War and Love by Winter Renshaw

Author:Winter Renshaw [Renshaw, Winter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-06-25T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Love

The break in the curtain pulls me out of one of the deepest sleeps I’ve ever known, and in my half-awake stupor, I reach to the other side of the bed before realizing he’s not there.

A persistent knocking echoes down my hall, again and again, over and over.

Smirking, I roll my eyes and step out of bed. It’s probably Jude and he’s probably going to surprise me with something … breakfast in bed maybe? An early morning romp?

I bet he missed me last night.

I missed him.

We got home so late last night and we were so exhausted, we both decided to sleep in our own beds.

“I’m coming,” I shout as I shuffle down the hall. A grin grows across my face as I reach the door and squint through the peephole. Only it disappears the second I see who’s standing on the other side.

It isn’t Jude.

Running back to my room, I grab a robe from my bathroom and cover my silky sheer pajamas before heading back.

A second later, I clear my throat and greet my ex-husband’s assistant.

“Marissa, what are you doing here?” I ask, and I mean that in the most literal of ways. I don’t know how she got my address unless Hunter gave it to her. “Did he send you here?”

“Can I come in?” she asks, worrying her full lower lip that looks even bigger than it was last time I saw her. Something about her looks different, and I realize she’s dressed down today, leggings and a casual top, and her face is void of her signature caked-on Instagram-worthy look. She’s absolutely stunning this way, so natural, but I won’t tell her that. Once upon a time, we were friends and I convinced Hunter to hire her. But after the divorce, I never heard from her again.

Mulling it over, I release a held breath before stepping out of the way.

“I tried to stop by yesterday, but you weren’t home,” she says, a lanky arm resting on her hip as she stares at my floor. This isn’t Marissa. I’ve never known her to be uneasy or uncomfortable, and I’ve witnessed her spending time around some of the biggest names in music without batting a mink eyelash.

“I’m so confused,” I say, arms crossed. “Why are you here?”

“You might want to sit down,” she says.

“If this is about Hunter, honestly, I don’t care,” I say. “I’m happy and I’ve moved on.”

Her immense, round eyes flick into mine. “It’s about that.”

“About what?” I imagine him having me followed out of spite, just to check up on me, and I imagine him seeing me with Jude and growing insanely jealous because Jude is exactly the kind of guy who would bring Hunter’s biggest insecurities to the surface.

“His name is Jude, right?” she asks.

I knew it. He’s having me tailed.

“A couple months ago, this guy came in wanting to drop off a demo,” she says. “Happens all the time, but this time Hunter was standing out there. He saw him and brought him back to his office for a meeting.

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