“Fine.” She draws the word out. “That's very convincing. Really. Like, Oscar-worthy reaction.”
“Jayne.”
She chuckles. “What? I saw him, Adriana. In the flesh. The man looks like he was carved out of freaking marble. You're telling me you're living with that and everything is just ‘fine’?”
Sweet Jesus. And she hasn’t even seen him without a shirt. A tiny shiver licks down my spine as my mind trips back to those heated seconds in the kitchen when the eggs weren’t the only things cooking. “We have a professional arrangement. Nothing more.”
“Uh-huh.” She waves a hand around, not even pretending to believe me. “And the fact that you're glowing this morning has nothing to do with him?”
I gasp and my hands fly up to my cheeks. “I'm not glowing.”
“Yeah.” Jayne tilts her head to the side and nods. “You're a little glowy.”
“You’re making things up.” I open my laptop and type in my password. “There's no such thing as glowy.”
“There absolutely is, and you are it.” She grins. “But fine. Keep your secrets. I'll just be over here, speculating wildly.”
“Please don't.”
“Too late. Already started.” She heads for the door, then pauses. “Your nine o'clock is in the conference room. And your ten o'clock moved to ten-thirty. And if you want to talk about the hot husband at any point, I will clear a timeslot on your schedule.”
“Goodbye, Jayne.” I shake my head. Always too damn observant for her own good. I used to love it, and now I hate it about her.
“Bye, boss. Say hi to Marble Man for me.” She winks as she pulls the door closed.
The morning passes in a blur. Meeting after meeting where Imake strategic decisions that will guide the next phase of my company’s growth. This is the kind of work I'm actually good at, the kind that doesn't involve capos or Russian gangsters or complicated feelings about my fake husband.
By noon, I've restructured a vendor contract, approved a new hire, and talked a nervous client off a ledge. This is my world. This is where I make sense.
My phone pings with a text. My heart jumps when I see it’s from Lochlan.
Reaper misses you.
I grin at the photo of Reaper lying dramatically across the couch, his head on his paws, eyes drawn. He looks like he just lost his best friend.
Poor baby.
That thought jolts me as soon as I give it airtime. When did I start caring about the dog’s feelings? I type a response.
He'll survive.
His reply comes immediately.
He's inconsolable. I've tried treats. I've tried belly rubs. He just sighs and stares at the elevator door.
Maybe he's sick of you.
Impossible. I'm extremely charming.
I actually laugh at that one. Out loud. Jayne looks up from her desk through the glass wall with one eyebrow raised. I wave her off because otherwise, she’d shoot up from that chair and barge right back in here to find out what I find so funny. I nibble on my lip as I reply.
Charming. Sure.
You wound me.
You'll recover.
That’s heartless.
