“Get out.”

  “What?”

  “You’re fired.” I walk over to my door and open it. “Get the hell out of my house.”

  “Miss Jane, I’m here to help you.”

  “Then stop talking and leave.” I resist the urge to throw something at him. “If I wanted to sit around and listen to someone tell me that I should accept whatever scraps he thinks I deserve, I would’ve just stayed in my marriage.”

  “Miss Jane…”

  “I already had an asshole for a husband.” My mind is made up. “I don’t need another one to be my lawyer.”

  Without another word, he picks up his coat and briefcase, then walks past me.

  Stopping when he’s in the doorway, he turns around.

  “You’ll regret this decision sooner than later,” he says. “By the time Mr. Taylor gets done with you, you’ll probably be homeless. I’m willing to bet on that.”

  “Then prepare to lose.” I fire back, refusing to show any emotion. “When I get done with him, you might be homeless after I expose you for being a two-faced lawyer.”

  He snorts. “You’d have to finish one year of college to even begin to understand the battle that you’re fighting, Miss Jane. This is the major league, and you’re in over your head.”

  “What’s your level of education and experience say about you then?” I shrug. “You can’t even understand what a simple ‘Get the hell out’ means.”

  He rolls his eyes and finally walks out. I slam the door on his exit as hard as I can.

  I don’t need his help writing Nate out of my life anymore.

  I’m more than capable of publishing this next chapter on my own.

  End of Episode 12

  Episode 13

  Autumn

  The following evening

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Mr. Nathaniel Taylor of Walt, Yule, and Taylor Financials!” The local news anchor welcomes the snake onto Good Evening, Montlake, the last hour of the news that no one watches.

  The fact that I remembered the exact date they would feature him on this forgettable program speaks volumes.

  He’s wearing a custom navy-blue suit, sans wedding ring, and from the caption plastered at the bottom, he’s there to discuss “Why You Can Trust Nate Taylor & His Firm with Your Future.”

  I already know that this is all a part of his ongoing master plan: appear to be a nice guy in public as much as possible, and no one will ever believe a thing the greedy, uneducated wife says.

  He’s not even worth a ‘hate-watch.’

  I turn off the television and walk into my kitchen, opening the cabinets and finding everything except what I need at this moment.

  I need wine.

  Lots and lots of good wine.

  And I need a long and sweet release to forget about this hellish week.

  After taking a long shower, I slip into a dress and place my favorite vibrator on the charger.

  Then I head outside and pull the canvas tarp away from my car. As I’m tossing it to the ground, reality slaps me hard across the face.

  Shit…

  The closest ‘Wine and Spirits’ store is in my old county, and I’m sure that Nate more than followed through on his threat to tell the police chief about my car.

  I look over at the black Lexus that hasn’t moved since I arrived, at its fully legal license plate that’s tempting me with every passing second.

  Popping my trunk, I pull a screwdriver from my emergency kit and walk over to it. I unscrew all four corners in the darkness and transfer the plate to my car—vowing to return it before the sun rises.

  I drive a few miles under the speed limit on the highway, making it to the store with ten minutes to spare before closing.

  I fill my bag with Pinot Grigio, Chardonnay, and whatever Sauvignon Blanc wines the manager recommends at checkout.

  Returning to my car, I decide to use my temporary taste of license plate freedom to take a different leg of the highway home. To drive over the speed limit in peace since I have the entire road to myself.

  I’ve driven all of two miles when a bright red, candy-painted Lamborghini pulls right behind me. So close that the driver almost kisses my bumper.

  What the hell?

  I speed up.

  He speeds up.

  I switch lanes. He does the same.

  I glance in my rearview mirror to throw up my middle finger, but I see a familiar face sitting in the front seat. A face that’s so familiar and gorgeous that I immediately sense that this is payback for the unwanted game I made him play weeks ago.

  A surprise reverse card.

  He matches me for miles, following me off the ramp and into the driveway of my new place.

  I turn off the car, shutting off the lights, and he does the same.

  With my heart racing a mile a minute, I sit still for several seconds, waiting for his next move, but he doesn’t reveal it to me.

  Get out of the car, Autumn. Get out of the damn car.

  Slinging the wine bag over my shoulder, I step out and head to the front door—hoping he’ll just stare from afar and return to his house, leaving me alone like I once left him.

  I pull the keys from my pocket, struggling to pick the one that matches the lock.

  When I finally grab the right one, his hand covers mine, and that simple touch sends a jolt of electricity throughout my entire body.

  “Good evening, Autumn,” he says from behind me.

  I slowly turn around to look at him, hating that one glance of his face disarms me so easily.

  “I don’t think this evening’s drive counts as a coincidence,” I say.

  “No, it’s highly calculated.”

  We stare at each other in silence for several seconds, and my heart betrays me with a rhythm that is becoming synonymous with his presence.

