bringing food and a few more sexy pairs of shoes, there wasn’t a single excuse that would cover his having to awake alone.
Irritation taking hold, Paul stomped back into the bedroom and tossed the sheet on the rumpled mattress. He grabbed his boxers, resisting the urge to peek under the bed, and yanked them on with enough force to inspire a wince.
He was a little more judicious in pulling on his jeans.
Like an alarm, as soon as he closed the snap, his phone rang.
“Yeah?” he answered, scowling at the clock. “This had better be good.”
“I met with Sylvia,” Peter got right to the point. “Took her out to dinner, did the whole wine and dine extravaganza. That is one pricey woman.”
“So?” Paul poked his head into the dark—and dammit, empty—bathroom. Just in case. Then, feeling like an idiot, he dropped to his belly and looked under the bed.
“So, I figured it was worth a shot at doing a little renegotiating.”
Paul snorted. Right. Because Sylvia Bittle was the kind of woman who, once she got the upper hand, liked to play nice. Not.
The idea of spending any of his life with her was almost as infuriating now as the fact that, he finally acknowledged, Dedra was gone.
Absolutely gone.
He stormed through the living room, kicking uselessly at the furry beanbag chair before stopping next to the small work table.
“She’s not going to renegotiate,” he told his brother.
“You’re right. She said no go.”
But...
Paul didn’t know what the but was, but he could hear it in his brother’s voice. Before he could ask, though, he noticed the shoes shimmering on the stack of files like a glittery paperweight.
Sugar and Spice, he’d named the design. Dedra had come up with that, as he recalled. She’d said they looked like the kind of girly shoes that screamed sweet naughtiness.
She’d been right.
He stopped next to the small table, frowning. How had her shoes gotten there? Then he noticed that none of her clothes were anywhere to be found. Just the shoes.
Like she’d left them, just them, as a goodbye.
Sugar and Spice had been the last shoe of the princess collection they’d launched before the board’s fall down the rabbit hole.
Paul ran his finger over one instep, his eyes blurring as he remembered how she’d looked, that foot propped on his shoulder and the view all the way down her long, silk-covered leg. Straight to heaven.
Then he noticed the files beneath the shoe.
The Bittle contracts.
“We have to get out of this contract,” he barked into the phone. “One way or another, because I’m not marrying Sylvia Bittle.”
He shoved his hand through his hair, then, hoping movement would spark some brilliant idea, started pacing the length of the tiny room.
There
Sure, he had to answer to a persnickety board of directors with their heads stuck in the past. But for the most part, he’d been pretty happy with his world.
Now he knew he’d barely been living.
Because he’d never felt anything compared to what he’d felt in Dedra’s arms. He’d fallen asleep with the realization that this was it, he’d finally found happiness. True, inner joy. He’d never experienced anything like it.
He scowled, looking around the room for Dedra. Why wasn’t he feeling it now? Where the hell had she gone? He glanced at the ornate clock, all gilt and crystal shaped like a pumpkin. A few minutes past midnight. He hadn’t dozed long. She was probably out in the other room. The girl was a work-addict. He was going to have to change that. He grinned as he slid from the bed, and just in case she was suddenly modest, hauled the sheet with him.
“Dedra?” he called out.
He stepped into the dim living area and frowned. Well she wasn’t working.
What was going on?
Why had she left?
And when would she be back?
Unless she was bringing food and a few more sexy pairs of shoes, there wasn’t a single excuse that would cover his having to awake alone.
Irritation taking hold, Paul stomped back into the bedroom and tossed the sheet on the rumpled mattress. He grabbed his boxers, resisting the urge to peek under the bed, and yanked them on with enough force to inspire a wince.
He was a little more judicious in pulling on his jeans.
Like an alarm, as soon as he closed the snap, his phone rang.
“Yeah?” he answered, scowling at the clock. “This had better be good.”
“I met with Sylvia,” Peter got right to the point. “Took her out to dinner, did the whole wine and dine extravaganza. That is one pricey woman.”
“So?” Paul poked his head into the dark—and dammit, empty—bathroom. Just in case. Then, feeling like an idiot, he dropped to his belly and looked under the bed.
“So, I figured it was worth a shot at doing a little renegotiating.”
Paul snorted. Right. Because Sylvia Bittle was the kind of woman who, once she got the upper hand, liked to play nice. Not.
The idea of spending any of his life with her was almost as infuriating now as the fact that, he finally acknowledged, Dedra was gone.
Absolutely gone.
He stormed through the living room, kicking uselessly at the furry beanbag chair before stopping next to the small work table.
“She’s not going to renegotiate,” he told his brother.
“You’re right. She said no go.”
But...
Paul didn’t know what the but was, but he could hear it in his brother’s voice. Before he could ask, though, he noticed the shoes shimmering on the stack of files like a glittery paperweight.
Sugar and Spice, he’d named the design. Dedra had come up with that, as he recalled. She’d said they looked like the kind of girly shoes that screamed sweet naughtiness.
She’d been right.
He stopped next to the small table, frowning. How had her shoes gotten there? Then he noticed that none of her clothes were anywhere to be found. Just the shoes.
Like she’d left them, just them, as a goodbye.
Sugar and Spice had been the last shoe of the princess collection they’d launched before the board’s fall down the rabbit hole.
Paul ran his finger over one instep, his eyes blurring as he remembered how she’d looked, that foot propped on his shoulder and the view all the way down her long, silk-covered leg. Straight to heaven.
Then he noticed the files beneath the shoe.
The Bittle contracts.
“We have to get out of this contract,” he barked into the phone. “One way or another, because I’m not marrying Sylvia Bittle.”
He shoved his hand through his hair, then, hoping movement would spark some brilliant idea, started pacing the length of the tiny room.
There
Similar Books
