"Excuse me?"
"Who do you think you are that you can embarrass me like that?"
"I already explained—"
"How much are you worth exactly?"
Naomi frowned. "Uhm..." She paused to think.
Dorian watched her expression change as she apparently took the question seriously.
Why?
He had no idea. Maybe she thought he was about to charge her for his time. Which, considering his hourly rate, would probably finish whatever finances she had left.
Naomi decided honesty was safest. "Three hundred dollars in my account."
Dorian stared at her. She stared back. He couldn’t believe she had actually answered. "Then you are not worth the paper your lawsuit will be printed on."
"You want to sue me?" Naomi yelled. "You are the one who married me!"
"What the fuck are you trying to pull?" he demanded. "Why the hell would I marry you? We had a great fuck. That’s it."
Naomi’s mouth fell open. Her traitorous memory was perfectly capable of confirming that the sex had, in fact, been great.
Embarrassingly great.
Still, that was hardly the point.
"Yes! In Vegas!" she snapped. "Three months ago! We got married that night."
Genuine uncertainty flickered across his face.
Vegas.
He had gone with a few friends after Divorce Number Three had finally been signed, sealed and buried.
The official plan had been drinks.
One night.
They had gotten drunk, ended up somewhere with too much neon, and somehow turned the end of his third marriage into a celebration.
Then there had been her. The loud woman.
Bright eyes.
A mouth that never seemed to stop moving. Dorian’s eyes narrowed slowly.
No.
Impossible.
"The girl I met that night didn’t look this desperate," he ground out. "And I sure as hell didn’t marry her."
Desperate?
Her entire face changed. "Oh, wow." She pointed at him. "You know what? In my defense, we were both drunk, because there is no way I’d even allow someone like you to breathe near me sober."
His eyebrow lifted. "Someone like me?"
"Yes. You."
"Be specific."
Was he genuinely inviting criticism?
Fine.
Gladly.
"Arrogant. Rude. Condescending. Insufferable. One question, do you talk down to everyone you meet?"
"Are you dense?"
"Uhn..." She tilted her head and made the dumbest expression she could manage. She crossed her eyes slightly.
Let her tongue press against one side of her cheek.
"Is this dense enough for you?"
Dorian leaned back in his seat and looked out through the windshield. He was starting to understand why he had kissed her in Vegas.
Naomi continued. "Look, I didn’t hunt you down to argue with you. I came because we have a problem."
"You appear to be the problem."
"Are you accusing me of forging our marriage?"
"I’m considering several possibilities."
"Such as?"
"Fraud."
Her eyes widened.
"Blackmail."
"They are divorce papers!"
"Obsession."
Naomi gasped. "Obsession?" She rubbed both hands over her face. "I cannot believe this."
"Finally, we agree on something."
She dropped her hands. "No. I cannot believe I am married to a man who apparently is incapable of holding a conversation like a refined human being."
Dorian turned fully toward her. "A refined human being? You ambushed me in front of reporters and gave them the one piece of gist they will salivate over for weeks. You really are dense."
"You know what? I don’t want a divorce anymore." Naomi crossed her arms. "I want an annulment. I think the fact that I apparently married you while intoxicated proves I was not in a sound state of mind."
"And I think your current state of mind makes a convincing argument for long-term institutional care."
"You are horrible."
"Look, Natasha."
"It’s Naomi."
"Do I look like I give a shit?" He continued before she could launch another speech. "Clearly, I gave you the most orgasmic night of your life and you want a redo..."
"Just sign the documents," Naomi said, exhausted now.
The fight had drained out of her voice. She was tired of arguing, tired of explaining.
Dorian reached into his pocket.
Finally.
Naomi leaned back in her seat, assuming he was pulling out a pen.
Good.
Wonderful.
They could sign the papers, end this nightmare, and never see each other again.
Perfect ending.
Except Dorian did not pull out a pen. He pulled out his wallet.
Naomi frowned. "What are you doing?"
Dorian opened it and removed several hundred-dollar bills. "I’m sure you’re just being a bitch because I fucked you and bailed without paying you," he said coldly. "You look like you need the money."
She genuinely thought she had misunderstood. Her brain had simply rejected the sentence on moral grounds.
Then Dorian counted out a few bills and tossed them into her lap along with the divorce file.
"Now get the fuck out."
Naomi looked down at the money. She looked insulted. Her fingers closed slowly around the bills.
Dorian thought she might take them. Then she threw them straight back at him. One note hit his chest.
Another landed near the gearshift. The rest scattered over his lap.
"I may not be rich or glamorous," Naomi said, her voice shaking despite her obvious effort to keep it steady. "But I have got dignity."
"Clearly, your dignity went out the window in Vegas," he cut in. "What happens in Vegas, right?"
Her lips shook. Then her eyes filled.
Shit.
The first tear gathered at the corner of one eye. Dorian’s irritation vanished so quickly it almost annoyed him.
He had made women angry before. Plenty of them. He had been slapped.
Insulted.
Had wine thrown in his face once. A shoe too.
But tears?
He hated tears especially when he knew he had caused them. Naomi blinked hard, clearly trying to stop them.
Dorian instantly felt like a son of a bitch. Which, to be fair, was probably accurate. He looked away.
If he was being honest with himself, Vegas had not been some meaningless encounter he had barely tolerated.
That night had been fun. Really fucking fun. He remembered meeting her near the ATM. She had been standing in front of the machine, cursing at it because it refused to dispense cash.
Dorian had been drunk enough to find the conversation entertaining. He had laughed. She had turned and caught him. He remembered smiling.
Actually smiling.
He had found her adorable. Then she had started talking to him.
And talking.
And somehow he had ended up following her back inside. One drink became several. Several became dancing.
Dancing became kissing and kissing had ended exactly where both of them had wanted it to.
His hotel room.
His bed.
Her moaning beneath him.
Those lips.
God.
Those same beautiful, sexy lips were apparently ruining his life now. Dorian dragged himself back to the present.
Naomi wiped quickly beneath one eye with the heel of her palm. "I need this divorce, please."