Page 70 of The Contract Marriage

I force down a taco for a late lunch since a growling stomach would be embarrassing. Then I drive over to her office and wait for her to come out.

By a quarter till five, people start pouring out, eager to start their weekend. I climb out of the car and oh-so casually lean against it, in the navy bespoke suit I picked out because it makes me look exceptionally broad-shouldered.

Olivia appears on the other side of the glass door. My pulse picks up.

She’s smiling, her eyes bright. My beautiful birthday girl. She’s speaking animatedly to…Simon. He’s such an icky, sticky pest—like old gum on a sidewalk that got stuck to her shoe. And what’s up with that stain on his shirt? Can’t even eat without dripping all over himself like a toddler?

Suddenly she blinks, then swivels her head. Her eyes light up as she trots out of the office.

My heart pounds as I step toward her and wrap my arms around her. She feels perfect—my heaven, my wife. And I love it that she relaxes against me, her face buried in my chest.

“Hello, wife.”

“Hello, husband,” she says, tilting her head up while I savor “husband” from her mouth. “What are you doing here?”

“What, I can’t pick my wife up after work?”

She presses her lips together to hide a smile as she pulls back. “No, but is this really the best use of your time as a CEO, taking a detour just to pick up your wife?”

I shrug. “It’s Friday and I’m the boss.”

“Should set a good example.” Her voice is mock-stern.

“I am. A good example of a devoted husband.”

She laughs, placing a loud kiss on my cheek. Simon looks like he just stepped in dog puke.

Eat your heart out!

She waves at Simon. “Thanks for your hard work today. Have a great weekend.”

“You too, Olivia.” He nods at me with a pained smile. “You, too.”

“I will.” I open the door to the Spectre. “He’s always so…close, isn’t he?”

“What do you mean? He’s been with me for seven years. Of course we’re close.”

Ha. Only seven years!

As I climb behind the wheel, she suddenly stops like a bloodhound scenting something. “Wait, you aren’t jealous of Simon, are you?”

“Jealous? Me? Of him? Pfft.” I pull the car into the busy traffic, flexing my jaw to ease the tension. “No. Never.”

Her mouth forms an O. “Oh my God, you totally are. I was hoping you guys would become closer.”

“Why would you think that?” I say, trying to sound calm.

“He said you told him about how we knew each other at Stanford.”

“Yeah, but…” I narrow my eyes. “Look, he’s a man, okay? I don’t even like male houseflies around you.”

She chuckles. “You have Emmie, and do I ever complain about her?” she teases.

Except I’m serious. “But Emmie doesn’t have feelings for me.”

“What, and Simon’s pining away for me? Come on. He’s just very loyal. And you”—she pokes my shoulder—“are just jealous for no reason.”

Ha! She didn’t see how he behaved this morning! But ratting him out would be petty. And unbecoming.