Married to a powerful businessman feared all-over Portland, Mia Kingston has a reputation to uphold. As the CEO of MK, her own lingerie brand, everyone believes she has everything, including the perfect marriage most women envy.
She's beautiful, s...
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"You know what, I'm not wasting a single minute talking to you!" Clutching my little Chanel bag, I storm out of the dressing room with a furrowed face.
"Mia!" Patrick stalks me as he's been doing for almost thirty minutes.
I shove his hand away before he holds me. "Go get your brain checked before you speak to me again, Patrick! For crying out loud, you're too old for this!"
"What?" He frowns at my remark.
He hates being called old.
"I want a peaceful day, Patrick! Can you give me that?" I snap, my head clouded by his additional warning that I shouldn't even think of fooling around with another man.
Staring at him closely in the eyes, I wonder if we can ever go back to the way we used to be at this point. He wears my energy every single day. Moreover, I can no longer stand whatever comes from his mouth, for it's either something accusing or baleful.
"Be home at six, Mia," he deadpans but I pay no attention by heading toward the door. "Do you understand me?" he snaps.
Slamming the door shut, I scurry out of the bedroom and head downstairs in a rush.
"At six my foot! Am I some lab chicken that can't stand the cold? Asshole!" I grumble while wearing my bag, taking the stairs in a hurry.
But no, I refuse to ruin my day.
"No, I'm doing okay now. See? I can even jump!" A chirping voice steals my unsettled attention. I lift my eyes up onto the foyer, and it's Red and the maid I see exchanging pleasantries.
That's all I needed. A soft breath lurches out of my lips, suddenly tired.
I guess they're good friends, judging from the amiable smiles they throw at one another. My throat constricts as I take the final step off the staircase, at last catching Red's full attention. His face turns straight, and so does the maid's.
"Morning, ma'am." She smiles nervously.
I study her carefully. Hair done into a ponytail, a body fit uniform of gray and pink, and her pale skin that's blending splendidly with her curly blonde hair, she surely looks pretty.
But I still don't like her. Period.
"Morning. I see your ankle is healed?" I try to be novel.
"Yes, ma'am." She bobs her head sharply with a flashy smile—a too comfortable one.
"Good. Are you ready?" I face Red, my voice as dry as my manners at the moment.
A lot has happened in the course of a few hours for me to sort my feelings and emotions today. I'm just a canvas, ready for more or less.
"Yeah," he answers curtly. He's already in proper clothes and I'm ready to go. "Shall we?" he asks.
