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“That doesn’t mean monogamous—or supposedly monogamous—people get it.”
“I’m sorry. The last thing I meant to do was make your life more difficult. If your investors don’t want to deal with you anymore, you can use my money instead. As soon as the three of us are married, it’ll be our money anyway.”
“I’m not taking your money, Leduc.” His brows lowered to disapproving slashes. He was always handsome, but when he looked this cranky, I had the urge to fuck it out of him.
“If I ruined your business relationships, I don’t see how you’re going to have much say in the matter.” I shrugged at him. “Besides, when have you been able to refuse me?”
“That’s different.” He paused, as though searching for words. “Just because I’ve never been able to resist you doesn’t mean I want to be business partners.”
“Just because I’m giving you access to my money doesn’t mean I want to be business partners. Take it and use it, the same way I do with your pretty body.”
His face went positively scarlet.
Adorable.
“Different,” he managed to mumble.
“Assets are assets.” I winked at him.
My truck pulled up outside.
He grumbled and went over to the door of the restroom, resuming his hovering even though he couldn’t see her.
What was taking her so long?
“Move.” I sailed past him into the restroom. There was no reason for Tarryn to be taking so long unless she was ill.
“We can’t go in there—” Valor began to protest.
“Tarryn?” I rounded the corner and entered the restroom proper, surprising a woman primping in the mirror. She blinked at me in the reflection, as though struggling to process what she was seeing. To be fair, my outfit today was worth a second look.
“Sorry, my fiancée isn’t well. I thought she might need some help. Gorgeous redhead?”
She pointed at a stall behind her.
“What are you doing in here?” Tarryn asked in exasperation.
“Checking on my woman.”
“Nice,” the woman at the mirror said, closing her purse and grinning at me. “I wish my husband talked to me like that.”
“Don’t encourage him!” Tarryn called through the door. I could see her through the obnoxiously wide crack between the stall door and wall. For some reason, Americans didn’t believe in privacy. She wasn’t sitting down, just standing with her back to me, leaning against the stall wall.
“What’s wrong?”
“Did she leave?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t barge into a woman’s restroom.”
“I can and I did.”
“What if I was pooping in here?”
“What if you were?”
“I don’t need supervision to use the facilities.”
