It all becomes clear when she opens her mouth again. “Christopher requested my help on a project this afternoon. Can you clear it with my supervisor? I think I’ll be able to learn a lot from him.”
There’s a pause as she stares at him expectantly, stopping just short from fluttering her lashes like a little girl manipulating her father to get what she wants. I watch her, realizing again just how young she is. But with my husband’s name on her lips, it takes on a more sinister edge that makes me feel ill.
“I’ll clear it,” Grafton rumbles. And then we’re moving into an open elevator. He smoothly takes a key card from his pocket and swipes it across a scanner, the doors shutting before Angelica even realizes we left.
As the elevator crawls upward, I murmur, “I think you’ve got some explaining to do.”
I pull away, but his hand is immediately back on mine, holding me tightly. I look up just in time to catch the slow smirk curling the edges of his mouth.
“Sure do, darling,” he murmurs, a slight twang to the endearment that has electricity shooting down my spine.
I’m in trouble.
Chapter 7
Lynley
Grafton doesn’t say another word as he sweeps me out of the elevator, past his surprised assistant, and into his office.
As he shuts the door, the sound louder than a gunshot, a wave of trepidation trickles from my head all the way down to my toes that are tucked into my comfortable, low-heeled pumps.
Sensible footwear for sensible Lynley.
It’s a “quirk” my mother spent years trying to purge out of me, wanting a carbon copy of her—and Caroline. I was never interested in spending hours primping in front of the mirror or torturing myself by wearing the tightest clothing or the highest heels.
It isn’t just in looks, though. I have never been a risk-taker. The biggest one I ever took was choosing to spend my life with Christopher, and I’m seeing the consequences of that now.
And yet… I just walked into this office alone with a man I just met, the door closed between us and anyone else.
I swallow thickly, careful not to look at Grafton as I take in his office. It’s a masculine space, decorated in dark browns, with a large, glossy black desk taking up the most space, a wall of glass behind it looking out over the city. There’s a door to the left that I assume leads to a private bathroom, and a black leather settee in the right corner, and a rectangular glass coffee table.
The whole vibe is very muchsuccessful executiveand doesn’t fit theflannel-and-axesone that’s imprinted in my mind.
Grafton moves past me—too close, his arm brushing against mine—and my skin prickles with awareness. I eye him as he walks over to the wet bar—becauseof coursehe has a wet bar—and inwardly debate the pros and cons of making a run for the door.
I came here today for a reason, andhe’scurrently one floor below me. Probably doing unspeakable things to the perky, young intern. If I time it just right, I might be able to catch him in the act and be done with this marriage once and for all.
But the idea of going down there right now has me feeling like I might “blow chunks,” as Mase would say, all over Grafton’s plush carpet.
Maybe I should just go home.
I could stop at the grocery store on the way and pick up some of Ginny’s favorite ice cream—peanut butter chocolate chip this week. I’d get gummy bears, sour worms, sprinkles, and whipped cream. When the kids got home from school, we could set up a make-your-own-sundae station, and then eat our treats in front of a movie.Pretend everything is still normal before you blow up their lives.
I hate that the consequences of Christopher’s choicesare on the kids and me. They’ve done nothing to deserve what’s coming, but the responsibility for minimizing the damage is on me and not on the person who’s causing it.It’s so goddamn unfair.
A clink pulls my attention to Grafton as he lifts a crystal decanter, pouring rich amber liquid into a matching tumbler.
“Fancy,” I murmur without thinking, and he shoots me a smirk over his shoulder.
“Present from my father,” he replies. “Would you like a drink?”
I silently shake my head, watching transfixed as his long, thick fingers curl around the glass, lifting it to his mouth. My eyes lower a fraction, locking on the way his throat bobs with a swallow. Something pulses low between my hips, and I blink rapidly, wondering when a man having a drink became so…erotic?
I spin away, silently cursing myself. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a visceral reaction to anyone in my life. But right now, I’m still married, even if it is to a cheating pig.
I hasten to the settee, perching on the edge of the cushion with my purse at my feet. I clasp my hands together in my lap, staring down at the glittering wedding band on my finger, barely biting back a sneer.
“I should probably, uh…” My voice sounds strained. I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t look up. “I’m here to see Christopher.”
