And then I’d heard Emzee’s laugh. That infectious, irrepressible laugh of hers, ringing out clear across the room. It froze me in my tracks, and I spun toward the sound with a smile already on my face—only to be met with the infuriating sight of my wayward wife, mid-flirt. Huddled in a corner mere inches away from some mouth-breathing New Yorker.
Fucking Andrew Apellido. Who did this guy he think he was?
It was obvious what had been on his mind while he’d been cozying up to Emzee. Even from across the room, his body language was unmistakable. He wanted her. And it had nothing to do with her photography, no matter what Emzee had tried to tell me. That asshole had been standing there undressing my wife with his eyes, getting off on presenting himself as someone who could actually help her career. I knew the type all too well.
Not that I could blame him for trying. Even in a plain black dress and heels, Emzee was a total fucking knockout. Her tits looked distractingly plump in that tight dress, and the heels she wore made me want to wrap her legs around my neck. I’d spent most of the night trying not to think about pulling her into some empty back room, shoving her dress up to her hips and fucking her over a table the way I’d done in the conference room at DRM.
That had been a hot, yet pleasant surprise. I’d never expected my shy wife to come on to me at her office, and I definitely hadn’t expected her to be so into it.
“You gonna text Andrew as soon as we get home?” I asked, glancing over at her.
Emzee didn’t say a word, remaining as silent and sullen as she’d been ever since I had pulled her out of the gallery and told her we were going home early.
“You know why he gave you his number, right?” I ribbed. I couldn’t help myself. The scumbag had gotten under my skin. “It’s not just a job that he’s hoping to give you.”
She turned her head farther toward the window, and I could see that her hands were balled up into fists. Guess she was even more furious than I’d thought. I’d been hoping we could just bang it out once we got home, but as I turned into the parking structure of my building, she let out an angry huff, and I realized she wasn’t going to just spontaneously get over the bug that had crawled up her ass. She was obviously spoiling for a fight.
Or worse—a Talk.
Emzee started up the moment we were alone in the elevator.
“Your behavior tonight was completely unacceptable.”
“My behavior?” I scoffed.
“Yes.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.Mybehavior was unacceptable? Okay, so maybe I’d been a little possessive when I first went over to her, but how else was I supposed to react to seeing my wife yucking it up with that sleazy piece of garbage?
“What aboutyours?” I shot back. “How do you think it looks for my wife to be cozying up to another man?”
The look on her face had me stepping back. We arrived at our floor and had barely gotten through the door of the apartment before Emzee was at my throat again.
“Although it’s flattering that you assume any conversation I’m having with a man involves him trying to hook up with me, it’s also incredibly insulting,” she seethed. “Networking is conversation. Professional circles involve men and women conversing together all the time. Often over drinks! You can’t act like a petty jealous husband every time that happens. Because itwillhappen. We’re supposed to be a power couple, right? That implies that webothhave power. Reputations. Careers.”
Even though her face was red when she finished, I couldn’t help admiring how passionately she’d argued her case. Not that I thought she was right.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “But I don’t see why you thought it needed to happen atmyevent. When you’re a power couple, you support each other. You should have been on my arm.”
I felt like a caveman, trying to explain myself but feeling frustrated and upset at how Emzee seemed to be slipping away before my eyes. And right when things were starting to get good between us, when we’d found a rhythm and a schedule that kept our lives copacetic.
“You bailed on me the second we walked into that party,” I went on. “Do you have any idea how much shit I got from my colleagues for having a runaway wife?”
“This is about your dumb male pride?” Emzee narrowed her eyes.
“No,” I said. “It’s about you showing up for me. Which apparently you aren’t all that interested in, when it comes right down to it.”
Munchkin had barreled into the room in the midst of our fighting, and now he was anxiously prancing at our feet, letting out pathetic little whines of distress. Emzee crouched down to soothe him before straightening up to her full (but minimal) height again.
“Firstly, Itriedto be on your arm,” she said, scowling. “But you ignored me. I don’t think you even noticed I was missing, you were so busy kissing ass—or don’t you remember that? Second of all, you can’t cockblock my future opportunities. Part of respecting me, which you claim you do, means understanding that my life will go on after our little agreement is over. Once this year is up, I’m going to have a whole life of my own to go back to, and part of that life will probably include new opportunities that I’ll want to pursue. Professionallyandpersonally.”
I was fuming. Was she not feeling any of the same things I was, then? And why did she have to keep bringing up next year? Constantly reminding me that this marriage had an expiration date, like our divorce couldn’t come quickly enough for her.
Regardless of our marital status, I hated thinking that other men were flirting with her—and I hated even more that she seemed to be counting down the days until she could actually do something about it. Because I knew for a fact that Andrew Apellido had been making a pass at Emzee, even if she didn’t realize the truth. I’d recognized that look in his eyes. I was a guy, and I knew how guys thought. I had probably intervened just in time.
Emzee wasmine.
Even if she wasn’t mine.
