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“Ok. I’m going to the coffee shop to write. It seems like the next few days I’m going to be working on reception plans.”
“Bye.”
I tossed the phone on the table and stared at Sasha. “That was Evie.”
“I know. And you cannot go to Newton Hills this weekend.” She tapped her foot impatiently.
“Why not?”
“I bought our black tie gala tickets months ago. It’s the Sportsman’s Ball.”
“Fuck,” I whispered.
I saw the look of triumph on her face. “See? You can’t go.”
“You bought two tickets? Take someone else.”
“We always go to the Sportsman’s Ball together. Last year we landed our two biggest investors. Or have you forgotten that too?”
“No. I haven’t forgotten, but something has come up. I have to be in Newton Hills.”
“So that’s it? You’re going to choose married life over this company?” Her cold accent was on every syllable.
I closed my eyes. She knew about my contract with Evie. She knew about the inheritance. She knew how important it was to have a baby to secure the long-term success of the company. Yet, she was giving me grief at every fucking turn.
“By putting Evie first, I’m putting the company first.” I folded the pages of the report. “Find new investors.” I slid the file toward her and walked out of the room.
7
Evie
Every once in a while, the sunlight would catch my diamond while I was typing, and I’d get distracted remembering I was Mrs. Jeremy Hartwell. The rainbows bounced on the bistro table as I sipped my vanilla latte and exhaled. I was supposed to be writing something gritty and dark, but I couldn’t channel those feelings. I was struggling to find a single negative word. I was an idiot in love with her husband. The husband she was never supposed to let near her heart. The husband who was so incredibly sexy and charming—she was supposed to be careful and cautious of her feelings, no matter what.
Instead, I was letting my screenplay rot while I sat with a love-struck grin on my face. Where was my angst? Where was the heartbreak? Where was something deep and tangible to put into this story?
I groaned, deciding I needed to pack everything up for the day and head back to the apartment. I wanted to make dinner for Jer. See? Even that was ridiculous and silly. But I couldn’t help it. I wanted to do something wifey for him.
As I shoved my laptop into my messenger bag, I wondered if he’d like it if I served dinner in only an apron. Of course he would.
I had to do something to get us out of the slump of being back in the city. Neither one of us was excited to wake up without our butler serving fresh pineapple on the villa’s veranda, or without the ability to strap on a snorkel and go for a swim. I’d even climb to the top of the volcano again, if it meant we could have stayed longer.
No one could stay in honeymoon land forever.
I trudged the few blocks to the apartment, trying not to let the sounds of the taxis and the road construction depress me.
Everywhere I looked I saw gray concrete. It towered overhead and was under my feet. It almost felt like a weight crushing my shoulders. I wanted tropical winds. I wanted a fruity drink in my hand.
I walked into our building. It wasn’t any better inside the apartment. Jeremy’s decorating style was as cold and mechanical as the city. I couldn’t take it. I marched right back out the door and onto the sidewalk. I had to fix this. I was going to bring some warmth into our home.
I lit the last candle and waited for Jeremy to walk through the front door. I had accomplished what I set out to do. I folded my arms, proud of how quickly I pulled it together.
I heard his keys in the lock. My heart raced. I leaned against the counter, holding a glass of wine. The apron barely covered my nipples down to the top of my thighs. The high heels I wore made it even shorter.
The door opened and I caught Jer’s eyes. He raked them over my body before he closed the door swiftly.
“Damn girl. What is this?” He walked toward me.
I grinned shyly. Dinner was on the table. I hadn’t had enough time to cook after my shopping spree, but it was a gourmet meal. I’d cook for him tomorrow night. Something he loved. Something savory and special.
