“Are you going to answer my question?” Evie asked. “Why are you standing here naked in the middle of the day, Cameron?”
“I can already tell you’re jumping to conclusions,” he said. He set the water bottle on the counter and held his hands up. “I only came home to take a shower. The Rousseaus’ rott-weiler got caught up in some barbwire. He was filthy when they brought him in and my scrubs were a mess by the time I finished examining him.”
It was no easy feat to stop her jaw from falling to the floor. Was he attempting to lie his way out of this? Seriously? For some reason that made her more upset than when she firstwalked up to her bedroom and caught sight of his bare ass in her bed.
Evie didn’t say anything as she lifted her phone from her back pocket.
“Are you calling the practice to check up on my story?” Cameron asked. “You don’t trust me?”
She managed to hold in the hysterical laugh that nearly escaped. Evie swiped across the screen. Her fingers shook, a clear indication that the calm she’d managed to maintain so far was on the brink of dissolving.
She held up the phone. She was just far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to make out what was on the screen.
“Unless you want the video I recorded of you fucking your little side piece posted on every social media site I can think of, you will get out of my house right now.”
She was bluffing, of course. She had been too shocked to even think to record him, but she didn’t need video. Just the threat would be enough to send Cameron scurrying. If Charles Broussard II caught even a whiff of scandal, he would snatch his veterinary practice away, leaving his youngest son to fend for himself. Cameron wouldn’t survive a month without the practice he’d inherited.
“Cam?” came a feminine voice from the direction of the bedroom.
Evie froze.
“Okay, Ev,” Cameron said, glancing toward the hallway. “Don’t blow this out of proportion.”
“You have five minutes to get out of my house,” Evie told her fiancé.
Ex-fiancé.
“Evie, be reasonable.”
“You can come back for the rest of your things later,” she said. She had to strain to get the words past the lump of emotion that had suddenly lodged in her throat. The weight of this moment, of what it meant for how her life would progress from this point forward, overwhelmed her.
Cameron took a step toward her. “Come on, Ev. You’re being ridiculous.”
“Don’t you dare come near me!” Evie’s hand shot out in front of her, holding him back. “I told you to leave.”
“Ev—”
“Cameron, get the fuck out of my house!” Evie screamed.
He snapped back. The surprise on his face mirrored what she felt inside. She’d never shouted at him like that before.
“Cam?” the voice called again. A moment later, the blonde with the hot-pink nails walked into the kitchen wrapped up in Evie’s favorite sheets.
Great. Now she would have to burn them. That son of a bitch was buying her another set.
“Oh… no,” the woman said. “You’re the girlfriend, aren’t you?”
“Get out of my house,” Evie said again. If she had to say those words one more time, she would not be responsible for the actions that followed.
Cameron and his—what was she? His mistress? His girlfriend? An escort he’d hired?—hustled toward the hallway leading to the back bedrooms.
Evie folded her arms over her stomach and sucked in several deep breaths. Every square inch of her skin hummed with an irritating, prickly tingle, as if someone were jabbing her with a thousand tiny pins. She would have to google thestages of emotional shock to figure out exactly where this complex mash-up of tension, anger, and disbelief landed on the spectrum.
When would the numbness set in? That’s what she wanted right now. Give her the bliss that came with not feeling anything.
At least ten minutes passed before Cameron emerged from the hallway. He wore the blue Vineyard Vines sweater she’d bought him for his birthday last month, along with khakis. It was his typical attire on Wednesdays when he taught a class at Tulane University.
That’s where he should be right now. If she was in a steadier state of mind, she would have remembered that bit of information when he’d tried to feed her his bullshit story about the Rousseaus’ rottweiler.
