The Perfect Hope by Nora Roberts

and managing the Wickham—and sleeping with him.”
    “Huh. You look happy enough to me. Usually.”
    “Oh, but how could I be, here in this little country town, managing this little country inn. And not being at his fucking beck?”
    At a loss, Ryder scratched the back of his neck. “Well . . .”
    “So, he made me a secondary generous offer. I’d be the other woman, with full knowledge this time around, and he’d take very good care of me. A little trip to Paris to renew our acquaintance, a home of my choosing—apparently he already has the property in mind—and a generous stipend to be determined. Does he really think I’d be a part of his cheating on his wife? That I’d be his
whore
? I’d just jump right back for a job, for money, and a goddamn spree on the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré?”
    Ryder didn’t know what the hell rue whatever was, but he considered the whole. “He said if you came back, were his side piece, he’d set you up?”
    “In a nutshell.”
    If he’d known the whole before the slimy bastard had driven off, the asshole would currently be bleeding and unconscious in the parking lot.
    “And you didn’t punch him in the face?”
    “Oh, oh, I thought about it.” A violence Ryder admired and respected flashed in those deep, dark eyes. “I
imagined
it. Vividly. Except I was just going to throw my iced tea in his face and ruin his goddamn Versace suit. Then I saw you, and I just went with instinct. He thinks I’m sitting around waiting for
him
? Arrogant, conceited, immoral bastard. He thinks I can be had for money, for a house, for a trip to goddamn Paris?”
    “Hope.” It might’ve been the first time he’d said her name, certainly in just that way—with patience—but neither of them noticed. “He’s a fucking entitled, bat-blind idiot. And he doesn’t get you.”
    “Oh he is, and no, he doesn’t. So I humiliated him by kissing you in front of him, letting him think we were involved.”
    “You didn’t punch him in the face; you kicked him in the balls.”
    “Yes.” She let out a breath. “And thank you for the assist.”
    “No problem.”
    “No, really. Thank you. My pride took a hell of a hit over Jonathan. It meant a lot to be able to have some payback. I owe you.”
    “Yeah, so you said.”
    They stared at each other for one throbbing moment with something dangerous and
interesting
sizzling around the edges.
    “Okay. Name your price.”
    He could think of any number of dangerous and interesting things. She’d expect something like that, something that involved dimly lit rooms. He figured her for a woman who usually got just what she expected.
    “I like pie.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Pie. I like it. It’s a good time of year for cherry pie. Anyway, I gotta go.” He got to his feet; so did his dog. “You know, sometimes what goes around comes around; sometimes it doesn’t, and a good kick in the balls has to be enough.”
    Maybe it was, she thought as he left, but why didn’t it feel like enough?
    Now that her mad was over, and she was left alone, everything connected to her life that involved Jonathan seemed hollow. All the years she’d dedicated to his family’s businesses, to him, to being the perfect employee, companion, hostess felt flat and false. Felt horrible.
    Not only had she given the Wickhams and Jonathan her best, but in the end, her best fell short. Worse, so much worse, they’d used her. There was no question his parents had known. They’d entertained her in their home, as their son’s . . . companion. They’d met her family.
    They’d betrayed her. They’d made her a fool.
    No. She pushed herself to her feet, put the glasses back on the tray. She’d done that to herself. She was responsible for her own actions, her own decisions, just as she was for her own happiness.
    She carried the tray inside to the kitchen, calmly poured the remaining tea down the sink. Yes, her mad had fizzled, she thought as she loaded the glasses in the