Chapter 31: Very Hypocritical Husband

Dorian’s head turned slowly. His steely eyes landed on hers. She immediately shrank a little lower in her chair.

Callum pushed his chair back and got to his feet. He was tall. Dorian was taller. "Miss Bennett is here on my time, on my dime. Surely you can understand that."

Dorian slowly turned his attention to him. He looked Callum over. Adrian had been perfectly right.

This was the man? This was the fiancé Naomi had been so desperate to divorce him for? The man looked like a mannequin.

And Naomi chose this?

"She is Mrs. Heathcliffe."

"Temporarily."

Naomi quickly stood. "All right! I’m almost done with Mr. Sterling, Dorian. If you choose to wait, I will be right out."

The muscles in his jaw worked. He was angry. Barely twenty-four hours after signing the contract and there she was, already skirting the edges.

"I’ll be right outside," he said and walked back out.

"I’m sorry about that," Naomi said.

"I don’t like men who think they’re better than everyone."

Naomi opened her mouth automatically. "He isn’t..."

Then she stopped herself. Why was she defending him? She had literally spent the last several minutes calling him a piece of shit in her head.

"Never mind." Naomi straightened in her chair and decided to get this over with before Dorian came back inside and started measuring her for a coffin. "So, as I was saying, I truly am sorry, but I am not your fiancée anymore."

Callum gave a small nod, reached into his wallet and placed a couple of bills on the table. He adjusted his jacket and walked away.

Naomi watched him leave.

Well.

That had gone...

Terribly?

Smoothly?

She wasn’t entirely sure. She let out a long groan and dropped her forehead onto the table. The flowers sat beside her. She had come here to dump one almost-husband and now had to go outside and explain herself to the actual one. "Lord... why me?" She remained there for another second, mentally considering whether hiding under the table until Dorian left counted as emotional maturity.

Unfortunately, she had work. She checked the time. Now she had only a few minutes to get to her other job.

Naomi grabbed her bag, collected the flowers and hurried outside. Dorian was standing near the Range Rover. She glanced around.

The beautiful woman from earlier was nowhere in sight. Naomi approached him slowly. His face looked even more stoic than usual.

Naomi stopped a few feet away. "Where is your cute date?"

"What the fuck was that? Do I need to remind you that you are not supposed to meet with him during the duration of our marriage?"

"Oh, really? Where does it say that? That was not stated in the contract. Trust me, I know. I stayed up last night going through it!"

Naomi clearly intended to argue technicalities.

Against him.

A lawyer.

The audacity was almost impressive.

"That clause exists for a reason," Dorian said.

"Yes. So we don’t sleep with other people."

"Meeting the man you intended to marry privately looks bad."

Naomi lifted one eyebrow. "Funny. You were just sitting in that same lounge with another woman. And somehow that is fine. Was she your physical therapist? Because she seemed very committed to examining your bicep."

He looked around once more and realized they were in absolutely the wrong place to have this conversation. "Get in the car."

"Don’t snap at me!"

"I am not having this discussion on the sidewalk."

"You could have said that normally!"

"Get in the fucking car, Naomi."

"Still snapping!" She said in a sing song voice as she marched toward the Range Rover anyway.

Dorian watched her go. How did she manage to obey him while simultaneously making it feel like she was doing the exact opposite?

Naomi unlocked the Range Rover, opened the driver’s door and slid inside. He got into the passenger seat and shut the door harder than necessary. She tossed the flowers into the back seat.

His eyes followed them.

"Don’t you think your anger is hypocritical right now, Dorian?"

"Drive me home," Dorian said.

"I have work in..." She lifted her wrist and checked the time. "Fifteen minutes."

"Then drive fast."

There were moments when she genuinely wondered how this man had survived three marriages without one of his wives running him over.

"Where is your car anyway?" she asked.

Dorian ignored the question. Naomi pulled away from the curb, still irritated, while Dorian looked out through the windshield. "The purpose of our arrangement," he began, "was to calm the sharks down. To give me breathing space and stop everyone from assassinating my character every five minutes."

"So tell me what happens when even one person gets a sniff of the fact that you’re still seeing your fiancé. One photo of you sitting across from Sterling and suddenly there are headlines. Then I look like an idiot, you look like you’re cheating, and every miserable person online gets another week of entertainment."

Naomi let out a frustrated breath. "If you must know, I went there because I had to call the entire engagement off!"

Dorian turned fully toward her. "What? You called it off?" His brows pulled together. "Why would you do that? You were desperate to marry him. Was he the one who hit you?"

Naomi groaned. "Oh God. Does everything have to return to that?"

"You still haven’t told me who did it."

"And I already told you to leave it alone."

"Did Sterling hit you?"

"No!"

"Then why did you call it off?"

Because marrying Callum had never been about wanting Callum. It had been about money. And if she told Dorian that, he would start asking questions again.

Questions she did not want him anywhere near.

"I... I realized we aren’t compatible."

"Bullshit." Dorian chuckled.

"Bullshit?" she repeated.

Dorian shook his head, still amused. "Completely."

"What exactly is so bullshit about it?"

"You suddenly believe you’re incompatible with someone you were absolutely determined to marry barely forty-eight hours ago?"