He exhales heavily. “Can we talk about last night, please?”
“No.” I bend and begin to look through my shoes in the bottom of my walk in wardrobe.
“I didn’t want anyone to know that we were together.”
I throw my high heels onto the bed with force. “We’re not together.”
“She’s just a girl that I work with,” he adds.
“I don’t care who she is. This isn’t about her.”
He puts his hands on his hips. “What is it about then?”
My eyes rise up to him. “You can’t be that f*****g stupid.”
“Try me.”
“This is about you and your inability to communicate.”
“I communicate,” he hits back, outraged. “I communicate very well.”
“You have no idea how to communicate with anybody, not even your children.”
“That is not true.”
“Okay then, smartass. You found out what that girl said to Willow last week a
