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“Some new glasses. Contacts. Something. ’Cause you stay pushing them motherfuckers up your nose every five seconds.” I pointed toward her face, making sure she knew exactly what I was talking about.

“There is nothing wrong with my glasses.” She frowned and adjusted them again.

“They clearly trying to leave your face.”

She pushed them up again without even realizing it.

I pointed at her. “See! That shit right there.”

She froze, then rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

I laughed. “My partner gotta be able to see.”

“I can see enough to read this contract.” She lifted the folder slightly, giving me a pointed look.

“Then get to reading.” I nodded toward the paperwork, still grinning.

She flipped me off before looking back down.

There she was.

She spent a few minutes going over the partnership agreement, paying the most attention to her forty percent, the profit split and what decisions would be hers to make. She asked a couple questions, I answered them, and once she was satisfied, she picked up the pen.

After that, she followed the tabs, signing and initialing the supporting documents without reading every damn word.

Exactly what I needed.

My attorney had buried the marriage agreement right in the middle of them, looking like just another document connected to our partnership.

Jru flipped to it, skimmed the page and signed her name.

Jru Sinclair.

I rubbed my hand over my beard to hide my grin.

My fucking wife.

She didn’t have a clue.

A few minutes later, she closed the folder and shoved it toward me. “Take this shit. I’m done.” She leaned back with a tired sigh, looking like she'd just finished signing away her entire afternoon.

I laughed and slid it into my bag. “Already tired of being a businesswoman?”

“I’m tired of paperwork.” She stretched her fingers before reaching toward her laptop.

“Better get used to it.” I zipped the bag closed, keeping the folder safely inside.

She reached for her laptop, then paused. “Wait. Does the restaurant already have a name?”

“Vice 2.0.” I watched her face, waiting for the reaction I knew was coming.

Her face twisted immediately. “Absolutely not.”

I laughed. “Then name the motherfucker yourself.”

She blinked. “For real?” The disgust disappeared from her face, replaced by a grin.

“You own forty percent, don’t you?”