All of Me (All of Me #1) (6 page)

I stop myself from saying more, reminding myself that I’m in a very public place. I didn’t meant to say all that, but I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t keep it in any longer.

Jason’s face contorts into something resembling a scowl. “Be careful,” he growls. “I’m in a very bad mood today.”

“Really? Has the realization that you’re a complete asshole put you in that bad mood, or have you just not fucked enough people over today?”

I hope the double insinuation doesn’t escape him. Not only does he screw people over in his personal capacity, but in his professional capacity too. He preys on small, struggling companies, breaks them into small pieces and then sells it to the highest bidder for a generous profit. Looking at him now, the way his eyes harden into glaciers, and the way his chest rises and falls in anger, I see what the rest of the world doesn’t. The monster beneath the prince.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he says.

“You’re threatening me?”

He stands up slowly, pushing his chair back, and rests his palms on the table. He brings his face as close to mine as he can without making it look like a public display of affection. To anyone else around us, we might look like nothing more than quarreling lovers, but I feel the storm circling us, getting ready to rain and thunder. The energy pulsates between us, and I can feel his anger wrap itself around my throat and squeeze.

“You know I don’t make threats, sweetheart,” – my heart stutters at the term of endearment, much to my chagrin – “I make promises, and I promise that I’ll make you pay for thinking you
see
me. I will ruin you for any other man, and I will do it with a fucking smile on my face.”

His breath fans my face as he talks, and I can’t help the shiver that erupts through me. His threat should scare me. But it doesn’t. It turns me on.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. (That’s the idea)

I watch him disappear through the door, and merge into the pedestrian traffic outside like he didn’t just reduce me to a puddle.

Asshole.

I shake my head, more so at myself. He wins every time, and if he’s winning that means I’m losing. Doesn’t he understand that I’m trying to leave him behind and move forward? Maybe he does, and maybe that’s why he’s trying so hard to prove that he still knows me. Or maybe he’s trying to prove that he’s the
only
person who has ever known me.

CHAPTER 8

J
ASON

“Mr. Tate!” Natasha jumps up from behind her reception desk, and scurries behind me. “You can’t go in there! Mrs. Tate is in a meeting.”

My wife’s receptionist looks flustered, but I storm past her and push open the door to Gemma’s office. She has her back to me, and Steve Johnson plastered to her front. They break a part, and he has the decency to look embarrassed. Gemma turns around, and tries to button up her blouse.

“Jason, what are you doing here?” she asks, panting. Her cheeks are flushed, and her brown eyes are glossed over. Steve zips up his pants, and tucks his dress shirt in. His blonde hair is ruffled, and he avoids my glare. Fucking prick.

“I should ask you the same thing,” I grind out. I clench my fists.

“It’s my office,” Gemma retorts, lifting her chin. “I work here.”

Her eyes are now cold, and hard. A look she reserves just for me. Her husband.

“I didn’t realize work included a lunch time fuck with our accountant.”

Gemma’s stance stiffens, and she straightens her spine. I’m ruffling her perfectly preened feathers, and it gives me a great sense of satisfaction. It’s hard to believe I married this woman, and it’s harder to believe I’ve put up with her for a whole eighteen months before I filed for a divorce. That was six months ago, and I’m still waiting for her to sign the damn papers.

“Steve, I’ll see you later,” she says turning her head, her voice gentle. Loving. Two things she never bothered to show me.

Steve fixes his tie and then walks past me, a smug grin on his face. He thinks he’s won some kind of prize, being able to bang my wife at work, but what he doesn’t know is how sorry I feel for him. Once Gemma sinks her claws into him, he’ll be fucked, and not in the way he was about to be when I walked in.

Poor fucker.

He shuts the door behind him, leaving us alone. Gemma brushes out her slick black bob, and then regards me. Her eyes hold no love, only hate and resentment. They do nothing to hide her calculating, and manipulative soul.

“You obviously came here for a reason, Jason, so spit it out so that I can get back to work.”

