“That’s fucked up.”
“I wouldn’t be shocked if Monica knew a lot about her. I’m pretty sure Cassandra was a regular at her place of business.”
“Is she bi or something?”
“No idea. All I know is that for the longest time she devoured anyone with money. Who moved, obviously.”
“And why are you telling me about her?”
“Because the rumor is that she’s coming back to town for Christmas, and the bloodbath is going to be miraculous.”
Out of the corner of Jasmine’s eye, Ethan swayed back and forth before the bookshelf closest to his wife. Lips moved with soundless lyrics. Were his eyes closing? What the fuck? Jasmine had never seen him acting like this before. This was Mr. Stoic, although one would suppose he was letting loose today if he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt around the house. (Yes, that was “letting loose”.) “Bloodbath, you say?”
“Not everyone is as understanding as you are when it comes to your husband’s past loves. There’s going to be a lot of jealousy boiling over at the Christmas Gala.”
“You still going to that?”
“Hell yes! After finding out Cassandra’s back in town? I wouldn’t miss that shit for the world.”
“Speaking of people who are understanding of past loves…”
“Hey, I’m not a fan of the woman. Apparently she played with more than my girlfriend’s body when they dated. I wouldn’t mind giving her a piece of my mind, but I have a feeling there will be plenty of others in line ahead of me.”
“Any idea who the father of this supposed baby is?”
“Not a clue. You should ask Monica. If anyone knows, it’s her.”
Jasmine wasn’t sure she was into that idea, simply because she did her best to stay out of gossip that had nothing to do with her. She didn’t know who this Cassandra was, nor did she have any desire to embarrass herself with speculation about some young, apparently troubled heiress. Because that’s what Jasmine automatically assumed after hearing so little about Cassandra Welsh. She must have been troubled if she was going from man to man (and some women) in search of whatever it was she desired to have. From the way Nadia talked about her, Jasmine doubted it was just sex.
Although she would be tempted to chase Ethan down for nothing but dirty sex. She often did that anyway… even when he was acting weird with his headphones and his ass wiggling to whatever it was he listened to.
She caught his eye. “Who you talking to?” he mouthed in Jasmine’s direction.
“Nadia,” she mouthed back.
Ethan’s face ran the gamut between not wanting to know any more and deciding to totally fuck with his wife. “Did she get her bonus yet?” he asked way too loudly. Someone wanted to hear himself talk over his music.
Jasmine repeated the question to her friend. Then she had the great honor of relaying to Ethan, “She still hasn’t got it yet. But is she supposed to get it so soon?”
By then, Ethan already had his headphones on again. Mostly because he had found the book he was looking for and was heavily distracted for five more seconds.
“He didn’t answer you, did he?” Nadia asked.
“No, he’s too busy listening to music and looking for some book.”
“Ethan Cole? Listening to music?”
“Right?” Even Jasmine forgot that her husband often partook in the simpler pleasures of life. (That weren’t sex, anyway.) “No idea what he’s listening to. I’m assuming some Italian opera.” But did men often sway back and forth like that to Italian operas? Jasmine didn’t think so. Not that she knew anything about what men did with the music they listened to.
Ethan looked back over his shoulder and mouthed something incomprehensible.
“Huh?”
He did it again, this time with more exaggerated mouth movements.
“Excuse me?”
Ethan held up his phone, waggled his eyebrows, and unplugged his headphones.
Carly Rae Jepson blasted through the den.
Jasmine shot back in her chair with a big enough cry of surprise to alarm Nadia on the other end of her phone call. It was also big enough to send some of her cardstock flying across the large table she worked at.
About once a year Ethan allowed himself to completely let go of his self-imposed rules that prevented him from fully enjoying his life as he continued to experience it. This was a man who had grown up in a low-class family and had to teach himself every rule, every set of manners he was expected to know as he ascended from billionaire to business godhood. Such trappings were difficult to throw off after a while. But since marrying his wife, Ethan had better learned how to let go and indulge in some harmless fun every once in a while.
Like lip-syncing a ridiculous pop song while gyrating his hips in Jasmine’s direction.
