“What does that mean?” I asked, worried.
“If Oliver ever wants funding again, Aaron and the others won’t supply it, nor will they put in a good word. Oliver has become arrogant, rude, cruel, and entitled,” Oceane stated.
I swallowed hard. “Oliver is a decent man.”
“No, Oliver’s not, and you’re going to realise that very soon. Push us away if you want, but know when you need us, we’ll be here because we genuinely care,” Saska said.
“Hello!” a voice chirped, and my heart sank. I glanced up into the gloating face of Eve.
“Who the hell are you?” Oceane growled out.
“I’m Eve, Oliver’s assistant. I came to say hi to Alicia and Winona. We met the other day,” Eve simpered.
Winona cocked her head and stared at Eve, puzzled. “We did?”
Eve blushed a little. “You were dining with Cain Russell.”
“Ah, yes. The interloper who thought she could interrupt a private lunch. You may dine on Oliver’s dime but not ours. Go away,” Winona ordered.
“That’s rude!” Eve snapped.
“Who the hell are you? Nobody. Run back to your job, little assistant,” Oceane growled out, and I recognised that tone. Oceane did notlikeEve.
Eve’s blush darkened as they turned their backs on her and dismissed her.
“I’ll tell Oliver how your friends treated me,” Eve threatened.
“Why would that bother me? I’m Oliver’s wife,” I asked, confused.
Eve smirked. “Whatever.” With that confusing statement, Eve spun and walked away.
My anger at them forgotten, I faced the others. “What did she mean?”
“No idea, darling, shall we order?” Winona said and passed me a menu.
Chapter Nine.
Alicia
Ifinished laying the table and smiled. Everything looked perfect, and I hurried over to check the food. Today was Oliver’s birthday, and I’d made his favourite. Oliver should be home anytime now, and dinner was bang on time. The kitchen smelled wonderful, and I knew this would win him over. His presents were beautifully wrapped and waiting to be gifted, and I hoped Oliver liked them. A lot of thought had gone into them.
An hour later, I turned the oven off and removed the food. Slightly worried, I dialled Oliver and went straight through to voicemail again. Twisting my fingers, I served dinner up and covered the plates.
Worry pressed me as I called Oliver repeatedly, only to get no answer. After three hours, I was almost frantic. I’d checked hospitals, and Oliver hadn’t been admitted. I was deciding whether to call the police when my phone dinged.
Believing that might be him, I grabbed it and swiped. Oliver had the social media settings set to notify me if we were mentioned. Just in case it was a nasty comment that we could acton. The post loaded, and I began putting it down until I spotted the headline. In disbelief, I clicked and stared at Eve, dancing in Oliver’s arms as they smiled at each other. ‘Birthday boy hits the dance floor,’ the headline screamed. Underneath were several captions. ‘Where’s the wife, Oliver?’ ‘The wife’s at home, and Oliver’s on the prowl.’
Slowly, I turned everything off and went to bed.
Oliver
Screw those social media posts. Tears and tantrums were on the menu, no doubt. But instead, I opened the front door and found the house in darkness. Wasn’t Alicia waiting? On my birthday? Puzzled, I checked the time and realised it was three in the morning. A grin spread across my lips. I hadn't partied so late in years. Damn, I felt a lot younger than thirty-one right now. Alicia would probably be ready with the guilt-trip.
I scowled at the thought. Alicia could ruin anything.
Prepared for battle, I headed into the kitchen and was surprised to find it empty. Hadn’t Alicia waited up? Shit, I could have been dead in my car, and the bitch had gone to bed? Christ, what had got into Alicia lately? I spotted two plates, lifted the cover on one, and saw my favourite meal. The gravy had congealed, and I picked it up and binned the food. Alicia could cook it fresh tomorrow. I checked the second and noted it was hers. Hadn’t Alicia eaten? Good. It would keep her weight down.
Not bothering to be quiet, I headed upstairs and entered the bedroom. Alicia was probably awake in bed, cheeks tear-stained and ready to softly berate me.
