The next morning, Watson drove Julia over to the Owens’ place.
As they pulled up to the neighborhood gates, Watson’s car fell in line right behind Joshua’s. Joshua had been to Owens Legal Services a few times before, and more than once, he’d seen Watson’s black Maybach coming out of the underground garage. The car—and its license plate—were hard to forget.
As soon as they entered the gated community, Joshua pressed on the gas and slid his Cullinan in front of Watson, then slowed way down, almost daring Watson to react.
Inside the Maybach, Watson caught the move in his rearview mirror and let out a small, amused smile.
Early morning, and already running into each other like this. Typical.
Joshua’s little stunt didn’t bother Watson at all. He just eased up on the accelerator and followed at a comfortable distance.
A few minutes later, both cars pulled up in front of the Owens’ villa. Joshua parked first. Watson pulled in right behind him. They both got out at almost exactly the same moment.
The morning breeze drifted through the trees, carrying the scent of dew and fresh grass. The sunlight was soft and golden, warming the world. It should’ve been a peaceful scene.
But the tension between the two men was anything but peaceful.
You could practically feel the sparks flying.
Joshua’s eyes were dark and cold, sharp as flint as he looked Watson up and down. He gave a thin, mocking smile. “What are you doing here so early, Watson?”
Watson’s lips curved into a polite smile, but his eyes were cold. “I don’t think that’s any of your concern.”
Joshua’s gaze didn’t waver. “You should stop chasing after what isn’t yours.”
Watson held his ground. “And what about you, Mr. Fisher? Is she yours?”
Joshua let out a short, harsh laugh. “She’s mine. Only mine.”
Watson’s smile stayed, but his eyes hardened. “You don’t get to decide that.”
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