Alice thrashed in his arms like a woman possessed. "Dustin Delgado, have you no shame?! You brought your mistress into our home?! I'll kill you, you bastard!"
She slapped him hard across the face, then snatched the ashtray from the nightstand and hurled it at my head.
Crack. Pain exploded across my forehead. Something warm slid down my cheek, and my vision went red.
The agony turned my whole body numb, as though someone had split my heart open with an axe. But Dustin didn't so much as glance my way. He held Alice's hand, his voice low and coaxing:
"Don't be upset, sweetheart. I cut things off with her a long time ago."
"Your hand's all red. Does it hurt?"
A crimson handprint blazed across his cheek, and he wore it like a badge of honor.
I stood in the doorway, blood streaming down my face—the picture of a disgraced mistress, wretched and deserving of every bit of it.
A laugh broke out of me.
I lifted my hand, wiped the blood from my face, and pulled my gaze away from them. When I spoke, my voice was as steady as if I were discussing quarterly numbers.
"Mr. Delgado, I just need your signature. I landed the new project for the company. Once you sign, it's officially in effect."