She Was Never Just the Billionaire’s Wife (Natasha and Chase) novel Chapter 92

(Natasha)

I’m on my second glass of wine and my fourth loop of the same argument in my head when my phone rings.

Julian Morton.

I answer it because apparently I’m a glutton for punishment.

"I heard you moved out," he says, by way of greeting.

"Word travels fast."

"Sonia texted me. She sounded very sincere and sympathetic, which means she's delighted."

A brief pause.

"How are you?"

"Furious."

"Good. Fury is useful. Moping is not."

A shorter pause follows.

"I'm outside. I brought wine."

I look at my phone. Then at the door. Then at my phone again.

"Julian, it's nine o'clock on a Tuesday."

"The best conversations happen on Tuesdays. Open the door, Natasha."

God help me, I open the door.

He’s leaning against the frame in a charcoal coat, holding a bottle of something expensive enough that even I can tell it’s good.

Wearing the easy confidence of a man who’s never expected to be turned away from any door.

"You look terrible," he says pleasantly.

"You're not coming in."

He looks at the wine. Looks at me. Looks at the wine again.

I roll my eyes and step aside.

Julian sinks down on the armchair like he owns it.

Which appears to be his default relationship with furniture.

He pours two glasses with the easy competence of someone who has opened a great many bottles in a great many rooms.

"Tell me what happened," he says.

So I do.

Not because I planned to, but because the whole thing is so obviously infuriating it practically tells itself.

The careful preparation.

The reasonable proposal.

The measured tone.

Chase listening to all of it, taking it apart in two sentences, and telling me to be out by the end of the day if I won’t play by his rules.

Julian listens without interrupting, which I appreciate.

Because Mason was furious on my behalf by the third sentence, railing against that ‘fucking egomaniac’, which was gratifying, but not helpful.

And Gloria started drafting a legal strategy the moment I opened my mouth.

Julian just listens, swirling his wine, and when I finish he says something annoyingly insightful.

"He panicked."

I stare at him.

"You told a man who’s falling for you that you'd like to formalize your exit," Julian says, with the calm of someone explaining something obvious. "He panicked and behaved badly. These are not unrelated events. Nor are they in any way out of character for Chase."

"That’s an extraordinarily generous interpretation of throwing me out of the house."

"I'm a generous person."

"You absolutely are not."

"No," he agrees pleasantly. "But in this case I'm also correct."

I open my mouth to argue and he raises his glass slightly, which somehow stops me.

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