The Billionaire's Ex-Wife Read online

  But she couldn't hold off any longer. Trinity revolved her hips and shoved down on him. The pressure building inside her was exactly what she needed to push herself over the edge, and she wasn't going to let Sam withhold it now. She orgasmed with a surprised cry and tightened her legs around him when she thought she would fragment in the wake of the burst. Pleasure coursed through her in pulsing waves. She continued to ride his cock in an effort to claim every little sensation it would give her. Her small, fluttering moans and undulating hips were the cause for Sam's own climax. He surged forward and pressed her hard into the wall as he came; Trinity barely noticed the cold, unyielding surface of it anymore. There was too much to relish in the fever-hot reality of Sam's body pressed up against her, coming to completion inside her.

  "Mmm." Trinity sagged against the wall. Sam took her in his arms and overturned them so that his back was to the wall, and she was cradled in the tight ring of his embrace.

  "Yeah." His murmur of agreement stirred the hair on her forehead, and he reached up to push it back behind her ear. Trinity burrowed in against him, enjoying the warmth of his embrace and relaxing despite herself. She had just let her ex-husband thoroughly fuck her in an unlocked closet in a very public space, but she couldn't remember the last time she had felt so safe and taken care of. Scratch that, she could remember: it was when they had still been married to one another.

  "We'd better get back to the class...if it's even still going on," Trinity mentioned as she pulled back with a breathless laugh. Sam didn't let the circle of his arms break; he held her for a moment longer, as if reluctant to let the outside world back in. He released her only when his phone buzzed a notification from somewhere in the darkness. Trinity stepped back as Sam yanked his shorts up and found his cell in one of the pockets.

  "Shit!" he muttered.

  Trinity dropped to grope around in the darkness for her own phone. She always kept it in the side pocket of her exercise leggings...which wasn't exactly something she encouraged other agency employees to do on their days off, but she liked to be prepared in case of weekend work emergencies. She thumbed her e-mail open and studied the reminder. "Sam, it's just that networking event we told Eddie we'd go with him to. I called him earlier to let him know it conflicted with my class and he told me not to worry about it. He can handle it on his own."

  The event had never been anything necessary or urgent, but the desperately unhappy expression on Sam's face was like a splash of frigid water. Trinity recognized his look; what's more, she had come to hate this response more than anything else in the entire world. Sam's mask didn't crack easily, but a scheduling mishap always brought out the worst in him. She had never seen someone so obviously broadcast their disappointment with an expression alone.

  "You would have left me." It wasn't a question. Sam raised his eyes from his phone screen, and Trinity met his gaze with unflinching conviction. He ran a hand through his mussed hair as if he half-expected to step out of the closet and already be at the work function. "You would have left me, and you wouldn't have thought twice about it," she accused. "Well?"

  "Trinity…"

  "No, Sam. I'm done. This time I'm really done." She felt vaguely ridiculous yanking her tights on as she told him off, but maybe some of the boiling anger she radiated would make up for it. "You know what? You and your phone deserve each other. If you're going to make it—if you're going to make work—the priority over spending time with me, then go right ahead. Don't let me stop you. But don't think for a second I want to start anything with you if that's how it's going to be. My priority has always been…"

  Her throat constricted around the truth and cut it off before she could speak the word: you. What a miserable confession that would be. Only a completely masochistic idiot would bare their soul like that to their workaholic ex-husband.

  Sam watched her dress with a helpless expression on his face. "Trinity, what the hell did I do wrong here?" he demanded as he passed her shirt to her. Trinity snatched it from him and yanked it on over her crookedly-hanging bra; she didn't care if it was inside out or backwards or whatever. Let Sam watch how she didn't dress by the rules and suffer internally. Let every wrinkle that disrupted her appearance haunt his memory long after she had walked out of this closet.

  "You can't seriously be asking me that question," she said. "Sam, we just had sex for the first time in over a year, and you look like someone poisoned the cat you didn't even know you had!"

