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Lincoln through Manhattan’s perpetual traffic, slamming on the brakes when a pedestrian stepped in front of the car.
    Nick grabbed the headrest in front of him. “Damned idiots!”
    Unruffled as usual, Herbert said, “Yes, sir. There are many of them in the city.”
    Nick took a deep breath before responding. “Be careful. I don’t want to die just yet.”
    Herbert chuckled. “Sir, you’re young. You have a long life ahead of you.”
    He wasn’t so sure after the visit with Dr. Warner. “I can only hope,” he replied to the old guy. Suddenly he wished Herbert would stop with the “sir” shit all the time. He was about to speak his mind when they pulled into the underground garage and the spot reserved solely for him, the owner of the luxurious penthouse apartment, which he’d purchased for a song after graduating from college. Being at the top suited him just fine.
     
    “Nicholas, I wish we didn’t have to attend this tasteless banquet. I don’t understand why you accepted the invitation, and further more, why are we riding with the top down? It’s cold, but I suppose you don’t feel cold. Not Nicholas Pemberton,” Chelsea whined. “I’ve more important things to do than waste my time welcoming a bunch of snotty kids to New York.”
    Nick had deliberately chosen to drive his silver BMW Z8 with the top down. He did what he could to annoy his wife. In fact, when ever the opportunity arose, he took great pleasure in making her miserable. She annoyed the hell out of him. Nick figured Chelsea was just pissed because her updo was becoming an up-down.
    “Get that smirk off your face!” she shouted.
    Nick smiled. Yes, she was pissed. “I don’t have a smirk on my face. I’m simply smiling.”
    Chelsea’s dark brown eyes glowered at him. “If you call that a smile, I’ll kiss your ass. Of course, it’s possible you’re thinking about one of those sluts that you seem to delight in. Don’t think I don’t know about them, because I do. I’m not stupid, Nicholas.”
    He took a deep breath, shifted gears, swerving sharply to avoid a pothole. “I’m not hiding anything from you.” That was an outright lie. They both knew it. Chelsea wasn’t a saint herself. She’d had as many affairs as he’d had. As long as she was happy, performed when he asked her to, he didn’t care how many men she slept with.
    He was sure the feelings were mutual.
    Chelsea liked to play the role of betrayed wife when it suited her. Usually it meant she was about to hit him up for a large sum of money for one of her endless charities.
    “Stop kidding yourself. I know what you do. I used to be one of your ‘other women,’ remember?”
    Nick knew where she was going, and wanted to put a halt to it before it started. It was best to agree with her and go on. “Yes. How could I forget? Trash from the Bronx. You’ve reminded me almost daily for the past nineteen years. I realize I was engaged to Cathryn Carlyle when you set out to seduce me. Of course, when you told me you were pregnant, I had to do the right thing. How fucking stupid of me.”
    A month after their wedding Chelsea had conveniently miscarried. He’d wanted to divorce her, to beg Cathryn to take him back.
    When his father found out, he told Nick he would disown him if he divorced Chelsea. After all, Pembertons simply did not divorce. They could screw around as much as they wanted, provided they were discreet. Divorce was an absolute no-no. Marriage was till death do you part. His mother had died when he was three. He didn’t re member her, and his father hadn’t taken the time to encourage his memory, either. He’d been too busy making millions to care for him.
    Nick had been raised by housekeepers and the occasional nanny.
    “You can leave anytime, Nicholas.”
    “I can, can’t I?” he shot back. When his father had died two years ago, Nick couldn’t wait to give Chelsea the heave-ho. But the son of a bitch had made certain that Nick would kiss his ass