Burning Down the Spouse (45 page)

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Authors: Dakota Cassidy

Tags: #Separated Women, #Greek Americans, #Humorous, #Contemporary, #Women Cooks, #General, #Romance, #Humorous Fiction, #Fiction, #Cultural Heritage, #Love Stories

BOOK: Burning Down the Spouse
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He tried not once but four separate times before she lost her cool with a slap to her forehead. “No, fool. Stop. Catch your breath.
Listen
to me. Lean forward.”
Simon did as he was told.
“Niiiice. Now keep your hand straight and feel for the keyhole.”
His chuckle slipped into her ear, making her shudder uncomfortably. “You’re hot when you play spy.”
Her sigh was ragged. “Simon—this is for Frankie! You know, the woman you helped trash because you wouldn’t listen and who now no longer has a paycheck?”
Instantly, Simon was all business, successfully jamming the bobby pin into the keyhole. “Yes!” she cheered, then slipped on the rocks in the garden. She grabbed on to a branch of the bush to right herself, glancing around to see if anyone had caught her yet. “Okay, you’re in. Pull out every paper in that damned drawer.”
Simon began digging, setting everything on the desk in front of him.
“Hold each one up so I can see it clearly,” she ordered, her heart racing. “Ohhhh,” she cooed, “their divorce papers. Put that one down and say something random, like you’re talking to a business associate. Say it loud, so that dipshit hears you, and Frankie knows we’re in the thick of this.”
Simon obeyed by barking into the phone, “How many times do I have to tell you, Don, no more endorsements for Nike! Jesus Christ, I’m blind, and even though blind men ‘just do it,’ too, we don’t do it while we’re running alongside a horse!”
Jasmine straightened. “Your agent did not suggest you do a commercial running alongside a horse.”
“Yeah, yeah, he did.” He held up another paper over his shoulder.
“No! Damn. That’s not it. But wait, it’s his checking account statement. Stop right there. I’m not ashamed to say, I wanna know how much he’s bilked Frankie out of.”
Simon slapped the paper on the desk. “That’s not nice.”
Her next words were petulant. “What would you know about nice?”
“I know what I was going to do to you
wasn’t
nice.” He sifted through more papers, holding them up.
“Using people never is, and no, no, and no. It’s not in that batch. Damn!”
“That was only how it started, Jasmine. The moment I sat with you at Foofy’s, I knew revenge wasn’t what I wanted anymore.”
“Fluffy’s, idiot. Will you ever get that right? And it doesn’t matter. That you even considered doing something like that to me—to any-one—makes my skin crawl.”
Jasmine refused to continue her internal battle about Simon. That she could remotely consider still caring for him after he’d set out to do something so immoral made her wonder who she hated more—herself for still wanting him or Simon for having the kind of gall it took to do something so malicious.
“Hatred, resentment, years of it, does ugly things to a man. Win told you what I said only minutes after we met, didn’t he?” He flashed another piece of paper.
“No, that’s not it, and yes, Win told me, but why would I believe him any more than I believe you. He has
your
best interests at heart, dirtbag, not mine.”
“Win only does what’s right. I think it’s obvious because I’m here with you right now. He wouldn’t have let me get away with not making this thing right.”
“And would you have been making this right if Win hadn’t forced you?” She plucked a leaf from Mitch’s rhododendron and shredded it with a maniacal smile.
“Yes, Jasmine.
Yes
.”
That one word shouldn’t have held much water. It was only a word. Yet it chiseled at her heart like an ice pick, forcing her to see the power of such a long-festered resentment. “Oh, wait! Omigod, Simon, I think you found it!” Jasmine peered closer, adjusting the binoculars to focus on the well-worn piece of notepaper he held. “Ohhh, that’s it! Put all those other papers back in the drawer, and let’s get the hell out. I can’t believe you did it! You did it!”
Simon palmed the recipe, scrambling to drag the pile of papers back to the drawer and shutting it with agile hands.
Jasmine sucked in a deep breath.
Thank you, God
. “Okay, now get the hell out of there before Frankie has to do something drastic.”
Simon turned to the windows, his winning smile, arrogant and pleased with himself, wide on his face. He held up the recipe in two fists and gave her the sign of victory.
So caught up in his coup, he completely ignored her gasp.
She ducked behind the bush, fighting a yelp of pain when a branch caught her cheek. “Simon!”
Nothing. No response in her ear.
Oh. Dear. God. In. Heaven.
“Simon!” she whisper-yelled. “Turn around, you gloating fool . . .”
 
