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Foster jumps to his feet, slams his hands flat on the table, and grits his teeth. “Don’t fling vulgarities at me with my wife in the room.”
Shocked at what is unfolding before me, I intervene. “Foster, I should leave. I can wait in the lounge.”
“You won’t,” he insists. “And Mr. Robertson will apologize.”
Neil’s face becomes ashen, and he stares blankly at me with his dark eyes. “I’m sorry, Paige.”
“Mrs. Black,” Foster says authoritatively.
“Mrs. Black,” he repeats.
I nod once and gulp my seltzer. Before this exchange, I was starving, but now I don’t care to eat at all. Foster retakes his seat, and the men continue arguing back and forth. When the waiter enters, everyone declines lunch. I am glad for it because I don’t want to be here any longer than I need to be. After a half-hour, the men agree on a price. Foster gave a little bit, but I suspect he started with his rock bottom price even if it was below the value of the property.
Once the Robertsons exit, with a promise to courier over the contracts the next day, Foster turns his attentions to me. “Are you hungry?”
“Not in the least,” I squeak. “Why did you want me here, again?”
“I wanted you to see how negotiations go. I never expected Robertson to act as he did. I’m sorry you’re upset.”
“You set him off—you lowballed him. You could’ve offered a fair price to begin with.”
“I planned to until I saw what he ordered to drink. Macallan isn’t cheap. He was taking advantage, as were his brothers.”
I sigh. “And that pissed you off?”
“Of course. If you weren’t here, it would’ve been far worse for them.”
“Jesus Christ, Foster. How much worse could it have been?” I cry, throwing up my hands.
“You’re upset. Let’s go home.”
“I’d rather go back to the office.”
“You’re in no condition to go back to the office. I can work from the penthouse.”
I violently push my chair back from the table and stand. “I don’t need a babysitter!”
“I didn’t say you do.”
“Fuck you, Foster.”
He wolfishly grins. “If I did, would that calm you down?”
“Asshole.”
“This is business. It happens all the time.”
“Something to look forward to,” I mumble, losing my energy.
“If you’re married to me, you do. Let’s go home.”
I let him lead first through the lobby. He stops at the front desk to settle his bill, and I wait by his side, scanning the room. A beautiful petite blonde woman wearing a form-fitting black dress is walking with a tall, handsome man in a graphite suit. They were laughing, and I notice a large diamond ring on her finger. They are obviously engaged. Envy surges through me at this woman enjoying a normal progression to her relationship.
I married a stranger, and though we have fallen in love, there is darkness in Foster that scares me. I continue watching the couple as they walk toward us, and when my husband turns around, I notice him freeze out of the corner of my eye.
Glancing at him, I observe as he loudly clears his throat, causing the woman to glance at us.
“Erika, how nice to see you,” he says blankly.
