Chapter 4

My manager shoved the contract into my hands with an impatient glare. "Go or pack your crap. Your call."

I stood out in the freezing wind for a while, wrestling with myself. Eventually, I forced myself to hail a cab and head over.

When the barbecue hit the table, the plate was practically swimming in those devilish chili peppers.

Luckily, Jack wasn't trying to make things difficult. He caught the look on my face and chuckled.

"I can't get enough of this spicy stuff. But I grabbed you some snacks instead—don't make yourself suffer with all this heat and get a stomachache," Jack said.

I let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Before I could even say thanks, an icy man's voice drifted in from the doorway, "Mr. Grant?"

I glanced over and saw Eric standing outside, tall and unmistakably refined.

He was not exactly known for making small talk, so this was unexpected.

Jack was clearly taken aback and jumped to his feet to greet him.

"Mr. Vaughn! What a surprise. Please, come in and have a seat—join us for some food?" Jack invited.

Eric said he'd already eaten, but still walked right in.

When the waiter handed me those snacks, Eric said half-jokingly, "Mr. Grant, that's not cool.

"You're chowing down on the good stuff and sticking her with the boring snacks?"

He was usually so quiet, never the type to crack jokes like that.

He was acting really weird today.

Jack just laughed and tried to explain himself, "Hey, not everyone's got a taste for the heavy stuff, you know?"

Eric looked honestly surprised. "Ms. Lowe grew up with her grandma down south.

"She's kind of a legend when it comes to spicy food. Mr. Grant, you're seriously selling her short."

I finally caught the drift of what Eric was after.

Eric, it seemed, was out to give me a hard time.

He knew damn well spicy food was my absolute weakness.

Jack gave an awkward laugh, trying to smooth things over. "Wow, you two go way back, huh?

"My bad, I just figured Ms. Lowe wasn't cut out for the extra spicy stuff.

"Come on, Ms. Lowe, join us."

Word around was Eric's stomach was trash—spicy food was totally off-limits for him.

After Jack ordered some tea for him, he caught Eric shooting looks in my direction and probably figured I had some sort of special connection with Eric.

Jack told the waiter to bring an extra plate and fork for me, then kept piling on food and telling me to dig in.

Jack nudged the contract toward me and grinned. "Ms. Lowe, don't leave me hanging here. Finish this barbecue, or we're not talking contracts."

Eric just sat there, sipping his coffee nice and slow.

He glanced at me from the side, that familiar almost-smirk tugging at his lips while he watched me eat.

It had been a long time since he let me see that old grudge flashing in his eyes.

I'd nearly forgotten—after I split him and Sophia up five years ago, he'd never stopped hating me, always giving me this look.

In the end, more than half the food ended up in my stomach.

It felt like someone had shoved a burning lump of charcoal right into my gut, twisting and burning with agony.

Sweat soaked my brow and back, but I forced a grin and shoved the contract over to Jack, my hands trembling like crazy.

Still, I got the contract signed.

My mind was hazy—I couldn't even remember when Jack Grant had slipped out.

After that, everything turned into a blur.

Eric might still have been there...or maybe he'd left, I honestly couldn't tell.

Shivering uncontrollably, I forced myself upright, grabbing onto the chair for support, then sliding my hand along the wall as I slowly left the private room.

My stomach was churning, a fiery mess—I barely managed to figure out which way to go, speed-walking straight to the bathroom.

But just as I was about to stagger out, someone suddenly grabbed my arm from behind.

I tried to jerk free, but his grip was like iron—I couldn't shake him off.

I spun around, my vision swimming, and saw a tall, shadowy figure wavering right in front of me.

He wouldn't loosen his hold. He stayed silent.

I struggled to get the words out, voice hoarse and weak. "Could you let go?"

No response. No movement.

I tried again, weaker this time. "I need to—"

Before I could finish, his hand—broad and steady—slid up from my arm and clamped down on the back of my neck, firm and all too deliberate.

That touch—so familiar it jolted my mind clear in an instant. Just like that, memories from four years ago came surging back.

Four years ago, not long after Eric and I got married, we had our first real fight.

That night, I went out drinking alone. When he showed up, he found me and grabbed me just like this—with his hand pressing into the back of my neck.

He treated me like a wayward pet, dragging me all the way home.

He didn't care for me. Not really.

That was the first—and only—time he ever came after me.

I didn't even know why, but suddenly my eyes just burned with the urge to cry.

Out of nowhere, stomach acid shot up my throat. I had a bad feeling and, panicking, I instinctively tried to shove him away.

He didn't let go; instead, his hand clamped down harder on the back of my neck and pulled me right up against him.

I completely lost control. I threw up, hard.

Most of it splattered across his fancy coat.

After I finished hurling, the haze in my head finally started to lift.

I took a shaky breath and looked up—Eric was standing there, totally stiff, with this downright murderous look on his face.

So, this time, it really wasn't just my imagination.

Eric probably never dealt with anything this gross before.