“I’m serious, Claire. We were always good together. I fucked up, and I admit that, but it’s the sort of thing we can work through. Come out stronger.”

Maybe I’ve been dropped into another timeline. There’s no other explanation for how confidently he can say this horseshit. “No. Hell no. There is nothing to work through. There is nowhere to come out stronger. This is over. Good grief, it’s been over.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” He works a hand through his hair. “I know what you’re doing, all right? Congratulations, you fucking Underwood pisses me off. You have won the divorce. You are the divorce champion.” The air in the room is changing, charging, as his temper begins to unravel. “Is that what you want to hear? You can break up with him now. You proved your point, and, I’ll say it again, you won. I know that’s important to you.”

It’s like my brain is one of those wooden 3-D puzzles and I’ve accidentally moved the piece that solves the whole contraption. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. The increase in texts after that night at the Alley, how angry he is about being blocked, his determination to get me alone. Margot’s right: he wants me back, but it’s about his ego, not me. Whether it’s me being with Shane or me having the audacity to deny him the ability to talk or text at me, this whole mess comes down to one thing: a power struggle. And previously—when I was trying to be a good partner—I always caved to him.

Fuck that shit.

“I won the divorce the day we signed the papers.” The slice of my words feels liberating. Biting my tongue didn’t make it bleed; it sharpened the edges. I’m working with a scalpel now, ready to perform a castration that’s long overdue. “I’ve considered sending Naomi a thank-you card dozens of times, but I’d hate to seem like a sore winner.”

Keith’s jaw tightens. An explosion is coming, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get in the barb I know will piss him off most before the screaming starts.

“You and I are done. Forever.” I smile, or maybe just show my teeth. “So you might as well stay with Naomi. After all, you do make a great starter husband.” Then I grab for Shane’s phone, snatching it from his grip.

Keith lunges, but not for the phone. He catches me by the waist, yanking me to him.

I fight his hold, thrashing and writhing. “Don’t touch me.”

My heel catches on the rug and my balance wavers. Crashing forward into Keith’s solid chest, I’m horrified when he doesn’t curse at me or try to take the phone back. He wraps his arms around me in a skin-crawling embrace and chuckles. The rough, throaty sound might as well be a gun cocking for the dread it sends through me. I made a mistake.

He wanted this.

He wanted me angry because it turns him on.

“Get off of me,” I spit, throwing my weight backward so hard he has to take a step to keep us from toppling over. Stomping my heel down, I try to drive it into his foot, but he knocks me away.

“Such a fighter.” His amusement makes me wrench myself backward again, but he’s ready this time, sweeping my legs off the ground and pulling me closer. “Glad to see I can still catch you, though.”

“Let go.” I’m seething, my voice more venomous than I knew it could be. “This is assault.”

“Relax. It’s a hug. You can hug your ex-husband.” His face is too close to mine, his breath warming my cheeks. The mocking undercurrent of Why are you overreacting? in his words almost gets me. Almost makes me wonder if I’m blowing this situation out of proportion. If he’s about to let me go and I’ll feel silly for flipping out. After all, this technically is a hug. His hands don’t roam beyond my back, and while I know this has to be turning him on, he isn’t grinding against me. He’s just holding me.

I take a deep breath. Maybe I’m overreacting. Or maybe years of licking my wounds and biting my tongue have given me a taste for blood. None of that really matters, though. I do not want to be held. And that should be enough.

I slam my forehead into his nose so hard I see stars.

“Motherfucker,” he spits, releasing me to grab the bridge of his nose.

Unprepared for my freedom, I wobble sideways and catch my balance on a nearby table, hoping the cracking sound I heard on impact was Keith’s face and not my skull.

What happens next happens fast. The conference room door flies open with a bang, startling us both.

Shane’s voice thunders across the space. “What the fuck is going on in here?”

Reflexively, I feel like I’ve done something wrong. Crossing the room in huge strides, Shane’s at my side. Gently peeling my hand away from my forehead before I can even say, This isn’t what it looks like, he scans my face. The circumstances have to look awful. I’m hidden away in a conference room with my ex-husband. While usually a bloody nose would not suggest sexy shenanigans are afoot, Shane knows that headbutting falls under my definition of foreplay.

Will he think I was going to cheat on him?

“Are you okay?” he asks urgently, eyes roaming over my body. “What did he do?”

“Nothing happened,” I stammer. “I swear nothing happened. I only came in here because he texted me from your phone.”

“I know, I know,” he soothes. Before I can ask how he knows, he transforms from tender to terrifying, whirling to face Keith. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

As Shane stalks toward him, Keith squares up. I realize Shane’s words sounded more like a promise than a threat.

“No.” I hurry to grab Shane’s arm. “No fighting.”

There’s an irony to my statement, but I don’t get to appreciate it.

Caine lets out a sharp whistle as he enters the conference room. “How come we didn’t get invited to the private party?”

Margot’s right behind him, worry on her face, clutching a glass of white wine like it’s a weapon.

Relief washes over me; I won’t be trying to keep Shane and Keith apart by myself.

“What the fuck did you do?” Shane spits at Keith, ignoring Caine and Margot’s arrival.

“Just catching up.” There’s a sneer in Keith’s voice that doesn’t match the words.

Somehow, Shane tenses further. He’s going to shake me off and beat the shit out of Keith. Visions of lawsuits, newspaper articles, and his firm’s reputation being ruined flash before my eyes. “Please don’t,” I beg Shane.

When his gaze meets mine, he looks almost wounded, as if he thinks I don’t want Keith hurt.

“He would love a reason to sue you. Make a huge scandal out of it.” Easing myself in front of him, I rub his chest. “You have more to lose, and he knows that.”

Caine and Margot are standing just off to the side. “Listen to Claire,” Caine says, his voice too relaxed for the moment. “You know she’s right.”

I shoot him a grateful look, only to see that sometime since walking into the room, Margot’s mood has changed. Her expression prompts a double take, the grim resolve on her face making my stomach knot. I don’t get to ask if she’s okay.

With her usual gracefulness, she saunters over to Keith and stops in front of him, drink in hand. He’s confused. We’re all confused. Keith opens his mouth, likely to ask what she’s doing. The question never makes it past his lips. Margot throws a left hook that makes his head snap to the side, teeth clicking together audibly. I gasp. Caine murmurs, “Well, damn.” Shane, of course, doesn’t react, a land mine that hasn’t been set off yet. Composing himself, Keith stares at her, as if he can’t believe what just happened. I don’t think any of us can. Casually as can be, as if she didn’t just throw a ridiculously good punch, she tosses her drink in his face, muttering, “Sue me, jackass,” before turning to walk toward Shane and me.

Keith’s gone from stunned to livid, the tendons in his neck cording as he wipes his face. “You fuckin’—”

Caine’s in motion, clapping Keith on the shoulder. The movement could look friendly if the muscles in Caine’s forearm weren’t flexing, the inked lines and leaves shifting. “That is not a sentence you want to finish.” He’s relentlessly pleasant, as if he doesn’t realize Keith’s a downed power line, live and twitching.