I step closer, and drop a manila envelope on her desk. “Sign the fucking papers, Gemma. That way you can fuck Steve whenever you want to.”

She sits back in her leather chair, and has the audacity to grin. It’s a menacing tilt of her lips, and I can see the dirty, oily cog turning in her head.

“You know what I want,” she says, looking conceited, “Give it to me, and I’ll sign.”

“There’s no way you’re getting half of my assets,” I reply, struggling to reign in my anger. This was her game from the beginning, and I was too stupid to see it. My father told me a union between me and Gemma would ensure that I inherit his company. He told me a partnership between Tate Enterprises, and Fitzgerald International would be beneficial to all of us, but the only way James Fitzgerald would allow it was through marriage. Unfortunately, my father took away my right to decide, and made the decision for me. I found myself engaged, and trapped in a loveless marriage before I could blink. In the process, I lost the only woman I’ve ever really loved.

“I won’t walk away with anything less than I deserve,” Gemma says. Her face contorts and she shows off her vindictive self.

How I thought I could have a happy life with this woman is beyond me. I would have made it work if I thought she had any redeemable qualities, but that requires a heart. Something she doesn’t possess. And to think I considered having a child with her. Thank God that didn’t happen. Not without a lack of trying on her end though. She’s tried to ‘catch me with my pants down’ more than once, but lucky for me she failed every time.

“You deserve nothing,” I snap. “I will make sure you get just that.”

Gemma laughs, and the sadistic sound fills her office. “Good luck with that, Jason. Don’t forget, we have dinner with my parents on Wednesday.”

And just like that, she changes the topic. It’s her way of controlling our relationship, and dismissing the notion that our divorce will actually happen.  What she doesn’t know is that I’m the one in control, and whether she likes it or not, I will get her to sign.

“Be sure to send your parents my best, and apologize for my absence.”

My wife’s perfectly shaped brows dip, and I see her features morph from confusion to anger. “You will be there,” she says, her voice commanding. I like a strong woman, but the way she barks orders has always been off-putting.

“No, I won’t. I have a function that I have to attend.”

“What function?”

I grin, despite my anger, knowing I’m about to make Gemma’s day. “I’m going to a birthday party,” I reply. “For Lacey Forbes.”

Gemma’s face pales, and she rises from her seat. There are very few things that render her speechless, and the mere mention of the woman she knows I love is one of them.

“She’s back?” she asks.

I respond with nothing more than a nod, and watch the color drain from her face. Understanding flashes in her eyes. She knows I’m willing to do anything to get Lacey back, even if it means trampling all over her and our pathetic excuse of a marriage.

As I watch her, I realize that she’s no longer my wife. She’s my opponent. I should’ve seen her that way from the day I said ‘I Do’, but I was blinded by heartache, and loss.

“Well,” Gemma says after pulling herself together, “that explains why you’re in such a rush to divorce me. You want to chase after your little whore.”

Instead of becoming angered by her comment, I decide to torment her instead. “Is that jealousy I hear?”

She huffs. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can have her – after you give me what you owe me.”

“Are we negotiating now?” If so, she will lose. She has no idea what I’m truly capable of. What I’m willing to do to get back what she ruined for me two years ago.

“No. Whether or not you give me what I want is actually irrelevant. You broke poor Lacey’s heart,” her voice drips with sarcasm. “Why would she forgive you?”

I smile, and this time it’s genuine. “Because I love her.”

Gemma’s eyes widen, and for a moment I see the hurt. Lacey got the one thing from me Gemma never did. Love. And deep down, that’s the reason Lacey is such a threat. I loved her from the moment I laid eyes on her, no matter how wrong it was. Her age was of little importance to me. I wanted her. Badly. It was something Gemma never understood, and she was always jealous because of it. She wanted that part of me to belong to her. But it never did. It always belonged to Lacey.

I turn around and walk out of Gemma’s office. Just as I reach the elevator doors, my phone rings and my private investigator’s name flashes across the screen.

“I have the information you wanted,” he says in lieu of a greeting. “I think you’ll be very interested. It looks like your wife has been having some fun with her father’s business partner.” 

