His voice remained calm.
“The campaign is already difficult enough without my unstable wife vanishing and turning up in a biker club.”
Samantha gripped the counter.
“I am not participating in your campaign.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No.”
Reuben leaned forward.
“You will come home.”
“No.”
“You will appear beside me Tuesday.”
“No.”
His expression changed.
The smile remained.
But the eyes did not.
“Samantha.”
She knew that tone.
The private voice.
The one never used in public.
“You are going to stop this childish performance.”
“No.”
“I have spent three weeks cleaning up your mess.”
“My mess?”
“Do you understand what you’ve done to my reputation?”
Samantha stared at him.
Something shifted inside her.
For years, Reuben had made every injury he caused into a problem she created.
Now, hearing him do it in this room, surrounded by scarred wood and the smell of old beer, the trick sounded smaller.
Obvious.
“You still think this is about your reputation.”
Reuben’s jaw tightened.
“What else would it be about?”
That answer told Samantha everything.
He moved around the corner of the bar.