Derek Montreal watched his wife pace the drawing room.
“She said she’d be here soon,” Wendy said, frowning.
Derek set aside the papers he had been grading. “And I’m sure she will be. Sit.”
Wendy pursed her lips, shooting him a look of frustration. She continued pacing, “We should have never asked Zoe to spy on Milano. I knew it was the wrong thing to do. Now that girl is bound to get hurt.”
Derek’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile. “That girl is, what, five years younger than you? Old enough to say no. And she didn’t exactly look hurt when I saw her with Milano’s tongue down her throat.”