Page 29 of The Bad Husband

It’s almost a week, isn’t it?

“Get down, please.”

He sounds bored and distant.

He’s probably not alone.

“I’m sorry. Can you turn off the headlights? I can’t see a thing. I thought it was the police for a moment.”

“Why would I call the police when the cameras alert me if someone attempts to break in?”

“Interesting question,” I murmur to myself, trying not to fall on my ass as I make the trip back.

Yet I don’t move away from the fence.

“What was that?” he asks as the headlights dim a little and I can see his car.

What the…?

Was he watching me from his car? Was he waiting for me? Am I being watched by him or his men at all times?

And why wouldn’t he need the help of the police?

As I move closer, I notice that he’s propped against his dark sports car, hands in his pockets, legs crossed.

He wears a fancy suit, black on black. He looks like he’s coming from a club, or going to one.

All things considered, he was here, waiting for me, and I didn’t even see him.

That is weird.

I didn’t hear him as well. Am I getting so hard of hearing all of a sudden?

Seemingly.

His eyes are pinned on mine as I close the gap between us.

“You wanna get in?”

He tilts his chin toward the house, and I gather from his casual stance that he’s alone.

“I would like that very much, yes. Can’t you just not change the gate code every night? Or at least, make the change during the day so I can get it without bothering you. No offense, but I’d rather talk to Livia than you.”

He purses his lips, and I’m thinking he ponders the matter before he removes a hand from his pocket and hands me a remote, the size of a key fob.

“You can’t drive a car with it, but you can open the gate. No need to worry about the code every day. Make sure you won’t lose it. I’m not giving you another one.”

He pushes off his car.

“Now get in,” he says.

“You’re driving me home?” I murmur with a hint of fake enthusiasm mixed with genuine irony.

“I will, just not now,” he says, ignoring my amateurish attempt at being comical. “You’re coming with me.”

“Wait, what? Why?”

“I promised Henrietta I’d keep an eye on you. You’re drunk. There’s a pool at my house. You like to skinny dip at night. Bad things can happen. Besides, I want to show you my club. Maybe you’ll reconsider working for me.”