One Weekend with the Billionaire Chapter 55

*Julia*

Jeff comes into the bedroom with a look in his eyes that makes my blood run cold. He’s gripping his belt like he might just hit me with it. I know he has been drinking a lot. I thought he was just tipsy when he came home, but now, I’m pretty sure he’s drunk. He’s hit me before in all mental states from cold stone sober to nearly passed out drunk, so I know that doesn’t really matter, but as he stands there, glaring into the bedroom at me, I don’t know what to do. I wish I had the phone out of its hiding place so I could call Braxton.

“What do you want, Jeff?” I’m not sure where the courage to speak to him comes from, but my voice is trembling as my words come out.

“What do I want?” he asks, snapping the belt. “I want my wife to admit that she’s now my boss’s whore!” He is shouting by the end of the statement, stumbling forward toward the bed.

I get up, my bare feet pounding on the floor as I take a few steps away from him, wondering if I can dodge around him and get outside of the bedroom door, outside of the apartment door. I have no idea where I can go. Maybe some of the neighbors might hear if I scream and call the police, though they’ve never called before.

“Leave me alone, Jeff!” I scream at him. “You’re drunk, and you’re not thinking straight!”

“Not thinking straight?” he repeats and then laughs. He takes another few clumsy steps toward me, around the bed. I move again, keeping the same distance between us as my back is to the window now. “I’m thinking more clearly than I ever have in my life!”

“No, you’re not,” I argue, side stepping again, wondering if he’s off-balance enough that he won’t be able to catch me if I make a break for the door. I should’ve known better than to come into the room the furthest away from escape.

“Oh, yes, I am.” His eyes have a wild look in them, a glint of crazy. “I want you to tell me about it, Julia. I want you to tell me what it was like.”

“What are you talking about?” I demand, my teeth grinding together as I stare him down.

“Fucking my boss!” he screams back at me. “What was it like?”

“I don’t owe you any answers or explanations, Jeff!” His eyes grow wide as he stares at me, unable to believe I have shouted back at him since I never have before. Anger courses through my veins as I think about how he is to blame for all of this, including what I have done. “You were the one who signed those damn papers first, Jeff! You were the one who decided that you would rather keep your job than your wife!”

“Just because you spent the weekend with him, that doesn’t mean you had to fuck him, Julia!” He comes closer to me. I back up. He stops, glaring. “Tell me, Julia! Did you suck his dick? Did you let him shove it up your ass?”

I take a step closer to him, and before I realize what is happening, my hand lashes out and meets his cheek. My hand stings as the sound of the slap reverberates around the room. Then I take a step back and look at him, waiting for him to attack me. But he doesn’t. Instead, he begins to laugh. It’s a maniacal cackle that reminds me of a witch or a deranged lunatic. I want to run out of the apartment still, but I have a feeling, if I try to step around him now, he’ll reach out and grab me, and the laughing will stop.

“You stupid bitch!” Jeff screams at me, his face red not from where I’ve slapped him but with anger. “You fucking bitch!”

“Leave me alone, Jeff!” I scream at him. “If you touch me--”

“If I touch you? You just slapped the fuck out of me, woman!”

“You deserved it!” I scream back. “I know, Jeff! You can stand here and try to pretend you are all innocent and that I cheated on you with Braxton, but I know about everything you’ve been doing!”

“You know? About what?” he counters. “What do you think you know, you fucking bitch?”

I glare at him, ready to come unhinged again. “I know about the woman you’ve been fucking at work! I know about the pornography, the escorts, all of it, Jeff! I know about all of it!”

He stares at me, his face blank and void of all expression, as if he has no idea what I’m talking about, as if he has no idea that there’s any evidence of his infidelity, and then, he snarls at me, “Lying bitch.”

My eyes widen in disbelief. He’s denying it? I’ve seen evidence with my own eyes, and there’s no reason for me to think that Braxton would make any of that up, especially since Jeff’s use of work time to pursue these other activities is the main reason why he was about to get fired anyway. I say nothing, only return his deadly gaze.

“You are just trying to make yourself feel better about cheating on me,” he says, finally pressing his palm to his cheek, where his flesh is still inflamed from my hand.

“I have no reason to make up anything, and neither does Braxton,” I say.

He laughs again, only this time it’s more sane sounding. “You’re a lunatic.”

I am about to tell him to go to hell, that we are done, that I want nothing more to do with him when there is a resounding knock on the door. Whoever is there means business.

“Son of a bitch!” Jeff says under his breath. Then he takes a few steps toward the door. “Go away!” he shouts.

“Mr. Thompson!”

I recognize the voice! It sounds remarkably like Mr. Stringer. Jeff recognizes it, too, and swears under his breath as he heads to the door. “What the hell does he want?” I hear Jeff mumble under his breath, but I think I know what he wants, and rather than immediately following my husband to the door, I go to my secret hiding spot and dig out my phone, card, and money before I grab my packed luggage from the closet. Mr. Stringer is my way out, and I’m not going to miss it this time.