Frankie was hot on Mitch’s heels, fear of being caught at a premium. “See? I told you Simon was just fine, Mitch. He’s really good at being blind. Gets around just fine, don’t you, Simon?”
Simon turned around just as Frankie saw him letting what she prayed was the recipe slip to the floor. She faked a loud cough so Mitch wouldn’t hear the notepaper rustle as Simon followed suit and yelled into the phone, “I told you, no, Don! What about me and maxi pads says ex-pro football player?” He covered the earpiece and whispered into the room, “Agents. You know how it is, right, Mitch? Always looking for the next buck.”
Mitch gave Simon a skeptical glance, then appeared to remember Simon couldn’t see it. He moved toward Simon, and square into the path of the recipe, all alone and needing someone to pick it up by Simon’s feet. “Here, let me help you, Simon. You’d probably be more comfortable in the great room anyway. My office gets so cold.”
“No!” Frankie jumped in Mitch’s path, clutching his arm and hoping her eyes were doing that smoldering thing Jasmine could market and sell on a street corner. “I mean . . . er . . . why don’t we pick up where we left off the other night, uh,
honey
?” Eek. As temptresses went, she sucked big ass.
Mitch stared down at her, his eyes narrowed, suspicion gleaming in them. “I don’t think it’s appropriate in front of Simon, Frankie, do you? It’s rather a personal matter.”
She caught a flash of Jasmine’s blonde head over Mitch’s shoulder. Oh, crap! Moving in closer, she slanted her body at an awkward angle, planting it sort of on Mitch’s, slinging her arm over his shoulder to point a finger at the spot on the floor so Jasmine could see where the recipe had fallen. “Simon knows how I feel, don’t you, Simon?” she cooed, breathy and sweet. Well, okay, not quite as breathy as she’d hoped. She sounded more out of breath . . . “He knows how much I’ve missed you, Mitch. I talked about it the entire way here, right, Simon?”
Simon nodded slowly with a perplexed look on his face, then bobbed his head up and down with vigorous consent. “That’s so true, Mitch. So true. Talk and talk. That’s all she did. She’s just bananas in love with you. In love, love, love. And I ask you, who am I to get in the way of soul mates? You two lovebirds go work things out while I finish up my phone call, mmkay? Go on, you silly gooses. Make nice.”
Frankie winked up at Mitch in her best imitation of the seductive winks she’d seen Bamby give him. But her eyelid twitched rather than cooperated due to the fact that it was all she could do not to yak up all that pie she’d eaten. “So whaddya say, Mitch? Is what you said the other night still the truth?”
Mitch sucked in his cheeks, a sure sign he’d never meant a single word. Just as he was about to bullshit his way out of yet another lie, Simon’s shoe scraped over the recipe, creating a rustling noise on par with an atom blast.
Hoo boy.
Mitch whipped around, planting his hands on his hips. His eyebrow rose in question when he rounded the corner of his desk. “What do you have there, Simon?”
Frankie flew to his side, shooting a quick glance to find Simon’s foot covered almost the entire sheet of paper. “Simon’s so clumsy sometimes. I bet it’s your list of things to do, isn’t it? Simon’s always making lists.” She bent to retrieve it, but Mitch put a warning hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t move,” he warned. “I’ll get that for you, Simon.”
Mitch began to stoop beside her, pushing Frankie out of the way with a rough hand to her shoulder.
“It’s now or never!” Jasmine screeched into Simon’s ear so loud, even Frankie heard it. “Tell Frankie to hit the floor and then take this bitch out! Go long, Jones!”
“Frankie! Hit the floor!”
But she was already there, sliding under the desk and grunting from the force of her landing.
The crash of Mitch’s desk toppling over and the sound of bone crunching as Simon took Mitch to the ground in a crushing tackle screamed in her ears. Frankie eyed the recipe and dove for it while Simon wrangled Mitch to the floor, laying him out in a full-body press.
“Got it!” Frankie yelped in victory. Oh, never was there ever a more fabulous piece of paper than the one she held in her hands right now.
Jasmine skidded into the office, her heels clacking hard against the wood flooring while Win stomped in behind her. She helped Frankie up, brushing dust off her shirt.
Simon looked down at Mitch with sightless eyes. “Dude, you are so screwed. Just thought I’d give you the heads-up. Oh, and ease up on the garlic.” Win yanked Simon upward with a grunt, while Mitch moaned from the floor, rising to put the back of his hand to his bloody mouth.
Frankie handed off the recipe to Jasmine, stalking Mitch back to his kitchen, where he screamed, “All of you get out or I’m calling the police!”
Her lips thinned. “You, slimy bastard! How could you stoop so low, Mitch?”
Unfazed, he went to the sink and wet one of his fine linen towels. “I have no idea what you mean.”
Jasmine held up the recipe, shaking it at him, her cheeks bright red. “This is what she means. It’s called stealing!”
Mitch placed the cloth to his split lip and stared them down with an arrogant defiance even Frankie would have never believed he possessed. “It was Frankie’s idea.”
So the anger management thing would have to wait, Frankie decided. And she’d go willingly if sentenced.
Just not before she ripped Mitch’s dick through his belly button.
There was no thought involved in what Frankie did next. No pausing to gather her senses or to curb her blown fuse.
Frankie reacted, reaching for the first thing she could touch, launching herself at Mitch and pinning him to the wall with the kind of force she’d never have expected from someone who’d eaten nothing but Oreo-cookies-and-cream pie for a week.
Hah, you, Surgeon General.
Though, in her white-hot fury, she did revel in a moment of reflection. Everyone who’d seen her flip on national television would probably have to agree, threatening someone’s life with a meat mallet, pointy side up, probably was a whole lot more scary than some silly old wooden spoon.
 
“Well, Antonakas, you’ve fucked this up but good. However, pal that I am, I decided to let you in on a little something.”
Nikos made a sour face. “What’s that, Simon?”
“Seeing as I screwed everything up about as good as screwing up gets, I thought you at least deserved the chance I’ll never have with Jasmine.”

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