  "I see you've been talking to Eddie." His eyes narrowed. "The cat has nothing to do with this, but Eddie does. I needed to be there tonight to put out fires. To mitigate."

  "To micromanage!"

  "And even if I was to discount Eddie, and the onboarding, and everything else, I have perfect attendance when it comes to work functions. Had. That's completely out the window now, and it's my fault, Trinity. My oversight. I shouldn't have improvised to go along with this...this…"

  Sam faltered suddenly, and Trinity turned away. She was so angry she didn't trust herself not to strangle him with his own headphone cords. "I have to go." She wasn't certain her dismissal even made sense in the context of their closet haven, but she didn't care. "Don't call me unless whatever you have to say pertains to work. That way you'll at least enjoy the conversation."

  She pulled the door open and stormed out. She brushed by a few couples milling about on the staircase, but couldn't care less if they suspected where she had been or what she had done.

  All that mattered was that Sam see her leave angry. She didn't want him to know that the heart she had worked so hard to mend was in very real danger of breaking again.

  Chapter Eight

  Sam

  If Trinity was only going to respond to work memos, then she was forcing Sam's hand. There were only so many unreturned texts and unanswered voicemail messages he was willing to leave in her inbox before resorting to using the company letterhead.

  Miss Jameson:

  As per our discussion last week re: the application of perfectionism, I wanted you to know that you were both right and wrong in your estimation. While it's true I pursue excellence in every aspect of my life, the area where you perceive continuous oversight is where I previously devoted the most attention (with mixed results).

  Your contributions to our previous "collaboration" are to be lauded. I only ever wanted to emulate your example.

  Your compassion, and ability to analyze the needs of those around you, is something I have always admired. I understand now that allowing our collaboration to be so frequently interrupted in the past might have given you the impression that I lacked focus, but I want you to know I have always understood deep down what is most important. I'm sorry that I failed to convey this understanding, despite being given repeated opportunities to do so.

  They were more opportunities than I deserved.

  You are an exceptional partner, and I can only hope moving forward that I prove as well-suited and worthy.

  The language was overdoing it, even for him, but he figured the extra formality would call her attention to the real meaning behind it. He hit 'send' and sat back in his borrowed office chair, drumming his fingers on his borrowed office desk. He gazed out the window and wondered if he should consider the New York City skyline borrowed as well.

  The office he presently sat in used to belong to him before he made the decision to move out west. Now it doubled as an unofficial, and more private, conference room. Taking it over today after working out of Eddie's brownstone had been something of a bittersweet homecoming. He ran his hand along the familiar polished surface of his cherry wood desk. Everything was transparent and minimalistic in the L.A. office—even the plants, to some extent. There was a certain gravitas to old, expensive furniture.

  His e-mail window flashed, and Sam craned himself forward so fast he nearly banged his knees on the desk he had just been admiring. Sure enough, the response to his memo was from Trinity.

  Mr. Jameson:

  Thank you for your earlier memo
. I think I understand what you were attempting to say. All the same, I will have to ruminate on it.

  In the meantime, I would appreciate it if you could avoid calling me 'Miss Jameson' moving forward. I have never been 'Miss Jameson'. I do note that an attempt was made re: "Miss", and admit the easiness of the error. Still, I thought I would bring it to your attention.

  I will see you at the communication workshop this Thursday. I trust these memos are good practice in the meantime.

  "Damn it, Trinity." It felt good to breathe life into her name after the stiffness of his memo, even with a curse.

  Sam drummed his fingers again. He debated calling down to see if Trinity had come into the office today. Hell, he could call her up to him if he really wanted to...but some self-preserving instinct stayed his hand. Better not to pull rank to try and get her to talk to him. He had tried it before toward the end of their marriage, and it only succeeded in pushing her further away.

  He would have to wait until the communication workshop. It was the only avenue left to him.

