Page 83 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

“How did your dress—” Kate began.

“Don’t ask.”

Natalie drew several deep breaths as she walked toward the ambulance. Smoke billowed around her. With a visual sweep she assessed the situation, still amazed at the sheer lunacy. Fire hoses were concentrated on the patio area—the hallowed grand oak, the private dining room, and the anterior roof line. Thankfully, there were no signs of flames attacking the main building itself. When she looked back toward the triage area, she found Hart’s eyes waiting, as well as a haughty expression.

Are you kidding me? What a jerk!

Express regret for his injury, then tell him to pound sand.

“There she is, the woman who tried to turn me into a lump of fried dough,” he said as Natalie approached.

“How’s your hand?” she asked, ignoring his comment.

“Small cut. I’ll survive.”

“Have you reached out to your wife to let her know?” she asked.

Hart snickered. “And there it is—the real reason for your little outburst. I guess Natalie Powell doesn’t like to share.”

Natalie locked her arms across her chest. “You’re not serious right now. You’re cheating on your wife, and yet this is somehow my character flaw?”

Hart examined the paramedic’s work, avoiding her eyes. “If you’d done your homework, you’d have known from the start.”

“I’m not a homewrecker, Hart, or anyone’s sidepiece. The fact that you kept your marriage hidden from me⁠—”

He raised his voice. “I never hid a thing from you. But let’s talk about what you’ve kept hidden from all your guests here today.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about London, about Blaze—which, now that I think about it, is pretty ironic, given the current state of affairs.”

“Listen, if you think for one minute⁠—”

“Think anyone here would be anxious to part with their hard-earned dollars knowing your track record in this industry? And how you ran off and left your clients hanging just to get laid by some race-car driver? You couldn’t handle a simple black-tie event.”

Natalie’s mouth fell open. Her eyes narrowed with rage when she said, “You’re unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.”

“No, I’m honest. And unlike you, brutally successful. And when it comes to this event planning business of yours, you’re delusional.”

“Get out,” she demanded.

Hart made a tsking sound, his mouth drawn into a sarcastic frown. “We’re in a parking lot, babe. As if you have the power to⁠—”

“Listen, this macho bullshit might work with your pubescent readers, but it certainly won’t work with mine.”

Hannah Hunt, all five feet nothing of her, stepped in between Hart and Natalie. Where’d she’d come from was anyone’s guess. Had she heard everything? About London … and, God forbid, their affair?

“Excuse me, but this is a private conversation. Move along please,” Hart snapped.

Hannah tsked, mimicking his exact look. “In a parking lot? As if you have the power … babe.”

Hart looked back at Natalie, his expression suddenly softer. “Can we continue this conversation somewhere else?”

No, asshole, we canNOT. You straight up lied about your wife and kids and nothing you say will change that.

“Perhaps you’d like to make an official statement,” Hannah continued.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but this is no concern⁠—”