Page 99 of Trust Me

My gaze moves to the men still coming in and out.

“How much longer until you’re done?” I snap at them.

“A few more boxes, Mr. Townsend,” one of the guys answers. “You also asked us to unpack. That’ll probably take us another hour.”

“Drop the last box in the bedroom and then get out,” I bark at them. My anger is irrational, but Riley standing there half fucking naked with other men in the room doesn’t sit well with me.

“That was rude,” Riley says as soon as the last man exits.

“They get paid to accept my rudeness.”

“Such a bastard,” she mutters. “No one gets paid to accept abuse.”

I wave her off. “They weren’t abused.”

“Talking to your employees like they’re lower than dirt is a form of abuse. Have you not heard of the Great Resignation?”

I wrinkle my forehead and stare blankly at her.

“The record number of employees who quit their jobs because of shitty working conditions. Pay isn’t everything. But of course, for someone like you, that doesn’t mean anything, does it?”

I move around the kitchen island to stand over her. “What the hell do you mean somebody like me?” I don’t like the tone she uses whenever she says that shit.

“Someone who looks down on everybody else just because you were lucky enough to be born to a family with a nine-figure bank account.” She huffs as she shoots daggers my way with her eyes.

“Twelve figures,” I correct.

She sucks her teeth. “Cocky son of a bitch.”

Anger aside, a smile crests on my face. “And that would make you Mrs. Cocky Son of a Bitch.”

She snarls, and I’ll be damned if my cock doesn’t stir to life.

“I can’t wait until this sick game you’re playing is over and we can annul this marriage.”

“Counting down the days already?”

“Yes,” she answers tersely.

“The thumb drive, Riley.” I bring the conversation around to our original topic because we’re running low on time.

“Say please,” she says again.

“Get me the damn thumb drive.”

“Use the fucking manners I suspect you were raised with and say please, you pompous, entitled bastard she yells.” Her eyes scream out her frustration. Though she continues to glower at me, she moves her fingers to her temples and begins massaging them.

Memories of finding her curled up underneath her desk in pain come to mind. I swallow my pride.

“Please,” I say the word but it’s clipped.

She curls her top lip but turns away from me and heads down the hall. A half a minute later she charges back up the hall and slaps the thumb drive into the palm of my hand.

“Thank you,” I add to be an ass.

She makes a face, and I chuckle.

I move to the dummy laptop I’ve had set up for this wave of deception.