  He’s dressed down tonight, wearing dark jeans and a black V-neck shirt that exposes his well-toned muscles. His coat is nowhere in sight, and he doesn’t look bothered by the coldness in the slightest.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you,” he says. “You haven’t answered or returned my calls.”

  “That’s because I’m ignoring you.”

  “Oh?” He looks amused. “And why is that?”

  “Because I’ve always known how to read a room,” I say. “I don’t need to wait until the walls close in on me.”

  He doesn’t respond. Instead, he slowly looks me over, turning me on against my will, making me forget the task at hand.

  Get inside the house. Now.

  “I would never ignore you if you called me,” he says. “And if you ever sent me a text, I wouldn’t let too much time pass before returning it.”

  “Well, I’m not the second coming of Satan, a potential vampire, or a criminal mob boss, so my priorities are a bit different from yours.”

  He looks like he’s on the verge of laughter, but he doesn’t let it last for long.

  “I think you should consider a career in comedy or literature someday,” he says. “I think you’d be quite good at it.”

  “I hope you didn’t chase me down on the highway to tell me this.”

  “No.” He notices the strap of my wine bag slipping and pushes it onto my shoulder. “I’m simply curious about why you backed away from your interview at the last minute.”

  The look in his eyes tells me that he already knows why—that he’s well aware of his reputation—but I give him a reason anyway.

  “My Uber driver forced me to get out when we were halfway down your driveway, and no other driver would accept the ride to pick me up.”

  “That’s not a good enough reason to walk away from me.”

  “Are we talking about you or the interview?”

  “Both.” He looks over his shoulder. “I could’ve sworn you had a car of your own. Wasn’t it something different?”

  His attention to detail catches me off guard again.

  “Why didn’t they want to drive any closer?” I don’t allow him to change the subject. “Why did they behave that way?”

  “I don’t know, I’m not a psychologist.” He smiles, and it sends butterflies fluttering against my chest. “Maybe they’re old friends of mine.”

  “Old friends would’ve said hello.”

  “Then maybe they’re old enemies.”

  “Mister R—”

  “Ryder.” He cuts me off. “I want you to always call me Ryder.”

  “Well, Mister Ryder—” I try to look away from his eyes, but it’s impossible when he stares at me like this. Like he’s seconds away from pulling me into his arms and finally kissing me, giving me much-needed closure on what that would feel like.

  What ‘we’ would feel like.

  “I’m patiently waiting for the rest of your sentence, Miss Jane.”

  “Since you’re playing the semantics game with me,” I say, “I think I’ll go inside and get back to my life where you don’t exist now.”

  My hand trembles as I press the key against the lock, failing to fit it inside the hole again.

  “Stop.” He gently grabs my hand, instantly calming me. “I’m not a danger to you, Autumn.”

  “What about to others?”

  “No comment.” He twists the key in the lock and pushes the door open for me. “Can I come inside with you for a few minutes?”

  “Yes,” I respond without thinking. “No, I mean. Hell no. I don’t know you… I know nothing about you.”

  “Then ask me whatever you want.”

  Like you would ever tell me anything. I shrug, looking over at his car. “How many cars do you own?”

  “Far too many.”

  “Okay, thanks for proving my point so soon,” I say. “That’s not a genuine answer.”

  “Because you didn’t ask me a genuine question.” He looks into my eyes. “Ask me something you actually want to know.”

  “Those Uber drivers.” I return to the scene he keeps cutting. “Every single one of them, and the customer service manager, are scared shitless of you. Why is that?”

  He narrows his eyes, but he says nothing.

  I step back and glance down my doorway, mentally measuring how long it would take me to get inside and away from him.

  “There was an electrical fire several years ago.” He speaks before I can take my chance at another step. “My entire estate burned to the ground within hours and several innocent people lost their lives in the flames.” He pauses. “I took my time rebuilding it from the ashes, took care of the victims’ families, but some people are still having a hard time letting go of what happened that night. It wasn’t exactly a pretty picture.”

  “That’s the entire story?”

  “That’s the gist of the plot.” He clenches his jaw. “That’s why it’s marked as an Uber ‘no-go’ zone. It’s a well-known tragedy for anyone who has lived here for over eight years. Anything else you need to know?”

  I don’t bother asking why none of that information popped up during my search yesterday.

  “How old are you?”

  “Eleven years older than you,” he says. “What else do you want me to tell you, Autumn?”

  His question hangs in the air, and I struggle to think of another one. I also struggle to think of why I should continue standing in this cold for another second.

  I step inside and allow him to follow me.

  “This doesn’t mean that I know you,” I say.

  “I would hope not.”

  While I hit the lights, he shuts the door, and now the living room feels too small for both of us. The air is too thin to handle the heavy onslaught of tension.

  Unsure of what to do next, I set my wine bag on the counter.

  Ryder walks over and pulls the bottles from my bag, reading the labels.

  “A private night of partying ahead?” he asks.

  “It’s a party for one.”

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “Relaxation. I’ve had a very eventful week and I have a personal matter that I need to handle.”