CHAPTER 9

L
ACY

After hitting the gym for over an hour, I drag my tired body upstairs back to my apartment and mentally psych myself out for a hot bath. It’s the day of my party at my parent’s house, and I’ve tried everything to feel some semblance of excitement. But nothing has worked, and my trepidation grows with every minute that goes by. I try to think of every excuse in the book to get out of it, but I know my mother won’t hear of it.

I resign myself to the fact that I have no choice but to tolerate my family for the evening, whether I’m happy about it or not.

I open my door, ready to strip down and head straight for the luxurious clawfoot bathtub. Unfortunately, the familiar man sitting in my living room like he owns the damn place brings those plans to an abrupt halt.

I shut the door loudly, and he turns his head, giving me a warm smile.

“You’re home,” he says casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s something I expect a boyfriend to say to his girlfriend, or a husband to his wife. Not an ex-lover.

“How did you get in here?” I ask. I do little to hide the annoyance in my voice, and I don’t care if I sound rude. He needs to stop invading my life when clearly I no longer want him in it.

A little voice mutters
liar,
but I silence it quickly. Now’s not the time for a useless internal monologue.

Jason stands, eyeing me from the top of his coffee mug. Smug son of a bitch. Makes himself at home in
my
apartment, and drinks
my
coffee.

“I own the building, remember?”

He walks past me, his eyes glued to my sweaty gym attire. His gaze leaves me naked, even when I’m fully clothed. It’s disgusting. And hot.

I catch a whiff of his cologne, and fight off the urge to visibly inhale. He always smelled amazing, and even now I want to breathe him and get lost in his scent. It’s a delicious aphrodisiac to me, when a man smells delicious, but with Jason it’s intensified. The combination of his cologne, and the testosterone he seems to ooze from every pore, is potent, and enough to make any woman’s mouth water.

Instead of looking away, I decide to check him out the same way he does me. His crisp white shirt clings to his chest, and the rolled up sleeves reveal chorded forearms. I refuse to look at his hands, because I always thought they were one of the sexiest things about him.

His black hair is stylishly messy, with longer pieces hanging on his forehead. He’s wearing royal blue slacks that fit perfectly around his waist, and upper thighs. If he had to turn around I would imagine how well fitted they are around his glorious backside. I’m well aware that I should hate him, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t admire his gorgeous, virile physique.

“Like what you see?” He smirks, and my cheeks warm. I was never able to be subtle around this man. He always brought the most primal reactions out of me.

“Answer my question,” I say, ignoring his jab. I fold my arms across my chest, realizing the mistake as soon as his eyes drop to my breasts.

“Like I said - ”

“You own the building,” I finish for him. “But that still doesn’t give you the right to come into my apartment while I’m not here.”

“I wanted to come see you, but when you didn’t answer I decided to wait.”

“You always had a habit of making yourself at home,” I say, looking away. I’m afraid that talking to him like this will feel the way it used to. Remembering what we had will only hurt me, so it’s better to avoid it when possible.

He steps closer, and touches my neck, rubbing my pulse point. His proximity has my heart racing around in my ribcage and I see his eyes the moment he feels it.

“Only with you,” he replies, his voice soft. My breathing stutters, causing all rational thought to leave my body. My mind wanders to all the tender moments we shared, just like this one, and all the things I find myself wanting to do to him
now
, while he’s standing in front of me. It doesn’t matter that it’s wrong. My body still hums with a fierce yearning for this man.

Our past will always hang between us, cloak us, and it has become the very reason why I refuse to travel down this road again. If I learned one thing from our brief relationship, if I can call it that, it’s that Jason Tate takes everything he possibly can from you, and then leaves you bare, with nothing in return. I gave myself to him freely once, until he had all of me, and then I was left out in the cold. But this time I can’t risk that, no matter how
right
being with him feels. We’re two halves of the same soul. Or so I thought.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I tell him, stepping away. I need the distance from him before he sucks me right back in again.