“Holy shit!” Jasmine almost dropped her phone with every pelvic thrust threatening the side of her head. “Are you nuts? Who are you? What have you done with my husband?”
“What’s going on?” Nadia asked.
“Your boss is losing his shit to ‘I Really Like You!’”
“Ewww!”
Ethan lowered his lips to Jasmine’s ears. “Tell her the image she has in her head is the real price of her Christmas bonus this year.” He then resumed the pelvic thrusting and the over-the-top lip-syncing of Carly Rae Jepson’s hit follow-up to “Call Me Maybe.” The book he had been in such a hunt for remained on the table.
“I’ve gotta go,” Nadia suddenly announced. “You have fun with that.”
Jasmine slapped her phone on the table as soon as the line went dead. Ethan grabbed the back of her chair and nearly dumped her out of it. Her yelp could be heard throughout the house, although by that point the help had long learned to recognize yelps of genuine distress and yelps of marital joy.
Jasmine didn’t know it yet, but that was a yelp of the latter kind.
“I’ve got half an hour before I have to make another call,” Ethan growled directly into his wife’s ear. “How about you and me get dirty on the couch in my office?”
“Um…” Not only did this come out of nowhere, but that music was… jarring, to say the least. She was so perturbed that she barely registered being picked up and hauled out of the den, her husband’s phone still blasting whatever it pleased. “Did you know that we were talking about one of your ex-girlfriends and this is why you’re acting weird?”
“How is wooing you with pop music weird, my flower?” Ethan kicked open the door to his office and promptly kicked it shut again. Jasmine landed on the nearest leather couch, her husband hovering above her, every muscle between his hips and his neck flexing beneath his tight T-shirt. “And what ex-girlfriend? You have to be more specific.”
She was torn between being hypnotized by those pectorals and the teasing that commenced once he had her where he wanted her. “Someone named Cassandra,” she managed to say. “Remember her?”
Ethan bit his lip, one hand gripping the leather behind Jasmine’s head and the other pawing the collar of her outfit. If he didn’t get her breasts out of her clothes within five minutes, the afternoon was a wash – and Ethan never washed away his afternoons. “I vaguely remember someone fitting that name.” Vaguely? More like he remembered her as clearly as the day they first met at a mutual friend’s banquet. Cassandra had arrived with that lost kitten look that had garnered Ethan’s attentions immediately. He was a sucker for women who were quiet yet fiercely intelligent – most of his dating history said as much. What he hadn’t anticipated was a month’s worth of feverish sex in between bouts of catching his tentative girlfriend crying in his bathroom and tirelessly writing entries into her Moleskine journal. When Cassandra was high on life and passion, she was bursting with it. But when she was hit with a specific kind of darkness, nobody could help her, least of all Ethan. They had parted ways because, quite simply, he had hired a new assistant who promised to be a lot less complicated both in and out of bed. (That was until she showed up in his office to spit on him one day.)
Jasmine held him back before he could completely devour her. How many minutes were left until that stupid call he had to make halfway around the world? Twenty minutes? That was barely enough time to get inside his wife and please them both. It had been three whole days since they last made love. Three whole days! How was Ethan supposed to hold himself back from the throes of marital sex?
Wives. They always expected way too much of their husbands.
“She’s coming back to town according to the grapevine.”
“And I care why?”
“Because apparently we’re both supposed to care.”
Ethan barricaded Jasmine against the couch. A pitiful sound fell from her lips. Not one of weakness, but one holding the sheer amount of power she pulled behind his scenes. Ethan didn’t care how many people made fun of him or looked down on him for marrying a woman like Jasmine. He loved her, damnit, and she was the only woman in the world who could make him feel as silly, as alive as this. Had someone like Cassandra done that for him? No way. She was the kind of woman Ethan hated dating the most: an heiress. They wanted everything a certain way. A certain amount of worth. Ethan had to constantly be on alert around heiresses, most of all the ones like Cassandra who had grown up with vast amounts of wealth. He felt sorry for her when he heard the rumors about her misfortunes, both physical and mental. But his sympathies ended there. What she did with her life was her business. What was it to him? Not like they were ever truly in love. Just lust. A lot of misguided lust, or at least on Ethan’s behalf.