I’m the CEO of a globally recognized designer watch brand.
When Lloyd handed me the reins to the company, he reminded me that I’m the brand ambassador and to live my life accordingly.
I have, for the most part.
“What can I help you with?” My wife asks in a soft tone.
My cock hardens, as it has every fucking time I’ve been within ten feet of her since we were married two days ago.
I don’t know if it’s her voice, or her body, or a combination of that and the fact that she’s effortlessly beautiful, but it’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore my dick’s reaction to her.
I look at her left hand. “Your rings, Trina. Where are they?”
That sends her gaze to my hands. “You’re wearing your ring? Why?”
“Because we’re married.”
She gives her head a slight shake. “I’m aware.”
I wait for her to expand on that, but she takes on the stance of a woman about to defend her position. Her feet part slightly as her hands fall to her hips.
This is in no way helping me in my battle to overcome this erection.
“You agreed to be my wife for three months,” I remind her as I cross my arms over my chest. “If I wasn’t clear, that was three months full-time. Twenty-four hours a day, Trina.”
Her right hand darts to her left hand. I watch as she rubs her bare ring finger. “I see other people all day, sir. I don’t want anyone who works here asking me who I married.”
I considered that, along with every other possible complication.
“They are bound to find out.”
“Why?” She sighs. “Aren’t we doing all of this for Mr. Abdon’s benefit only? Why drag anyone else into this farce?”
“Farce?” I fight back a chuckle.
“The word fits,” she insists. “This is a farce. It’s a sham. We are pulling the wool over Lloyd’s eyes, and I, for one, feel shitty about it.”
As do I, but I’d feel a whole lot shittier if I didn’t grant him the wish of seeing me married to Miss Shaw before he dies.
“We are making him happy,” I remind her.
Her eyes search my face. “I still feel guilty about it.”
I’d admit the same, but I’ve learned that guilt can be viewed as a burden or an opportunity for real change. If you take that emotion and channel it into something useful, the weight of it lessens.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
“I haven’t asked,” she begins as she drops her gaze to the floor. “I haven’t wanted to intrude, but I’ve been wondering about Mr. Abdon and his condition. What exactly is wrong with him?”
“It’s his heart.”
“His heart,” she repeats.
Nodding, I shift back to the subject at hand, or the subject about what’s not on her hand. “I need you to wear the rings, Trina. If Lloyd stops by and you’re not wearing them, that’s a discussion neither of us wants or needs.”
Her eyes widen. “He’s coming here today?”
Feeling as though I finally have her full attention, I shrug. “He’s unpredictable.”
“I locked the rings in my desk drawer.” She drops her gaze to her left hand. “I’ll put them back on, sir, but we need to agree on what to tell everyone.”
“Everyone?” I question. “Like who?”
“Like Kay,” she tosses out the name of one of our designers.
Kay is a holdover from Lloyd’s days. She’s still working on designs that hit the market hard decades ago. I haven’t used one of her ideas since I took control of the company.
“We’ll tell Kay, and anyone else who asks, that we’re married.”
It sounds reasonable, but judging by the look of confusion on my wife’s face, I missed the mark with my suggestion.
“We’ll tell her that it started with innocent flirting, and then we went out for a drink after work,” she says softly. “That led to dinner and a night of talking. Fate took over from there, and it became a whirlwind romance.”
Impressed, I nod. “I can work with that.”
“Three months from now, I’ll tell the staff that…”
“You realized that my attitude is more than you can deal with,” I interrupt. “You decided to leave me because the flame that was burning brightly was extinguished by my raging level of assholeness.”
“Assholeness?” she repeats. “That actually fits.”
That should sting, but it’s fuel for my erection. I harden even more.
“Put your wedding rings back on,” I say to chase her out of my office.
I don’t need my wife to glance down to catch my body’s reaction to her.
“Yes, sir,” she says with a smirk.
Jesus. How the fuck will I survive being fake married to this woman when all I can think about is that kiss we shared last night and how I want more?
Chapter Fifteen
Trina
I circle the block for the third time, gazing up as I pass Graham’s building.
He left the office before me.
I’d say he snuck out, but Mr. Locke isn’t a sneak. He’s bold and unapologetic. He’s also forgetful at times. That happened this afternoon when he left his office while I was on my coffee break.