Indulge: An opposites attract romance (Men of New York Book 2) by Margaret McHeyzer

Author:Margaret McHeyzer [McHeyzer, Margaret]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Margaret McHeyzer
Published: 2022-03-14T16:00:00+00:00

Why the hell couldn’t I have been drunk on the weekend instead of a weekday? With a pounding headache, I walk into work and straight into my office. Remi lifts his head and does a double take as I walk past his office.

“Michael, please get me a coffee,” I say to my personal assistant. Without saying a word, he stands and disappears.

No quicker am I in my office, than Remi waltzes in, and slumps in the chair. “Big night?” he asks.

“Fuck off,” I bite.

“I have to say, buddy, I’m surprised you’re even in today.” He looks at his watch and clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Three hours late, but you’re here.”

“I’m in no mood for your bullshit today, Remi.”

“Huh,” he huffs. “Has this got anything to do with Scarlett?”

“Why the fuck did you give her my address?” I can feel myself slipping, losing my control.

“She called me and sounded like she was on the edge of bursting into tears because you called her drunk off your ass and she was worried. Don’t put this on me, Hudson. This is all on you.” He sits straighter and points at me.

I stare at him and feel my teeth grinding together. “You’re fucking irritating.”

Remi stands and heads toward the door of my office. “Maybe Scarlett is right.”

“About what?” I say as I stare at him.

“You being a fucking douche.”

He walks out of my office, leaving my door wide open. Fucking prick. Michael appears and looks back at Remi, then to me. “Your coffee.” He places it on my desk, along with a grilled cheese. Michael backs away and gently closes the door.

Picking the coffee up, I take a sip and close my eyes, relishing this moment of peace. My phone rings, and I groan knowing I’ve already avoided a ton of phone calls from my mother. Dread replaces the short-lived comfort from the taste of my first coffee of the day. I slide my phone out of my suit jacket and feel a knot in the pit of my gut. “Hi, Mom,” I say as I answer.

“You have to get me out of here, Hudson,” she cries frantically into the phone.

“What’s been happening, Mom?” My voice is flat, because frankly, I know it’s her mental disorders pleading, not my mother.

“They’ve been hitting me. They come in with a stick and hit me. They do it in the night time. One of the nurses pulled her pants down and pissed on my bed while I was asleep.”

What she’s saying is ridiculous, but she believes it. “How do you know it was a nurse who wet your bed, Mom?” These are the things that live rent-free in Mom’s head.

“Because I pretended to be asleep, and I heard her sneak in and tap me on the shoulder. She pulled her pants down, and pissed, then she got this big stick and hit me.”

“I’m fairly confident that didn’t happen.”

Mom begins shrieking and yelling into the phone. “Why are you doing this to me? Do you hate me? I know you hate me.

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