  After that, the day of the workshop couldn't come soon enough. He woke every night leading up to it in a cold sweat, clutching the sheets and aching for the phantom body of the woman who had once been his. She would be his again; he was determined to learn from his mistakes and win her back for good.

  And this time, he wouldn't let his commitment to the agency get in the way. He could have his career, and Trinity, too. Other people in his line of work found a balance.

  Why couldn't he?

  "Yo! Sam!" Eddie was the first to greet him the day of the workshop as Sam's limo pulled up outside the conference center. Sam got out and brushed a wrinkle from his suit, taking his time to correct his appearance

  "Eddie." He gave his usual stony greeting. "Where's Trinity?"

  "Here."

  Both brothers turned as Trinity strolled to them. She looked stunning in a red pant suit, with bright candy-red lipstick to match and a pair of heels that were six inches of sin. She reminded Sam of the luxurious maraschino cherries he used to garnish his homemade Manhattans; he never spared any expense, and they always tasted like a small drop of heaven after the initial alcoholic rush. That was what it was like to drink in Trinity in that moment.

  "I would have driven you," Sam murmured, holding the door as an excuse to whisper in her ear as they walked into the center.

  "That wasn’t necessary," Trinity said breezily as she strode past him, "but I appreciate the thought."

  It had been more than thought; Sam hadn't been able to resist texting her the invitation, but as with his other texts, it had gone unanswered.

  They found their room and settled in behind the long table. Sam took the middle seat, and neither Trinity nor Eddie argued with the placement. He read this as a good sign. There were no early challenges to his authority, so he was hopeful yet that he would have the opportunity to split their time evenly and make sure all three of them had an equal chance to speak. He was certain that was what Trinity wanted.

  "Welcome, everyone." He made the usual introductions following his greeting, and was just about to pass the baton to Trinity to start them off when Eddie spoke up unexpectedly.

  "Hey guys." Eddie's dark eyes surveyed the room. "I just need to find something out. Real quick. And that is: how much does a polar bear weigh? Does anybody know?"

  The front few rows exchanged looks of confusion. Several people appeared to pull out their phones to do a quick web search.

  "Enough to break the ice," Eddie concluded with a crooked grin. A collective groan rose up at the terrible joke. Sam bristled; his suit suddenly felt hot and overstarched. What the hell was Eddie thinking?

  "No, but seriously. Welcome everyone. I'm Eddie Jameson, and that was a bad example of an icebreaker—a very important negotiation tactic. Anyway, I assume my reputation within the company already precedes me." Eddie threw a general wink to those occupying the front row, and some quiet laughs of agreement followed.

  "Maybe we had better not bring up the subject of your reputation. And I'm sure they didn't come all the way out here to listen to your poor attempts at stand-up," Sam muttered, and the laughter in the room resonated harder. He hadn't been joking, but the audience appeared to think his comment a continuation. His eyes narrowed, and he wet his lips with the intention of silencing them.

  "Sam," Trinity said. She pitched her voice below what the audience could hear, and when she touched his elbow, it was below the table and out of sight. Sam turned to her, confused, until she aimed a significant look back toward Eddie. Trinity wanted him to let Eddie continue. Sam bit his tongue.

  "My brother brings up a good point," Eddie continued. "In a roundabout way. At the end of the day, the important thing is to listen to your client. Offer them your expertise when they ask for it. And then, when they're ready, you offer them a solution. Clients are people, too. They have marketing goals for their products, sure, but they also have fears. They have quirks. They have preferences, and let me tell you from experience...most of the time, those preferences aren't for my dumb jokes."

  The room laughed at his self-deprecation, and even Sam could appreciate Eddie admitting for a moment that his antics were vapid.

  "But when our senses of humor do line up?" Eddie made to fist bump himself, but at the last second he released his fingers and laced them together. "That's where the magic happens, baby."

  A few female associates in the front row giggled nervously at this. Sam suppressed a groan...or at least, he thought he did.