  “I can help you with that.”

  “I can do it alone.”

  He slowly looks me up and down, turning me on with ease. “What exactly is the personal matter?”

  Finger-fucking myself while thinking of you.

  “It’s research for a new job interview that won’t leave me stranded via Uber,” I say. “No offense.”

  “All taken.” He looks beyond offended, as if he’s about to say something else, but a soft beeping sound suddenly fills the room.

  “Device fully charged… Device fully charged.”

  The platform where I was charging my vibrator announces my actual plan for the night, and my cheeks flush deep red.

  Ryder walks over and picks it up, rolling the pink cylinder across his palm. He looks over at me, a knowing smile spreading across his face.

  “Who were you planning to think about during this ‘personal matter?’” he asks.

  I don’t feel the need to answer that. The truth is etched all over my face.

  “Hmmmm.” He taps his finger against the power button. “Is the ink on your divorce papers dry yet?”

  I shake my head.

  “How unfortunate.” He looks disappointed. “Would you like me to help you handle it so you can move on to something better?”

  Goosebumps spring up all over my arms.

  Something about the way he just said ‘handle it’ lets me know that his method of choice won’t be a friendly mediation session.

  “I don’t need help.” I manage. “But if I ever did, what do you stand to gain?”

  “You.”

  “You mean, if I were interested.”

  “We’re far past that part, Autumn,” he says, stepping closer until he’s right in front of me. “We’re just playing another round in the waiting game, which is why I think you should let me help you handle this so-called ‘personal matter.’”

  “What?” I suck in a breath as he flicks the toggle button between high and low before handing it to me. “Why?”

  “Because all this waiting is unbearable, and this is the closest I can get to having you until the ink is dry. I’ve tortured myself thinking about the things I want to do you at night,” he says, continuing, “And I’m confident you’ve done the same.”

  I don’t refute his facts.

  “If I’m wrong, tell me to leave and I will.”

  I stand still, utterly speechless.

  “Will you let me watch you?” He says it like a statement instead of a question. “Yes or no?”

  Yes… I can’t force the word to fall from my lips, but I don’t make him wait for it.

  I slowly step backward until my legs touch the sofa cushion. Then I plop down and slowly push up my dress, opening my legs wide enough to give him a front view of the dark green lace.

  He sits across from me on the chaise, looking far sexier at this moment than he ever has in my fantasies.

  “Push your panties to the side,” he commands.

  I oblige and slide a hand between my thighs, exposing myself to him.

  He looks as if he’s tempted to break his level of restraint, but he doesn’t make a move.

  He just watches.

  I rub the pad of my thumb against my soaking wet slit—slowly teasing the opening while watching his eyes follow my fingertips.

  Pressing the top of the vibrator against my clit, I take a deep breath under his deep blue gaze and turn the vibrator on its lowest setting.

  “Are you planning to tell me what’s going through your mind when you think about fucking me?” he asks.

  “No, I thought—” My breathing slows as he presses his thumb against the end of the vibrator, turning the speed up a notch. “You want details?”

  “Of course I do.” He smiles. “How else will I know that you’re really thinking about me right now?”

  “You can just take my word for it.”

  “Or you can just tell me.”

  I swallow as the vibrator hums at a faster rhythm against my clit.

  I’ve never used this setting.

  I’ve always kept it low. And controlled.

  “You’re—” I struggle to adjust to the change. “You’re currently pushing me against the kitchen counter.”

  “No, I’m not,” he says. “I told you that you’ll be under me whenever we get to that point.”

  “Okay, I’m under you, on this couch…”

  “Good girl,” he says. “Much better position for you to take all of me. What else?”

  “You’re starting to kiss your way down from my neck to my stomach, then down to my clit.”

  “No, I’ll definitely kiss your pussy first.”

  I blush at the sight of him not-so-subtly licking his bottom lip.

  “Keep talking,” he says. “I’m still listening.”

  “I—” I pause as he moves forward to brush strands of hair away from my forehead. “I’ve never done this with someone watching before.”

  “Something tells me that you haven’t done a lot of things.” He stares into my eyes. “Would you like me to show them to you when you’re mine?”

  “Yes.” I moan as my clit swells against the vibrations, as he places his hand against my thigh and caresses my skin.

  He doesn’t ask me to tell him anything else. Instead, he eyes me in utter fascination as I move closer and closer to the edge of an orgasm, as my pussy throbs against the wand.

  “Ahhhh.” I cry out once the pressure becomes too much and I move it away, but he grips my wrist and keeps it pressed for pleasure.

  Then he toggles the switch to the highest and most pleasurably tortuous setting.

  “I want to see you come for me…” He leans forward, pressing his forehead against mine. His lips are so close that they could devour my mouth, but he resists stealing a taste.

  “Can you let me see that?” His voice is hoarse and his palms continue to caress my thigh.

  After only a few more moments, the juxtaposition of his dominant touch and the vibration against my clit are too overwhelming. They’re unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.