hey…
My cock perks up, letting me know that it, too, is amenable to being grabbed. Just as long as it’s Evie’s hand doing the grabbing.
Stay the fuck down. It’s not time yet.
It’s been almost twenty-four hours. She must’ve come to a decision—accepted our situation. People always adapt to new circumstances, and Evie is a smart woman.
And that acceptance means she’ll acknowledge that we’re married. Husband and wife. No more “Mr. Sterling” or “Ms. Parker.” No more living apart.
And to confirm my thoughts, I glance at her ring finger. The gold band is still there. Ha! I knew it! I clench my hand, feeling victorious as my own gold band shines.
She smiles. “Good morning—”
Anticipation vibrates through me as I wait to hear my name on her luscious lips.
“—Mr. Sterling.”
What did she just say?
“You have a teleconference with the head of the Kerri Wilson Lloyd Women’s Health Center in Chicago,” she says. “Then you have a meeting with the auditors who just came back from San Francisco. So for today, I think maybe something powerful and conservative.” She walks into my closet.
Out of habit, my gaze drops to her hot, perfectly shaped ass. But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about the outrage of her still calling me Mr. Sterling. We shared a bed—albeit drunk and passed out. She should know I don’t have a giant stick up my butt by now.
As though she sensed my baleful glare, she turns to me. “Is there something else, Mr. Sterling?”
Listen to her. Mr. Sterling. “My name is Nate.”
“I’m aware of that, Mr. Sterling. After all, I’ve been working for you for over ten months.” She gives me a sweet smile, the kind you might reserve for a curious and needy child.
My blood pressure skyrockets. I want to shake her, but that’s really not the way to start off a marriage.
She lays out my outfit for the day. “I’ll be downstairs preparing your breakfast.” She turns around smartly and leaves.
The bedroom feels as barren and desolate as a Mongolian desert. Why is she doing this? Just to be perverse? Trying to needle me?
Fine. If she doesn’t want to change the way she addresses me, I’ll change the way I address her. Problem solved.
My mind made up, I put on the dress shirt and slacks she selected. They’re both gray, although the shirt is so pale that it’s almost white. I knot the burgundy tie into a prefect half-Windsor, put on my jacket and head to the living room.
She’s already finished prepping my cup full of palate-despoiling green hell-slime. I take it from her, making sure our fingers brush. Simultaneously, I hear a small sharp intake of breath over the gurgling of the coffeemaker.
Yes!
If I were alone, I’d do a cabbage patch dance. She’s not immune. Not anymore. It’s like being married—even if we don’t remember the actual ceremony—is making her less impervious to me. I can work with this.
I down the vile shit that tastes like cow fart, while maintaining a stoic expression. She watches me chug it down.
When the last drop of the green goo has slithered down and hit my belly, I can feel my system give a shudder of relief. I hand the empty glass back to Evie. “Thank you, Mrs. Sterling.”
She sputters, almost dropping the glass. “What did you just call me?”
I pat her back, full of husbandly solicitousness. “Mrs. Sterling.” Innocent. Matter of fact.
She pushes my hand away, the gesture gentle but firm. “That isn’t my name.”
Inwardly, I gird my loins, but outwardly, I give her a placid smile. “Normally when a woman marries, she takes her husband’s name. Unless you want to hyphenate? Parker-Sterling, perhaps?” Her jaw drops open. I put a finger under her chin and close it for her. “I mean, it’s a bit of a mouthful, but I guess we can manage.”
Finally she recovers. “That is completely unnecessary. I’m happy with just Parker.”