  "Sam?" Trinity inquired. "Do you have anything to add to Eddie's statement?"

  "No matter your communication style, it's important to stay within agency guidelines when engaging with a client," he began. "Although I don't always admit it out loud, I admire my brother's easy way with clients. They genuinely like him, not just for what he can do for them, but as a person. That's a rare trait in this business."

  Eddie straightened a little in his chair.

  "Those interpersonal relationships are important," Sam continued. "Sometimes it's the difference between keeping a client and watching that client walk away. But regardless of your communication style, you can't always pursue that connection without thinking of the consequences. Each and every one of you is a Jameson Agency representative first and foremost. You're more than just people. You're the face of this company."

  "What about when client needs fall outside of standard lines?" Trinity piped in. Eddie kicked back beside Sam and grinned from ear-to-ear. He only ever smiled that broadly when he thought Sam was cornered. Sam turned his gaze on Trinity, hoping she could feel the weight of his annoyance; she just blinked her Bambi eyes innocently and waited.

  They all waited.

  "When client needs fall outside the—as you put it, standard line—then one way or another, the standards aren't being met." He was floundering. How could he be expected to wrap clear, concise words around a concept that he barely understood himself? "I would caution against straying into any gray areas."

  "So you see things as black or white," Trinity provided. "Right or wrong. All or nothing."

  "My firsthand experience tells me it's often impossible to have both." As his gaze remained trained on hers, it felt as if the room started to recede around him. Trinity's expression, as sharp as a steel trap he had just fallen victim to, began to open up. Her eyes flickered between his. Sam wondered what private admission she read there, or what it was she looked for.

  "But that shouldn't stop you from trying anyway," Eddie put in. "Maybe you want one thing, and your client wants another. Build a bridge and establish a connection outside of what you both want. At the end of the day, the business communication channel benefits from opening up those other lines."

  "Agreed." Trinity turned away from Sam hastily to face the audience once more.

  "I agree as well," Sam said. "Eddie makes a good point. Maybe the most important point yet. If you take anything away from our panel today, then take Eddie's advice. No mat
ter your style, it's the communication aspect that matters the most...and however you communicate with your client, you're more likely to reach a compromise if you make a continuing effort to listen to them."

  Trinity was looking at him again, almost as if she couldn't quite believe he was real...or the philosophy she was now hearing. Sam tried to keep his own attention trained steadily forward. He was the middle seat, the anchor point, but the three of them were running the show together. He felt a strange surge of exhilaration at the thought of being part of such a well-oiled team. Usually he was the one expected to run things; he had never relied on anyone else in the room before.

  "Any questions so far?" he asked the room.

  A wave of hands went up.

  "Sam!"

  Sam turned where he stood on the curb outside the conference center. He watched Trinity take the steps two at a time to join him, admiring the easy way she navigated the landscape in her high heels.

  "Trinity." He held up his cell. "Poor reception inside. I was just about to text William and tell him how the panel went." And send you another memo, he thought privately.

  Trinity just shook her head. "You don't have to bother. I already fired off the good news myself. Besides that, the employees were buzzing after you stepped out. You can bet he'll be hearing about our success here today. Sam, did you really mean what you said in there? About compromise? And about...working as a team?"

  "Every word," he agreed. Trinity stared at him for a long moment. As the seconds ticked by, Sam found himself growing increasingly uncomfortable beneath her scrutiny. There were few people who could stare him in the eyes like Trinity did. "Why? Did I say something you didn't like?"

  "Hardly. That's the problem."

  Sam grinned to himself, and watched as Trinity turned to continue down the sidewalk. He suddenly couldn't remember how to follow. Hell, he couldn't remember how to breathe. He was completely transfixed by her figure from behind. The red pants sheathed every twitch of her hips, and hugged the mouthwatering curves of her voluptuous ass. He couldn't identify a panty line with his eyes alone, and wondered if Trinity wore any underwear at all.