I need to rein in my anger before I get home, but all I’m thinking about is taking this tension out on my sweet Dahlia. I know she must be sore from the past two weeks, but I’m not going to be able to hold back.

I need her.

Just the thought of sinking deep inside her makes me relax.

I’ve been dealing with one problem after another all day. I clench my teeth as I relive every tiresome phone call from public relations and my lawyer. My ex-wife. She had the nerve to laugh at me during our call. I know she just wanted to get under my skin. I tried to hide my irritation, but she knows she got to me. I let her in, and all she did was find my weaknesses. She wants to exploit them now. I imagine she’s run out of the small fortune she was awarded right around this time last year. It took over two years for our divorce to be finalized. She wouldn’t settle on a perfectly reasonable sum; she wouldn’t settle for anything other than everything.

And I bent over backward and gave it to her.

That was my mistake. Not the first, though. Marrying her was my first mistake. But giving her what she wanted only proved to her that she could get more.

But I won’t allow it.

The phone rings in my pocket, and I grit my teeth at the sound. My temples pound with each of the incessant rings.

I don’t want to answer it; I want to get home. To my treasure.

I breathe out deep and think, soon. Soon I’ll be lost inside of her. Where I belong.

I hit the small center button on my dashboard and lean back in my leather seat, twisting my hands around the steering wheel.

“Stone,” I answer smoothly. Never show emotion. I’ve learned better than to let them see they can affect me. Tricia is the perfect example of why I can never let them know how I feel. They call me ruthless, heartless. Well, they made me that way.

“Mr. Stone, it’s Jackson.” Jackson Harris, my lawyer. “We have a situation.” I cringe at the ease in his voice. He doesn’t have a situation. He gets paid regardless. If my ex could afford him, he’d be on her team right now. He’s not loyal to me. Neither is my PR team, but I’ll pay them whatever they need to get this shit dealt with.

“And that is?” I ask as though I don’t already know. Tricia’s been harassing the office, calling me nonstop. I’ve gotten her message, but apparently she hasn’t received mine.

“Tricia’s refuting the legitimacy of the NDA.”

I let his words sink in. During our divorce, she agreed to sign the NDA and legally cannot discuss any matters pertaining to our relationship during any period of time, married or otherwise. “I fail to see how that’s an issue. She’s contractually-”

He cuts me off, “She can refute it, although she has no footing.”

“Then how is this a problem?”

“I’ve received several calls from Andrea, and it is apparent that Tricia has reached out to several editorials and is taking bids for her story.” My blood runs cold as I drive down the highway. My heart pumps harder in my chest and I try to focus and not be consumed with the anger that’s barely contained.

Her story. As though she’s anything other than a gold digger. I gave her everything, and the moment she found someone else, she left me. She thought she had it made with me. But I worked too much. Always bitching that I needed to make more, but be home more. She was impossible to please.

I tried. I fucking tried. I slam my fist down on the wheel. At least karma bit her in the ass and the asshole she cheated on me with left her. It would’ve been better if I could have proved that she was cheating. Then she would have walked away with far less.

I take in a deep breath, pulling off of the interstate and getting closer to my penthouse.

“She has nothing to lose, Lucian. We can sue her afterward, but the damage will be done.” I swallow thickly, hating that one mistake so many years ago can continue to cause me damage.

“And what do you suggest?” I ask him.

“We can pay her, or the magazines, but I imagine she’d be cheaper.” I scoff and look out of the window as I drive into the private garage and key in my personal PIN. I check the time, it’s six forty. My little treasure should be waiting for me.

“She’s not getting anything. I refuse to pay her one cent.”

Just as I say the words, the sound of an incoming call comes through the background.

“It will be expensive not to pay her, Mr. Stone. We can always pay now and sue later.” His tone holds a hint of a warning, letting me know he doesn’t approve, but I don’t give a fuck. He works for me, and I don’t care how much money I have to spend to make sure she doesn’t profit off a damn thing from me anymore.

“No. She gets nothing.” I end the call and answer the next, pulling my black R8 in next to the Aston Martin. I’m on the fourth floor of the garage. It’s private and all mine. I glance around the space as I answer, “Stone.”

“Mr. Stone, this is Andrea from the agency, do you have a moment to speak with me?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and wish I could ignore these problems. Public relations is a pain in my ass.

A long inhale calms me slightly as I say, “I’m listening.”

“Given the current climate, I’ve been working with Alena and we feel it may be best if we were to combat the possibility of your ex’s story being released with a different form of press.”

I open my mouth to remind her that in my opinion, no press is good press. I don’t want to be seen anywhere. I can’t even stand the business articles from Forbes and Business Insider. I’m not interested.

“I understand that you prefer to stay out of the limelight, so to speak, but in my professional opinion…” she pauses on the phone and I find myself watching the digital dash, waiting for her to continue. “May I be frank with you, Mr. Stone?”

“Yes.” I prefer if everyone were frank so I didn’t have to deal with fake bullshit.

“Your wife has held this over your head for years, and her story is going to come out whether she profits from it or not, doesn’t matter. She’s going to go through with this. I think it’s best that we create an appearance now that will refute the picture she intends to paint.”

I swallow thickly, staring straight ahead through the windshield at the grey cylinder blocks of the garage. I’m numb to this. There’s nothing that she can really do to hurt me. I glance at the elevator. I just want to get upstairs to my penthouse and go straight to the playroom.

A small smile kicks my lips up. She’ll be waiting for me like a good girl. Just like yesterday and every day these past two weeks. It’s time to give her some real training. My fingers itch to touch the thick coarse fibers of the rope that’s already laying on the bed. She’s going to get a lesson in saying please and thank you today, and I can hardly wait.

“I think it would be best to create the impression that you’re in a committed and loving relationship. We all love couples. So much more so than a nasty divorce. Weddings are the best sellers.”

My eyebrows raise at her comment. She’s delusional if she thinks that shit's going to happen. “I’m not interested in a PR stunt, Andrea.”

“I’m only saying, what if you were to be seen in a romantic setting and paparazzi happened to take your picture? And let’s say that the picture happened to be leaked, along with a story that you confirmed to be true. Well if that situation were to occur, it would go a long way in making your ex look like a villain and you as a prince charming that the public is rooting for.”

It’s quiet for a moment as I consider her request.

“It will make you look relatable. In fact, it may be better than the story she’s selling,” she adds with a bright and cheery tone. “Just a thought.”

“Fine,” I finally say with my fingers on the key in the ignition.

“Wonderful,” Andrea’s tone remains upbeat. I have a feeling she must have real assholes for clients since she’s never bothered by my tone. “Shall we send someone out for you?”

“No,” I’m quick to cut her off. I have my treasure, and I think she’d enjoy it. I pause as I realize I hadn’t thought twice about whether or not it should be Dahlia. I can imagine how I’d tease her under the table. Yes. I have to remember cameras will be watching, but I’m going to enjoy myself.

“Thank you, Andrea. I’ll have my reservations for this evening sent to you.”

“No need, Mr. Stone. You’re all set at the Ritz; a table’s been reserved for you at any time you choose.”

I huff a humorless laugh. “You pay us well, Mr. Stone,” Andrea says. “I have faith in this plan.”

I don’t, but at least I have my treasure waiting for me.