“You may sleep beside in your pet bed. The big bed is for good pets,” I said sternly.
“Yes, Mistress,” he replied docilely.
Damn, how long was this going to take? I needed to get rid of this fucker so I could get the $5 million dollars.
Why was he so insistent on staying married? It was ridiculous. I knew Silas Di Pietro did not have a heart. Why was he pretending he loved me?
“Then maybe soon we’ll try something different and go to the club,” I said. “See how you like watching me with another man.”
CHAPTER 6
Silas
Isat in marital therapy with my cock cage on, listening to my janitor give me advice on how to rekindle my romance.
“Little gifts during the year,” Mr. MacDonald said ponderously, blowing out on his moustache and putting his boots up on my Governor’s desk, “can help keep the spark alive.”
Paloma sat beside me with a little upturned smirk on her full lips.
My god, I’d met my match this time.
When I presented her with the city’s most renowned and decorated therapeutic counselor, she declined and insisted on only Mr. MacDonald, who wasn’t even a real psychologist!
Daringme to agree to a therapy session with him.
Before Paloma, I had thought of myself as somewhat of astrategic genius.
Who dared to stand against me? Who dared to challenge my iron will?
I was always two steps ahead of my opponents, faster, stronger, smarter, more ruthless.
I couldn’t say that anymore.
This was the hardest challenge of my life, and I was sweating like a pig at the fair and working like a dog,literally, to be running behind her devious brain at every turn.
This morning she’d called multiple news stations and told them, in total confidentiality of course, that she had it on good authority the Governor and his wife were done, that their marriage was in shambles, that Mrs. Di Pietro was looking for male companionship.
Ensuring my messy sex scandals would stay in the headlines for the entire foreseeable future.
She wanted me to agree to a divorce. And although I was the political dealmaker king, I couldn’t think of a single deal to offer her.Ihad always been enough before—access to me, proximity to me, my money or my cock, had always been enough to get what I wanted before.
My wife didn’t want any of that.
So what could I offer her?
I’d given her best friend Rowan a job as the Acting Head of the Cultural Affairs Department. I’d begged on my knees for another chance. I’d sworn to turn over a new leaf. I had deleted Whitleigh’s number, said nothing when she slunk out of the Capitol Building with her things in a box. Swore to my wife the other woman had meant nothing to me. Because it wastrue.
But Paloma didn’t want anything as much as she wanted $5 million dollars.
And it was relatable as hell.Because that’s exactly how I was. Ruthless, possessive, stubborn and hard headed, willing to do anything to get what I wanted.
Only what I was willing to give anything up to get washer.
We were soul mates! If she’d only agree. Now I had to figure out how to convince her.
Mr. MacDonald opened a tin of pickled herring.
“Now let’s do a common marital exercise. Tell each other your deepest, darkest secrets.”
