Page 128 of Pretender

“Why are you here?”

He squares his shoulders, his lean muscles straining against the grey wool suit jacket I recognise. “Are you alone? You look like you’re dressed to go out.”

“I’m about to leave, actually, so be swift.”

“Did you read the latest blog?”

“I didn’t, actually.” Strangely, I’ve not been interested in reading it since I started seeing Aiden for real.

“Oh.”

“Why?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

“It’s about me. It puts me in a very bad light.”

About him? What angle?

“What does it have to do with me?”

“Everything, Linnea. It claims I’ve spread rumours about you.” He does that face I remember I used to fall for. The wide eyes. So innocent-looking. He doesn’t fool me anymore.

“It claims the truth as far as I know,” I say, wanting to cross my arms but I keep my hand on the doorhandle, ready to slam it shut when I need to.

“Well, since Sunday I’ve had to put out fires. The Baron—Mr Sinclair—” He clears his throat. “I asked him for help, but that didn’t go down well. He’s given me an ultimatum. I need to fix this mess somehow.”

“It doesn’t answer my question, Henry. Why are you here?”

“Linnea, I need your support. My business is in jeopardy. My upcoming wedding…”

“My support. For you to fix … the business that you practically stole from me and the marriage to the woman you cheated on me with. Huh.”

His jaw flexes. How long will he be able to keep up this fake-helpless charade that he’s put on before he reveals he’s angry with me?

“Regardless,” I say, keeping my eyes on his. “You deserve to be taken down a peg.”

“The blogger is spewing lies about me, Linnea,” he hisses.

“Oh, I wonder how that feels.” I roll my eyes. “You need to leave now.” I start to close the door but he puts a foot in the crack.

“Stop.” His eyes are wide and dark. “Please, Linnea, you can tell my clients that it’s not true. You can tell them I know what I’m doing. Please. They’ll listen to you now, after that stupid fucking blog.”

“There is no world in which I will help you. I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire. Get out of my face.”

He gapes at me. “Jesus Christ, you really are as unlovable as I recall.”

“There he is. The real Henry Lancaster.”

Henry shakes his head and spits on my doorstep. “Cold bitch.”

“Fuck off, Henry.” I close the door.

“You were a waste of effort,” he shouts through the thick wood but his voice is as clear as if he spoke straight into my ear. “Even your mum knows. That’s why she could never be arsed with you.”

I bite down, gritting my teeth.

Don’t respond. Don’t give him the pleasure.

The sound of him shuffling outside makes my blood boil. I want to scream at him, but I won’t let him get the better of me. Never again. He says things. He throws daggers and hopes one will hit.