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How was this brilliant, successful, incredible woman ever going to choose him as a life partner? He’d asked her to decide, after their dates were over, if she wanted a divorce or if she wanted him. At the time, he’d been convinced that he could win her back, but now that he’d spent weeks watching her work, he couldn’t imagine what he brought to her life that she didn’t already have, except chaos and tears.
And they only had one date left for him to figure out how the hell they could ever make it work.
He was spared further parental interrogation by Noelle, who popped her head around the corner. “Boss lady needs you for something,” she said. “I suspect it might be a diabolical plan.”
Levi dropped his fork and headed toward Hannah’s office, stopping only long enough to rearrange his scarves and fluff his hair. Diabolical plans were his love language. Was his wife trying to woo him?
He walked into her office, about to ask what she needed—and stopped.
Involuntarily, he shut the door behind him, leaning against it to catch his breath. Hannah was wearing a cream satin blouse with a plunging V neckline and a big bow. It was tucked into a gray tweed pencil skirt, and her hips and ass were going to be his actual death. She was sitting on the edge of her desk, her legs crossed, a heel hanging off one swinging foot. Behind her, slung over the back of her chair, he could see a matching tweed blazer.
How could he have so little interest in anyone else’s physical body, and so much in hers? It was like he’d saved up his desire, all his life, and the need only surfaced around her, but then it all did. A lifetime supply of wanting. He swallowed, hard.
“Blue, you’re turning an interesting shade of red. Is there something wrong?”
“I think I’m blushing,” he admitted. He walked forward, drawn to her, setting his hands on either side of her hips, not quite touching. He was shaking, just a little.
“I asked you in here because I needed something,” she said, suddenly sounding a little short of breath.
“I know, but you look edible and I’m distracted.” He slid his hands over her blouse, squeezing her waist.
She put her hands on his shoulders and skated her fingertips up to his neck. His hands, seemingly on their own, landed on her thighs, and he was pushing her skirt up so he could stand between her legs. She gripped the hair at the back of his neck.
“Chef Matthews,” she whispered into his ear, “do I look like the kind of woman who’s going to go for a fast, filthy, lunchtime quickie on top of her desk?”
“Yes,” he groaned, “you very much do.” Then he moved himself away with an enormous effort and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “But you needed something from me, and Noelle mentioned a scheme. I have to know.”
She whined in the back of her throat before rearranging her bow and fixing her glasses. He watched her school her features back into a mask of normalcy, but she couldn’t turn off the heat in her eyes.
“What did you need, Nan?”
“I need your help with something slightly shady,” she said. His heart skipped a beat. It gave him a zing all the way down the tips of his fingers that she was asking him on an adventure.
“You had me at shady.” He pulled up her extra chair and settled his elbows on his knees. “I was starting to wonder if you still had a shady streak, or if you were too grown up for it.”
“I was busy helping Cass die and trying not to lose the business, but I am still very capable of making trouble.”
There was a sore spot there, and it was a well-earned one. He kept thinking of New Hannah as more laid-back, more comfortable in her skin, having had all these wonderful times growing into herself without him. But he kept forgetting that while he’d been eating his way through self-actualization, she’d been holding everything here together by her fingernails, and a lot of New Hannah was grief and self-preservation and sheer stubborn unwillingness to let the ship sink. He had missed all the fun she’d had, but he’d also missed all the opportunities to show up for her when she most needed a partner.
It was amazing that she was even willing to try to figure them out. It was a huge risk, to trust him enough to try again. The fact that she was willing to plot mischief with him? That was a gift he couldn’t even begin to process.
“I’m sorry I teased you about not being fun. You’re my favorite mischief partner.”
He batted his eyelashes at her, and she huffed in amused annoyance.
“Cole is in some kind of trouble and he’s ensconced himself on Tara’s couch,” Hannah explained, clearly deciding to move on. “I promised her I would kidnap him and bring him to Miri.”
He steepled his fingers. “I have so many questions. Why are you talking to Tara? Does Cole want to see Miri? How did we get involved in this mess?”
“Did you forget how Carrigan’s is?” Hannah asked him. “Everyone’s business belongs to everyone. We’re involved because the situation needs fixing, and we are available. We’re getting Cole because he’s one of ours. Also, I talk to Tara because she’s my favorite of all of you except Noelle.”
“And you can’t go because it’s several hundred miles away.”
“Yeah, there’s not enough Klonopin on the Atlantic seaboard.” Hannah shuddered. “I would need months to prepare, and I’m too busy with the Davenports. But thankfully I have a world-traveling husband who is keen to show that he’s a useful part of the Carrigan’s team.”
He rested his hands on his knees and grimaced. “So, to be clear, you need my help to kidnap a six-foot-five grown-ass man who is having a tantrum and hiding on his friend’s couch.”
“Yes. Although I think he might be lying about his height, I suspect he’s closer to six-seven. It’s fitting because he came to get you and told you to get your ass home, and because no one knows more about throwing a tantrum and hiding out than you.” Hannah looked at him over the rims of her purple sparkly glasses.
