“No need.” Lloyd beams as he looks at me. “I’m having dinner brought in.”
My gaze volleys from him to Graham. “That’s not necessary. I can change and have dinner on the table in thirty minutes.”
Lloyd holds a fist to the center of his chest. “I’ll be long gone in thirty minutes.”
Given the condition of his health, I try not to take that literally. “What do you mean?”
“I have plans,” he explains. “I’ll be out for a couple of hours. That will give you two enough time to enjoy your special meal and perhaps some dessert.”
He tosses my husband a wink.
I narrow my gaze, concerned that he’s overdoing it. “You’re going out?”
“I’m leaving now.” He moves to press the elevator call button. “Don’t wait up for me. I promise I’ll head straight to my room once I’m home.”
Chapter Sixteen
Graham
I’d bow out of this dinner, but I suspect Lloyd is paying the woman who showed up thirty minutes ago to spy on Trina and me.
She’s wearing a chef’s coat and is preparing something in the kitchen, but the way she keeps popping back into the dining room is a dead giveaway that her job entails more than putting food on the table tonight.
Since she arrived, she’s asked me three times if I need anything.
The only thing I need is for my wife to reappear.
She ran off in the direction of my bedroom after Lloyd left.
I expected as much. I’ve asked a great deal of Miss Shaw the past few days, but she is being generously compensated, so I expect her to at least make an appearance before the night is over.
“I brought a bottle of wine,” the chef announces as she peers around the corner yet again. “Should I open that now, or would you rather I wait for your wife to join us?”
I’d rather it was a bottle of aged scotch, but liars can’t be choosers.
“I’m sorry that took so long,” Trina apologizes as she approaches from behind the chef. “I wanted to change before dinner.”
I didn’t bother to swap out my suit pants and button-down shirt. I can’t say the same for my wife.
Her skirt and blouse have been replaced with a red dress that’s cinched at her waist with a thin belt. The shoes on her feet are strappy with low heels.
She’s braided her hair to one side.
I not only feel underdressed, but I feel unworthy of this.
She’s fucking breathtaking.
“Do I look all right?” she asks before she spins in a circle.
“You’re beautiful,” the chef whispers. “Wow.”
I wholeheartedly agree with her assessment, so I chime in. “You look lovely, Trina.”
She smiles before her attention falls on the face of the chef. “I’m Trina. It’s really nice to meet you.”
That sets the gray-haired woman back a step. She skims a palm over the front of her white chef’s jacket before she offers her hand to my wife. “I’m Bette.”
They exchange a soft handshake as Trina closes her eyes briefly. “Whatever you’re cooking smells like heaven. Can I help you with anything?”
Bette lets out a light-hearted chuckle. “That’s not necessary, but thank you.”
“If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” Trina smiles.
The chef glances in my direction. “Should I open the wine now, Mr. Locke?”
“Please.” I nod. “You can serve dinner as soon as it’s ready.”
“You can’t rush perfection,” Trina chimes in. “Don’t feel the need to hurry, Bette. Graham and I want you to take all the time you need.”
I don’t want that.
I want to strip that dress from my wife’s body and take her to bed, but since that’s not an option, I want to eat dinner and race out of here with an excuse about needing to take care of a work issue.
Surely, Lloyd won’t question that when he receives his surveillance report from Bette.
As soon as the chef is out of view, Trina turns to me. “I didn’t want her to feel pressured. I know what it’s like when you want something done right now, sir.”
The fact that ‘sir’ keeps popping out from between her bee-stung lips is a problem, but I’m not going to correct her this time.
It’s rousing something within me.
Something dangerous and completely out of the realm of possibility.
I can’t fuck my wife.
I chant that to myself while she studies my face waiting for me to respond.
I’m saved by the reappearance of Bette with a bottle of Merlot in one hand and two wine glasses in the other.
She’s not only bothersome, but she’s also laser fast.
I wait while she pours a splash of wine in one of the glasses and offers it to me for my approval. I skip past the expected sniff and small taste and instead gulp down every last drop.
“I take that as a sign it’s good to go,” Bette mutters under her breath.
She half-fills the other glass for my wife before she does the same with mine.