Chapter 12

Isabella.

"Excuse me." I forced a smile and made a beeline for the guest room where I had spent the previous night. I closed the door behind me but went to the terrace to be as far from the duo as possible. Then I slid my thumb across the screen to answer the call.

"What do you want?" I caught sight of the remnant of my water from the night before and returned to my room, picking it up to take a sip. I needed something stronger for this conversation but this would have to do. I gulped it down in one go.

"What a lovely way to answer your husband's call, Isa." Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

He would not be my husband for much longer but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing his call had bothered me. Instead, I clenched my hand around my phone and tried to tame my anger.

"We should talk. Do you have a minute?" He didn't wait for me to say anything about it before he added, "meet me at Le Rouge in an hour. Let's talk about our divorce."

He hung up and I wanted to punch something.

"You are not my boss!" I yelled, letting go of the glass in my hand. I didn't realize I had flung it across the room until the door flew open and Tristan rushed in with worry written all over his face.

"Bella?"

I realized what I had done when I saw the crushed pieces near the door. My mouth hung open for a while before I picked up the pieces of my brain that had blown up along with the glass.

"I…" I stammered. I didn't know what to tell him. "I'm sorry."

He stepped closer. I pictured him yelling at me for breaking the wine bottle the night before and now his glass, and my hands shrunk when he took them in his. Then, contrary to my expectation, he flipped my palm over and checked it over. "Are you okay?"

I wordlessly nodded. I was still taken aback by the frown on his face. This man was unpredictable. My gaze met his when I looked up and I swallowed. His deep, emerald eyes were hypnotic and I needed to get myself out of this spell before it got out of hand. I didn't know the man. Hell, he didn't even know me.

I pulled my hand from his. "Since you are here, I'll cook something for Rory to eat later, then I'll be on my way."

He knitted his brows unamused. "Where are you going?"

"I have to meet up with…him." I swallowed. I hated talking about him as much as I despised him.

"Of course. Do you need me to give you a ride?"

"Thanks for offering but no. I should probably get a cab." I didn't want to involve my new boss in the wreck that was my life. Especially not when my body was already reacting inappropriately to his kindness.

"Alright. If you need any help, don't hesitate to tell me about it." He added. I knew he was only being polite but the worry on his face nearly made me think too much of it.

"If you were a divorce attorney, I would take you up on your offer."

He chuckled. "I may not be one, but I know a reliable divorce attorney."

I rolled my eyes at his joke and made my way downstairs to the kitchen.

Goosebumps rose on my skin when I remembered one of the clauses in my job description. Rory was a picky eater and her meal requirements were more specific than the instructions to assemble a spaceship—not that I had ever tried to assemble one before.

I read through the list of foods Rory didn't like and smiled. Those would not be hard to avoid. The only true thing about my resume was that I was good in the kitchen—if I could say so myself. I picked up a few skills in my teenage years when I spent time with Rhys's birth mother, which I later felt the need to polish when my relationship with Max became more serious.

I had dreamed of being what I always thought was the key to a happy marriage; a smart businesswoman, an excellent chef, and a porn star in the bedroom. Ugh. Why did I ever want that? Now that I thought about it, I was repulsed that I even ever strived to do everything to make Max happy. I hated that he was crawling back into my mind when I had tried so hard to forget about him.

Taking a breath to calm myself, I took out the ingredients from the refrigerator. It would take me more than an hour to get to Le Rouge if I started cooking now, but who cared? He could wait for all I cared and Rory had to eat first. I smiled as I typed 'children's favorite foods' into google.

….

"Oh my God!" I yelled in horror and looked down at my stained dress. So much for flaunting my cooking skills. My chest was on fire from the food that had been thrown at me seconds after I gave it to Rory. The girl screamed and ran upstairs to her room.

I fanned my chest with my hands and frantically threw a stuck chicken wing off me. "Mr. Lexington…"

He glared at me angrily before he stormed off to follow his daughter.

Now it was my fault? Unbelievable! It took all my patience to not follow him and give him a piece of my mind. What was the use? My chest was on fire.

I didn't know whether or not ice would prevent swelling so I did the sanest thing I could think of. I changed into jeans and threw on a furry jacket, zipping it up to cover my stinging chest. Then I bought a cream to prevent swelling and soothe the burn on my way to Le Rouge.

I finally understood why no one lasted more than a day working for Tristan Lexington. Rory was not the problem. Her father was.