Chapter 87: Bad Press

"Is that so?" Dorian said lazily.

"Yes. They’re putting together a leadership series. High-pressure decision-making. Apparently, they think you’d be perfect. I thought I should give you a heads-up before they contact your office."

"Well, I can save them the time when I tell you to tell them no." Dorian turned away from her and walked back toward his desk.

Camille sighed. "Dorian, this is good for you."

He sat down. "I’m sure."

"I’m serious. With all the bad press you’ve been getting lately, it could actually do you some good."

"A narrative you helped feed."

Camille shrugged without even looking ashamed. "Hey, anything for my followers." She waved a dismissive hand. "Besides, you threatened everything I’m worth, so I’m staying out of that definite train wreck."

"What do you mean, definite?"

It could mean nothing. Camille loved drama. She practically inhaled speculation and exhaled content.

Surely she didn’t know anything about the contract.

Did she?

"Aww... babe." Camille gave him a look dripping with pity he absolutely did not need. "How can you not see it? Your latest bride is not cut out for your world."

Dorian’s expression went flat. Camille, unfortunately, took that as an invitation to continue.

"She has no social media presence. Her fashion sense is tacky, and have you seen her next to you?" Camille gestured vaguely at him, as if his face was somehow evidence in her argument. "You’re like Beauty and the Beast in reverse."

Dorian stared at her. There were so many things wrong with that statement that he genuinely struggled to decide which one deserved his attention first.

Eventually, he smiled.

"Is that what you think marriage should be about? Social media, fashion sense and physical characteristics? I wonder why ours failed so spectacularly then," Dorian continued before she could answer. "Because, Camille, you had it all. You had the followers, the clothes, the beauty, the right people taking photographs of you at the right events." He leaned back against his desk. "And you were the only marriage I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of."

Camille’s lips pressed together. Dorian didn’t particularly care.

"Would you please leave my office? I have things to do."

Camille clearly understood she had reached the limit. Whatever she might have said next remained safely behind her teeth. "So what do I tell the forum executives?" she asked instead.

Dorian looked at her. He had already said no. And he still wanted to say no. Then Camille’s comments about Naomi replayed in his head.

Something petty and deeply satisfying woke up inside him.

"You know what?" Dorian straightened. "I changed my mind. I’ll be there."

Her expression brightened slightly. "Good. I knew you’d see sense."

"With my plus-one."

The brightness disappeared.

"And who would that be?"

Dorian’s smile came slowly and smugly. Cruelly, if he was being completely honest. "Do you really want me to answer that?" He held her gaze with entirely too much satisfaction.

There was only one person he intended to walk into that room with.

His wife.

Camille huffed, and turned toward the door. He exhaled.

"Exhausting."

Annoying as Camille was, though, she had made one useful point. The Blackstone Leadership Forum appearance could help.

Not because Naomi needed to be polished into whatever ridiculous image Camille considered acceptable. Dorian couldn’t care less whether his wife had an Instagram account or knew which designer had sewn the dress on her back.

But his reputation? That was another problem entirely. A respected leadership forum putting him onstage as Dorian Heathcliffe the lawyer, rather than Dorian Heathcliffe the serial husband, wouldn’t hurt.

Maybe reminding people that he actually had a profession between marriages would be useful. There was only one inconvenient detail.

In five months, this marriage was supposed to end too. If news of another divorce got out, Lord knew he would be screwed.

His reputation would be carved up for sport. Dorian rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. At least he would be done with marriage anyway.

No way he was getting married again. No damned way. Four marriages by thirty-eight was not exactly a statistic he intended to improve upon.

Whatever happened when this arrangement with Naomi ended, that was it. Marriage could find another victim.

The rest of the day disappeared. Eventually, the office emptied. Adrian left first, after reminding Dorian that Gertrude 2.0 had been safely delivered to the townhouse and labelled exactly as instructed.

Dorian remained behind. By the time he glanced at the clock, the building had gone quiet. He picked up his phone and sent Naomi a quick message.

Going to be late tonight. Don’t wait up if you’re tired.

The reply came immediately. A sad face emoji. Then another notification appeared. A GIF of two people aggressively kissing.

His smile widened. He settled for a single kissing emoji, stared at it for several seconds, then sent it. He packed up his things.

Marianne’s former neighbor should be home by now. She was a nurse, and according to what he had found, her work hours were brutal enough that catching her required timing.

He wanted to hear what she remembered. Dorian headed down to the garage, got into his Mercedes and drove out.

Traffic was manageable. He had made it halfway across town before something started bothering him.

Dorian checked the mirror again. There was a charcoal-gray Audi A6. Nothing particularly memorable about it. Executive sedan, common enough in New York.

But Dorian liked cars. He noticed cars. Modern, vintage, ridiculous limited editions. And he knew he had seen this one before.

He slowed down enough to get a better look through the mirror.

Tinted windows.

No useful view of the driver. Maybe it was nothing. Still, something about it made his instincts prickle.

And Dorian trusted those instincts. He was a criminal lawyer. He dealt with criminals for a living. He had received threats before.

He had been followed before. As he approached the street he was heading toward, Dorian made a decision. He pulled over and parked.

The Audi continued forward. Dorian watched carefully as it passed him and disappeared farther down the road.

His shoulders loosened slightly. Maybe he had imagined it. Maybe the driver simply happened to be taking the same route. He remained where he was anyway. He wasn’t moving for another couple of minutes.

Just to be sure.

Dorian reached across and opened the center console. Then he remembered he had left his gun in the Range Rover. "Ah, shit!"