Chapter 9: Mr. Hale, Is It Fun Bullying My Wife?

Wendy glanced past him and spotted two smirking young men not far off, watching her with open interest. The picture came together immediately whatever bet they'd made, this man in front of her was collecting on it.

She recognized the game. Rich boys entertaining themselves at someone else's expense. She reached out, plucked a glass off a passing waiter's tray instead, raised it slightly toward him, took a sip, and met his eyes.

Brandon Bennett's jaw tightened. He hadn't expected her to snub him quite so openly taking a random waiter's drink over the one he'd personally offered.

"Do you know who I am?" he demanded.

Nobody turned him down without knowing exactly who they were dealing with. Or so he assumed.

Wendy shook her head, bluntly honest. She'd been out of circulation long enough that half the young elite in this city were strangers to her now.

Seeing she wasn't joking, he choked out, indignant, "I'm Brandon Bennett. Eldest son of the Bennett family. Ring a bell now?"

She thought for a second. "The Bennetts... the medical family?"

"That's my uncle's side!" he snapped. "My family's in real estate!"

Ah. Not the Bennetts she remembered the ones who'd built a fortune in medicine but a newer branch that had struck it rich in property.

"My mistake. I didn't know," she said.

He took it as a deliberate insult. "Since you're so fond of my uncle's family, maybe I should send you to his hospital as a personal guest."

He hurled his glass at her feet.

A hand caught her from behind and yanked her back just as the glass shattered where she'd been standing close enough that the shards would have torn into her legs if she'd stayed put.

Jordan, having pulled her clear, turned a cold look on him. "Bennett, was it? You know who I am?"

Still smarting from the failed prank, Brandon barely glanced at her, unimpressed. "Don't care who you are. Cross me and you'll regret it."

Jordan let out a short laugh, then turned to Wendy. "I've clearly been out of the country too long. Nobody remembers my face anymore."

Wendy tugged at her arm, but there was no stopping her now. "Does your family know you're out here?" Jordan asked him.

Watching the color drain from his face, she added flatly, "Go home. Start praying."

Brandon couldn't have been more than twenty some college kid playing tough and in that instant, all the bravado evaporated. He stood frozen, at a total loss.

His two friends crept forward and dragged him away without a word of protest. They had no idea who Jordan was personally, but they clearly knew the Cross name well enough to be afraid of it.

"You didn't need to go that hard on him," Wendy murmured.

Jordan rounded on her. "You told me to back off and let you handle yourself. So handle it."

"Fine, that one's on me. I'll be sharper next time," Wendy said, softening.

That, at least, satisfied her.

With Jordan planted firmly at her side, no one dared try anything else, whatever they might whisper behind her back.

"Hey," Jordan said suddenly. "Look the pianist hasn't shown up yet. Want to go play for him?"

"That wouldn't be appropriate," Wendy said.

"Why not? Nobody's going to say anything." Jordan was already pulling her toward the piano. "Consider it a favor to me. I just saved your evening, didn't I? Least you could do is indulge me."

In the corner, a middle-aged man nudged the elderly gentleman beside him. "Professor. Look over there."

He'd clocked Wendy the moment glass hit the floor, and now, watching her, his interest sharpened. "You think she can actually play?"

The white-haired professor hadn't wanted to come to this event in the first place he'd been dragged along and shot his companion an unimpressed look, saying nothing.

The man laughed it off awkwardly. Times had changed; talent alone didn't open doors the way it used to.

But something nagged at him. There'd been a video once just a woman's back, nothing more and the longer he studied Wendy now, the more that half-remembered image lined up with her. His pulse picked up.

Wendy felt a flicker of self-consciousness, but the second her fingers touched the keys, the room around her disappeared.

People often assumed a beautiful face meant nothing behind it that looks were the whole story.

The music that followed left them staring, momentarily unable to place what they were hearing, like waking mid-dream.

The man in the corner recovered first. "Professor that's not an amateur, is it?"

The professor's expression eased slightly as the piece ended, though he kept his tone dismissive. "It's fine. Anyone could manage that much after enough practice."

"She might know more than just the one piece" the man pressed.

"I'll be the judge of that," the professor cut in. He was still hesitant trouble was the one thing he actively avoided, and the scene with the shattered glass earlier hadn't exactly inspired confidence. He might have considered approaching her otherwise.

Before he could settle on anything, Wendy had already stepped away from the piano and a man was crossing the room straight toward her.

By the time Jordan registered what was happening, it was too late. Nathan planted himself in Wendy's path, voice dripping with implication. "Still playing piano even after the divorce? Seems I really was holding you back."

Jordan tensed, bracing for Wendy to crumble at the sight of him. She didn't.

"So you admit it," Wendy said, calm. "You held me back."

That wasn't the reaction he'd expected. He'd been genuinely struck by her playing for a moment but the feeling didn't survive his own ego. "Don't get ahead of yourself over a few piano keys. No one's going to want you regardless."

"Please, don't flatter yourself," Wendy said evenly. "I'm the one who didn't want you. Should I remind you what happened the day we divorced?"

He wasn't used to her talking back like this it didn't match the woman he remembered.

Nathan's jaw clenched as yesterday's headlines came rushing back. Right beneath the divorce-and-remarriage story had been a second one speculation that his ex-wife had "switched teams," and jabs questioning his own appeal as a result.

He'd had people bury it fast, but the memory alone made his blood boil.

That androgynous friend of hers isn't fit to be compared to me, he thought bitterly.

Just being near Nathan now filled Wendy with something close to disgust a reminder of how thoroughly his charm had once blinded her into thinking a man like this could be trusted.

She turned to leave. He wasn't finished. "Your mother's medical file is still in my possession."

He watched her back, waiting and when she finally turned around, he smiled. She'd gotten better at the piano, sure, but that changed nothing. She still wasn't the woman he wanted.

Before Wendy could respond, Jordan stepped in and grabbed her hand. Nathan's eyebrows rose, glancing between the two of them.

"I need to talk to him," Wendy said quietly.

Jordan shot Nathan a warning look before backing off to a watchful distance, keeping both of them in view.

Around them, the crowd did what crowds do watched, whispered, did nothing to help.

"What do you actually want?" Wendy asked.

Nathan seized her wrist, ignoring her attempt to pull free. "Try that again and you can forget about ever seeing those medical records."

She stopped resisting, jaw tight.

She could hear the murmurs starting up around them twice married already, got lucky landing a Vance and on the other side, sympathy for Nathan, for cutting his losses on someone so fickle, better things surely waiting for him.

She tuned it out. What she couldn't tune out was Nathan's thumb digging into her wrist, grinding against the bone until nausea rolled through her.

He was doing this on purpose making sure everyone watching understood exactly what she was to him. A toy. Nothing more.

Fury roared through her, but for her mother's sake, she forced her head down and endured it.

"Mr. Hale," a voice cut through the room. "Is it fun, bullying my wife?”