Truly Madly Deeply: Chapter 65

“You look awful.” Tate stared me down like dog shit he had to scrape from the bottom of his Gucci loafers, clad in a Kiton cashmere suit and a chunky watch that cost more than a Hamptons getaway. “And I say that with lo… Sorry, can’t fucking lie to your face. Hate your guts. You’re one of the flakiest business partners I’ve ever encountered.”

I jammed my socked feet into my combat boots, shaking my head. At least I wasn’t wearing that ass-bearing robe anymore. I was back to my Henley and jeans, my duffel perched on the hospital bed. “There go our wedding plans,” I said in a mocking tone.

“Don’t be so touchy. You act like my ex after I dumped her for a French lingerie model during our Mediterranean cruise. People take shit so personally sometimes.” Tate pushed off the door he’d been leaning against, striding toward me, hands tucked in his front pockets.

“Is there a reason you’re here?” I stuffed my hoodie into my duffel bag, zipping it. “Other than clearly being obsessed with me.”

“I’m sure you remember it’s the last day of my ultimatum.”

“You never gave me a date for the so-called ultimatum,” I said flatly.

“Well, I’m giving you one now.” He flicked his wrist to check the time. “It’s right fucking now.”

I hooked the strap of the duffel bag over my shoulder. “You know, I was just on my way to you.”

“Really?” His eyes narrowed.

“No.”

“I was hoping being stabbed by one of the village idiots would be the wake-up call you needed. The final reason to get the hell out of here.” Tate linked his hands behind his back, peering out the window. He was probably contemplating building a dildo-shaped skyscraper right in front of the church. “As it happened, your hero complex has gotten wors—”

“Please stop talking.” I stood up, steady on my feet. “I’ll sign your damn contract.”

But it had nothing to do with getting stabbed. Cal had said not to wait for her. There was no point in sticking around if she wasn’t an option.

“Finally, you’ve retained some of your gray matter.” He snapped his fingers once. In an instant, the door pushed open, and two suits carrying briefcases walked in. A third person trailed behind. A dark-skinned stunner in her mid-twenties. Gia, I bet. She was beautiful. She was also very clearly human, which meant she probably wasn’t down with procreating with her devil of a boss.

“Where shall I put the contract?” she asked in an elegant English accent.

“The ceiling,” Tate huffed sarcastically. “There’s only one surface in this room.”

Her lips shaped the word twat noiselessly, and she arranged a pile of documents on the counter by the window, producing a pen from her purse.

“Mr. Casablancas.” She motioned toward the documents with the strained smile of someone who really loathed their job. “I’m happy to go over the fine print and answer any questions.”

“That won’t be necessary. I really don’t give one shit what’s in it.” Hell wasn’t hot enough for most of the people in this town. I was tempted to pack up Mom and Dylan and take them with me to London. The only thing stopping me was the slight chance Tucker was man enough to want to raise his child.

“Wish I’d known all it’d take was a little prickle to take the air out of you.” Tate gave me a once-over, folding his arms over his chest. “I’d have stabbed you myself.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it,” Gia muttered under her breath.

“Uh-huh.” I plucked the pen from her fingers, jotting my signature over the dotted lines as fast as I could. “Good luck winning the people of Staindrop over.”

Tate chuckled. “Not looking to make friends here.”

I tossed the pen on the documents and grabbed my ball cap, pushing it down my forehead. “Anything else?”

Tate picked up the contract, grinning at it as he waved me off. “All good. When are you getting to London?”

“January first.”

“Want a ride?”

“Would rather hang on to a baby-oiled airplane wing to get there.”

“I’d pay good money to see that.” He rubbed his chin. “I have a table booked at La Vie en Rogue on opening day. See you then.”

“Can’t fucking wait.”

I slammed the door behind me.