Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 27
Declan
The amount of excitement building within me at the prospect of turning the corner within the Blackwood offices and getting a glimpse of Bailey’s face is laughable. It’s been six long days since I’ve seen it in person. While we’ve FaceTimed during my trip, it’s just not the same.
Bubbling within me is also an intense desire to put my mouth on hers the minute I see her, damn what anyone else may think about it. Bailey and I have kept our relationship under wraps, which is for the good of everyone involved. But right now, I think I’m willing to risk it.
“Hello Mr. Blackwood,” I hear from somewhere in the center part of the floor, which holds all of the cubicles. One of the secretaries catches my eye.
I nod. “Hello, Allison.”
I head down the hall, cubicles to my right and executive offices on the left. The corner of Bailey’s desk comes into view, and my pulse starts throbbing with anticipation.
It’s like a bucket of ice water dumped on my head when I realize her desk is empty. I frown because there’s nowhere she could be other than possibly the restroom or maybe the kitchen. I mentally shrug, then head into my office, knowing she should be back soon and will find me. I drop my briefcase on one of the guest chairs, take off my jacket, and throw it over the back of the same.
The first thing I need to do is make reservations for dinner with Bailey tonight. I’m thinking somewhere small and quiet will do the trick. We can relax with a nice bottle of wine, then catch up with each other before I take her back to her house and fuck her brains out.
As I round the corner of my desk, I see a lone piece of paper that looks oddly out of place. A sense of foreboding prickles at the back of my neck. I reach for the document, holding it up to read.
It’s dated today.
Dear Mr. Blackwood,
Please accept this letter as my notice of resignation with the Blackwood Corporation. I appreciate the opportunity you have given me. I have learned a lot in my tenure with your company.
Sincerely,
Bailey Robbins
PS… I had the pleasure of meeting your wife today.
With a mixture of shock and repulsion, I stare at the words with Bailey’s signature in blue ink. So few words to call an end to our relationship.
I’m assailed with a myriad of emotions. Slight guilt she found out about Madison this way.
Anger she found out about Madison this way because I have no doubt who orchestrated Madison’s visit.
And absolute despair I may have fucked things up so badly she’ll never forgive me.
I reach for my phone, scroll through my contacts to a number I rarely call, and tap on it.
It dials through to my wife, and she answers on the second ring. “Darling… are you back in town?”
Ignoring the “darling,” and choking back the slight bit of nausea it produces within me. I hold absolutely no affection for Madison Blackwood.
“Where are you?” My tone is cold and ominous. If she has any smarts, she’ll say she’s on her way to the airport to leave Vegas and never come back.
Instead, she gives a throaty laugh. “I took a room here at the Blackwood, of course.”
I don’t even respond, merely disconnect the call. Immediately, I pick up the receiver from the phone on my desk and dial down to the hotel receptionist. A man answers with a cordial, “Yes, Mr. Blackwood… what can I do for you this afternoon?”
“Give me the room number for Madison Blackwood,” I order.
I hear some typing on a keyboard before he replies, “1104.”
“Thank you.”
I hang up. Before heading out of my office, I nab a folder from one of my credenza drawers. I move through the executive suite to the elevators, then up to the eleventh floor. I’m bristling with anger by the time I knock on her door.
When the door opens—Madison stands there looking icily beautiful and smug. I take complete stock of my feelings. Nothing but disgust for her, and it has nothing to do with our marriage falling apart. Rather, it has everything to do with the fact she has done nothing but play games with me for the past two years while I tried to push her to finalize our divorce.
But, to Madison, this is all a delightful game. She considers my efforts to get her to sign her name on the documents as my way of chasing after her. It soothes her bruised ego to have even that bit of attention from me.
There is no doubt most men with a heartbeat would consider her to be supermodel gorgeous. But if they ever spent five minutes in her presence, they would know nothing on her insides matches her outsides.
She beams. “Darling… it’s so good to see you.”