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“You’re married?” Her eyes swing back and forth between us before landing on Declan’s ring. The way her smile falls elicits my own.
“Get my wife whatever she wants.” Declan doesn’t look up from his tablet.
My stomach flutters in a way that has nothing to do with flying jitters.
“Of course. Right away, sir!” She rushes to the back of the private jet.
“Right away, sir!” I echo her enthusiasm with a roll of my eyes.
The corners of Declan’s mouth lift as he feigns interest in whatever is on his screen.
I glare. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“I do find your possessiveness entertaining.”
“I amnotpossessive.”
“Hmm,” he responds. His fingers gotap tap tapon the screen.
I shift in my seat, and the tips of my braids brush against the small of my back. “Okay, whatever. Even if I was, it’s warranted. She shouldn’t have flirted with you while you’re wearing a wedding ring.”
“I see.” He drags his index finger across the glass before tapping on the tablet screen.
“What aren’t you saying?”
“I’m curious why you feel the need to flaunt your marital status whenever you’re insecure.”
My mouth drops open. “I am not insecure!”
“I’m aware of your trust issues.”
Is he for real right now? He’s one to talk about trust issues when the man has a seventeen-digit code to unlock hiscellphone.
“Is this the part of our relationship where we share our deep-seated daddy issues?” I coo in a joking manner despite the thundering pace of my heart. “Because I’m pretty sure we could spend the whole flight debating who had it worse growing up.”
He shrugs. “Defensive as always.”
This motherfuc—
Relax. He’s good at stirring up people’s insecurities and using them to his advantage.Instead of giving in to his taunts, I pull out my phone and busy myself with my email inbox. Sorting messages is a soothing task that keeps my mind numb.
Despite my best efforts, my thoughts drift.
Trust issues? Who is he to call me out on such a thing?Everything about him screams trust issues, from the thirty-page prenup I signed to the way he won’t open up despite my knowing him for years.
He readjusts his position in the chair. “You can trust me to remain faithful.”
“As if that was a concern,” I bite back.
His brow raises in silent question.
“Everyone knows about your sleeping habits.”
“And what are they?” His eyes lighten with amusement.
“You don’t sleep around and you don’t date. Half the company thinks you’re gay while the others think you visit a sex club to let off some steam every week.”
“I’m disappointed at their lack of creativity.” There is a tightness in his voice that wasn’t present a moment ago.
