Page 60 of The Bad Husband

She surely believes what she’s saying.

“Okay,” I say softly. “Let me call my friend.”

“Do that.”

I’m about to walk away when I pivot back to her.

“Do you have any idea what I should wear? Are these parties formal events?”

“Some are. Some aren’t. Choose something comfortable that also makes you feel good about yourself.”

“All right.”

I thank her and head upstairs. The buzz of yet another new thing happening in this house moves through my head.

I push the door open, walk into my room, and call Keira.

“We’re all set. You’re coming here. I can’t promise you we’ll have fun, but the food is good, and we can always snatch up a few drinks and retreat to my room. We can also sneak out and stuff our faces with burgers downtown,” I say, smiling.

She has a good laugh before we talk about what to wear, and I give her the directions to my place.

So much for her never coming here. So much for me never messing with a married man.

I feel nauseous about both.

At least, I’ll learn something tonight.

I hope it’ll be something good.

DAMON

“What’s going on, Damon?”

Henrietta pushes the door to my bedroom open, just as I swipe my work phone with my thumb and slide it into my pocket.

“Stop barging in like that, for fuck’s sake. And knock on the door next time, will you?” I say, noticing the short blue dress hugging her silhouette and revealing her legs.

Her tanned skin shimmers. Her crimson lips seem dipped in wet paint.

Her hair moves like a conqueror’s flag, although there’s nothing victorious about her these days.

“What was the question again?” I ask.

She walks toward the middle of the room, her rehearsed moves meant to drive a man crazy.

It’s worked on so many men.

“Lila Skye told me you stumbled upon her last night and had your men give her a ride home.”

I cross my arms over my chest.

“Are we still talking about this? I thought we had that conversation last night, didn’t we?”

“Yes, we’re still talking about it,” she says, ignoring my sarcasm. “I just found out someone saw her at the club.”

Not a muscle moves on my face.

I’ve suspected for a while that someone snitches on me.