“Elliot! Fancy running into you here!” She starts to put a hand on my arm, but my cold stare freezes her.
“How the hell did you get in?” I ask tersely, not giving a damn who overhears me.
“Stanton donates regularly to Elizabeth’s foundation, and we just happened to buy tickets.” Annabelle tosses her hair over a shoulder, then shrugs carelessly. “And thank you for the information. I knew you’d come through for me.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” I say. “I did it for your uncle.” I owed the man a favor, now paid in full.
“Does it matter?” She hesitates, then inhales as though she’s firming her resolve, but I know why she’s doing it—to make her tits rise. Resting a hand on my chest, she moves closer until she’s almost flush against me. “What’s important is that you want to free me from Stanton.”
I remove her hand from my torso, my grip painfully tight on her. The only thing stopping me from shoving her away is that we have an audience and I care about my sister. “If I’d known you’d be such a conniving bitch, I wouldn’t have given you the referral.”
She gasps. “But you saw the bruises.”
And I found them horrifying, but I’ll be damned if I let her know that. Annabelle Underhill is crazy enough to twist any gesture of kindness from me into a sign of certain romance. “Like I should care about them.”
“Elliot!” she says under her breath.
“You didn’t think I’d find out you’re the one leaking that shit about my wife?”
“Are you seriously telling me you care about that…that crass little girl you married?”
“First of all, she’s not crass. Second, yes, I do care.” As I speak, I know I’m telling the truth. I care damn too much about her.
Annabelle tilts her head and looks up at me. Her eyes glitter with malice and something that’s equally disturbing. She reminds me of a starving snake ready to strike at anything to satisfy its hunger. I can’t believe I found her attractive at one point in my life. Proves I’m not as smart as people think.
“Big, strong Elliot, trying to protect his poor little wife,” she taunts me. “I didn’t say anything that isn’t true.”
“No, you didn’t. But understand me. You have your share of dirty laundry, too. Don’t think I won’t air it for shits and giggles if you keep hurting my wife.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, but I would”—I give her my most beatific smile—“with immense pleasure.”
“You think you’re immune to dirt?”
“Nope. The difference is, I don’t give a shit if people know about my dirt. Sugar daddies, on the other hand, don’t like girls with too many skeletons. And if they knew what I know about you…well, you might find it hard to replace Stanton.”
She jerks away from me with a glare. “You’re despicable.”
“Coming from you, that’s a compliment.”
“I’m going to win you back, Elliot. We’re destined to be together. And no small-town tramp is going to stop me.”
I shake my head pityingly. “Your problem is, you’re too stupid to realize you never had a chance.”
Her eyes narrow until they look like venomous incisions on her face, and she storms away. The smug expression on my face slips.
As enemies go, she isn’t particularly formidable. What she is is persistent, which, unfortunately, is just as difficult to deal with. Both types of enemies require drastic measures. I’m going to have to cut her off at the knees and make sure she never gets back up.
&nbs
p; Remembering why I came to the restroom area in the first place, I pull out my phone and text my wife.
Where are you?
If I could convey emotions with text, it would be irritation. It annoys the hell out of me that she wanted to attend this farce in the first place, and now she isn’t around and I have to deal with Annabelle Underhill.
Somebody taps my shoulder. I let a low growl vibrate through my throat. I don’t have time for more bullshit chitchat.