The wine bottle swung between finger and thumb. I glared at Ian, willing lightning to strike him, or at least for him to shut the fuck up and not make it worse.
“She’s my wi–”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I screamed at Ian.
“Language, Emma!” Jason squealed.
Both Ian and I stared at him, silent. Our eyes met. His brows rose as he grimaced and he pointed between me and Jason.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” He shrugged and set the bottle against the table with a loud clunk.
Jason snatched the bottle and held it close. His eyes fell to the mouth still wet from Ian’s lips, and pushed it away.
“I don’t know what kind of scheme you two have concocted,” Jason said. He burped and snatched his handkerchief from his suit pocket to cover his mouth. It lowered and he continued. “My family has the best lawyers in the world under contract. Any attempt at blackmail and we will destroy you.”
Ian clapped and pointed my way. Jason flinched at the noise and his eyes scrunched closed for a moment.
“Is that the game?” Ian asked with an excited head nod. “A little illicit affair followed by blackmail? Get him in a compromising situation?”
Ian slapped the table and turned to Jason. Sweat dotted the older man’s pale brow. Half-closed eyes shot open at the sound. He blinked at Ian.
“So what’s the old man’s kink?” Ian asked. His narrow eyes examined my former sugar daddy. “It’d have to be embarrassing, something the country club set would titter about endlessly.”
“Nothing of the—”
Jason’s shoulders shot up. His cheeks puffed out, eyes wide. Eyes closed, he gulped.
“Not looking so hot there, old timer,” Ian said. “Maybe it was something you drank.”
Jason stared at the empty glass of wine in front of him. His stomach gurgled and he bolted from the table. I stared at my own glass, still half full. I hadn’t felt anything.
“Did you poison him?” I hissed.
Indecision held my hand up, half pointing at Ian, half rearing back to slap the smirk off his face. He leaned over the table and snatched the bottle. With a shrug, he gulped from it.
“I needed him out of the way,” he admitted. “But don’t worry, he’ll be fine when he gets it out of his system. And I put something different in your glass.”
“You owe me another $20k.” I shook my head. Anger had my thoughts scattered. “And that’s in addition to the £15,000, plus interest. I’d have gotten more out of him, probably. That’s a con…”
A cloud hid the sun. I blinked at Ian in the lower light. That same truck engine from earlier sputtered at the street. Why hadn’t the streetlamps come in when it had gotten dark?
“Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to wait,” he said, “but it will all be worth it, I promise.”
“Wait!” I blinked and blinked but Ian only grew darker. “What did you put in my gla—”
The darkness swallowed me.
A Tempest in Tight Quarters
Ian
Emma snorted. The slow, regular breathing of sleep sputtered. My eyes darted to the bed I’d placed her on. Her legs shifted as she burned through the effects of the sedative, faster than I expected. That dose should have kept her down for the entire trip.
I set my controller down and turned off the TV. The game provided a welcome distraction from everything, especially en route where I couldn’t do much else, but Emma’s words from when she’d critiqued my apartment ran through my head. She would be angry enough with me as it was, no need to let her see me playing away after she woke from the drugs I’d given her.
Her legs shifted again, one kicked. I’d draped a blanket over her when I’d set her down, but by now she’d kicked it half off. The hem of her dress had ridden up, offering a glimpse of her knickers, white covered in little hearts.
We only spent one evening together. Memorable as that night might have been, I’d learned then that the profile I’d made for her in preparation had been way off. The cynical mercenary I’d paid off to marry me back then didn’t fit in with the bubbly girly girl she’d played with the man back at the cafe.
