***
It wasn’t until an hour later, after Byron had dropped me off at my work, that I realized that Mig probably knew about all this money.
There was no way he didn’t know.
He’d practically bugged me for every bit of information about my ex-husband. Where he liked to go when he was off work. Why he never had a job. Who his friends were. What his passwords used to be.
You name it, he asked about it.
And he never once said a word about any other bank accounts.
“You forgot to bring your phone,” Mig said from the doorway.
I’d known he was there.
In fact, I’d known it was his bike approaching when he was two blocks away.
And now he was standing there, looking perplexed, as if he had no idea why I was so upset. As if he hadn’t just dismissed me—again—to cater to Jennifer. He should be thanking me for putting up with Jennifer and her shit!
“I didn’t forget a damn thing,” I told him, picking up all the bottles of lotion and oil I would be using for this session.
I could hear Mig inhale as if I’d surprised him, but I didn’t stay long enough to confirm or deny it.
“You can’t just leave without letting me know. I had to go to work, and you were just suddenly gone. I had to call Alison to sit with Jennifer,” Mig growled at me.
I looked at him beside me out of my peripheral vision.
“I don’t know what I expected when I agreed to help you with this,” I said, turning around and pacing to the windows before turning back to explain. “But… what I wasn’t expecting was how you’ve been catering—unnecessarily—to her every whim. I wasn’t expecting that when she said jump, you would. I wasn’t expecting just how much she’d take advantage of the situation, or how much you’d let her. And I definitely wasn’t expecting to be dismissed so often by you. You said it yourself, she’s a master manipulator, and she knows exactly what she’s doing. But the thing that bothers me most is that you’re letting her do it, and it’s hurting us in the process.”
He sighed and ran his hand through his hair…what little was left of it.
Which was another thing that pissed me off.
Jennifer had made the comment that Mig’s hair was getting long and that wasn’t the way he normally liked to wear it.
So what does he do?
He fucking cuts it!
That’s not to say that I don’t like the short hair, because I do, what I don’t like is the way she mentions something, and he jumps to do her bidding.
Deciding Mig needed to be put in his place, I opened my mouth to let him have it, but my three thirty client walked in, and he did not look good at all.
“Mr. Gains,” I said congenially. “What did you do to yourself this time?”
Mr. Gains, aka ‘The Gripper’, was an MMA fighter.
He kicked ass all day long, and he got deep tissue massages at least once a week.
“Caught one to the cheek,” he laughed pleasantly. “You ready for me?”
He gave Mig an odd, almost excited look, and I couldn’t quite decipher what that look meant.
But I didn’t stay to examine it for long.
Not when I was ready to get this session over and done with so I could go home or maybe to my sister’s.
I thought I might need a little time away from Mig and his inattentiveness.
I patted the table once I got in the room, then set my bottles down on the table beside the bed.
Mr. Gains stripped off his shirt, whipping it off and throwing it down onto the chair across the room.
His pants followed the shirt, but I’d turned around to get my oils ready by that point, and didn’t get to look.
Not that Mr. Gains hadn’t offered to let me try out the merchandise.
I’d declined.
Mig was kind of hard to get out of your head once he was there.
And Mig was there…in my head…all the goddamn time.
I couldn’t get him out of my mind if I tried.
Not that I really wanted to get rid of him…I just wanted him to stop being stupid.
I looked up at Mig who was across the room, and I glared at him.
His eyes narrowed back at me as I worked my hands over my client’s back, causing my client to moan.
“My God, your hands are magical,” Mr. Gain’s said in a low groan.
I smiled devilishly at Mig, moving my hands more sensually.
I usually didn’t notice how ‘sensual’ or ‘not sensual’ I did things when I massaged.
Truly, to me, this was a job.
It was my job to make this man’s back feel better, and his massive amount of muscles wouldn’t normally have been that big of a deal.
But Mig and his narrowed eyes were across the room, watching, and I was pissed at him.
So what did I do?
Something stupid.
I massaged Mr. Gain’s like I was making love to his body with my hands.
And Mig saw every single bit of the show.
He stayed that way, watching me work, with fisted hands.
And if I’d been smart, I would’ve stopped.
But I didn’t.
And Mig watched the entire show with a very pissed off expression on his face.
And only when I was done did he leave, and I realized that just maybe I shouldn’t have poked that particular sleeping bear.