Dangerous Exes (Page 2)

A headache pulsed behind my temples, I rubbed my head and tried to think of a solution. It’s what I did. I fixed things. I fixed broken marriages, relationships, and if a client was too far gone and in a free fall, I handed them a safety net and made it better.

Yet every time I thought of Jessie Beckett I either wanted to inflict violence on his person, or just . . . huh, I guess all I really wanted was to fight him.

I was tall.

He was muscular.

I would lose.

He would laugh.

Plus it would mean touching him.

I shivered.

“Cold?” Blaire grinned.

“You’re still here?” I said, confused.

She shoved me toward the door. “Go talk to him, throw up the white flag, and move on. Thanks to the news, we didn’t get the short end of the stick, and have a client load that’s going to force us to take on another employee.”

I sagged a bit. “Right, you’re right. Okay, I’ll just tell him it’s over. How hard can it be? He has to be bored out of his mind anyway. He’s been there all day.”

Blaire smiled and then gave me an encouraging nod before walking to her car. I gulped at Jessie and stared him down, all six foot four of him.

There were so many things wrong with him as a human that I was offended just thinking about them.

For one, his eyes were too knowing, like he’d already done a search on every single part of your body that responded to male touch and memorized it just in case he got the chance to corner you.

His light eyes against tan skin, dark hair that was a bit longer in the back, curling at the ends and making a girl think about giving them a tug.

And don’t even get me started on his muscular build.

It said one thing, in bold colors above his head, that he put physical perfection above all else and wanted everyone else to not only know it, but comment about it, appreciate it—he basically had a big giant freaking “You’re Welcome” sign hovering over him. And it irritated me.

It irritated me that when I’d tried to get close to him during our investigation, he didn’t play into my hands as easily as I was used to with most of our targets.

And to be honest, it stung a bit that when I dumbly threw myself in his face in order to distract him from Blaire—he looked at me like I was a sad excuse for bait. I’d never had a guy react to me in that way, typically it was easy to distract them, tempt them to default to their cheating tendencies, catch them on camera, and be done. But Jessie . . . Jessie hadn’t even blinked in interest—if anything, I annoyed him. Which in turn annoyed me, made me try harder to push his buttons, until he relented and we became friends.

He gave me another small wave.

I steeled my gaze and made the slow, painful walk across the street.

From friends.

To enemies.

In one final swipe.

Bastard.

Chapter Two

JESSIE

There was something both gorgeous and terrifying about a woman with a tuxedo jacket and red spiky heels. Isla was the type of woman who could become an army general and terrify even the biggest jackass of the group. Her words had a way of slicing right through a man, causing irreparable damage. And the way she held her body? She was always positioned to strike. A lesser man would have been intimidated. Isla was the type of woman who would wear stilettos until her toes bled then lie about the pain just to see your reaction.

Five minutes.

That was all it took—five minutes after being introduced to her I decided that I wanted to strangle her more than I wanted to kiss her. She’d followed me around like a puppy that first night—she even went as far as to stalk me to the bathroom and lock the door behind her while I was mid pullout—all in an effort to throw me off her scent.

The scent of a general in a tuxedo jacket.

A wolf dressed like a stupid-ass sheep.

I crossed my arms again and waited as the sound of her heels clicking against the pavement got closer and closer, and it seemed more purposeful, like she hoped the loud noise would scare me away.

Bullshit, I was going to destroy her the same way she destroyed me, from the inside out.

I rubbed my chest.

Irritated that I still felt upset, heartbroken, betrayed—those words didn’t even begin to cover the feelings I had toward Isla and what she’d done to my reputation. Granted, my ex-wife didn’t have to go to the press. But she wouldn’t have been as pissed as she was if it wasn’t for Isla and Blaire.

Blaire.

I shook my head.

My best friend’s girlfriend.

Yeah, didn’t see that coming. I’d been pursuing her for a month when I finally found out my best friend had already done the conquering and planted his flag where mine should have been all along.

Which brought me back to Isla. Everything always came back to her—she’d conveniently shoved them together while pulling me and Blaire apart.

I could forgive a lot of things.

And it’s not like I enjoyed watching her through binoculars like a stalker.

She grimaced and nearly tripped on the sidewalk, as her breasts tried to slide out of her sheer blouse.

Definitely not a hardship watching her.

At least when she wasn’t speaking.

“Jessie.” She said my name like an expletive. I tried not to be turned on by the way her breasts slid against that silky material but I couldn’t pull my eyes away—I was a red-blooded male, sue me, I didn’t have to like her to appreciate the gift of her banging body.

But the fact still remained.

The minute she and Blaire poked their heads into my business, I was put on the fast track to disaster. My ex-wife went to the press, told every dirty detail about our falling-out and the reasons behind it—mainly because she was pissed she didn’t get any money in the divorce—and here we are.

I was asked to step down from my job as chairman of the charity I helped build. The same charity that helped get clean water into third-world countries and build schools and orphanages. I’d poured my life into that charity. But the board of directors didn’t think it was wise for me to be the face of the charity anymore.

And I couldn’t blame them.

I was on every fucking gossip rag in America.

Even some in the UK.

And every article speculated on my relationship with my ex-wife, the farce I kept up with, the lies I helped her tell. Isla didn’t just give my ex, Vanessa, the means to ruin me, she helped her do it.

Yeah, I could forgive a hell of a lot.

But I’d bled for the reputation I had.

My worst fear had come true.

And I only had one person to blame.

One person who was currently eyeing me like she’d rather run me over with her car than say one word.

But I refused to be the first to speak.

Her right eye twitched. “Did you need something, Jessie?”

I shrugged. “Just bird watching.”

“Bird.” Her chest heaved as she stutter-stepped. “Watching.”

“That’s what I said.” I grinned. “Been walking in heels long?”

“There was a pothole.” She sniffed and looked away, then back at me. “Look, there has to be a way we can discuss this like normal adults, not ones who stalk with binoculars and make petty threats.”

“Oh, so now my threats are . . . petty?” I took a step toward her. “I’m not making empty or petty threats—I fully intend on ruining this little business of yours, maybe then you’ll know what it feels like to lose everything.” I tried not to flinch at the guilt that poked me in the chest, the guilt that I was also bringing down her business partner, Blaire, who I used to date a long time ago and who was now engaged to my best friend, Colin.