“Oh?” he questioned, lifting an eyebrow, a sardonic smile creasing his lips.
“No. He’s my husband.” To add to my statement, I waved my left hand in front of my face so Cohen could see the diamond and gold wedding band on my ring finger.
His smile instantly dropped. “He married you?”
My head jutted backward at the incredulity I heard in Cohen’s voice. As if he was completely knocked over by the fact that Robert would marry me.
“He must be trying to get back at his father.”
“Excuse me?”
Cohen looked at me, his eyes narrowing. “Come on, Deborah. You can’t think a guy like Robert Townsend is actually serious aboutyou.”
“Me?”
“Yes. I mean, get real. You’re beautiful and all, but you come from nowhere Kentucky. You have no social standing. What would Robert Townsend want with—”
“Cohen, I think it would be best if you didn’t finish that sentence. I’m going to walk away now. Don’t ever speak to me again. If you see me walking down the street, cross it.”
Spinning around, I made a beeline for the door of the restaurant to head back to work. I was so angry, I was sure steam was coming out of my head. I couldn’t believe Cohen’s words. They were like a slap to the face. I’d spent time telling him how I felt like an outcast at times. Like I sometimes wasn’t meant to be in the role I was in at my job. Cohen was the one who first introduced me to the term imposter syndrome. And there he was, throwing it all in my face by telling me someone like Robert only married me to score points in a feud with his father.
“Hi,” I answered the phone in my office, breathless and a little agitated.
“Hey. Everything alright?” Robert’s voice was on high alert. I could just picture his cinnamon-colored eyes moving from side to side, trying to mull over what had me so worked up.
“I’m fine. Just ran into someone on my way back from lunch.”
“Who?”
“Co—” I paused, knowing that name would not go over well with my jealous husband. “Cochren, a former manager in our finance department. He lost his job after the merger last year and he’s still a little bitter about it.”
“He was making trouble for you?”
I blinked, internally chastising myself for getting Robert worked up. If I knew my husband as well as I thought I did, I had no doubt that he’d be looking Cochren up to give him a piece of his mind.
“No, he just said a few words to Steve. But Steve took care of it. No big deal.”
“Then why did you sound upset?”
I rolled my eyes. Sometimes I wished I had a husband who wasn’t so damn observant.
“Hey, you know what I was thinking for dinner? Grilled cheese and tomato soup. The grocer not too far from my job just started selling this amazing tomato bisque. I had it for lunch yesterday. It should be much more pleasing to your palette than Campbell’s.”
I sighed when he chuckled on the other end of the line.
“Only if you’re making grilled cheese with gouda.”
“I told you you would like it,” I said in a ‘gotcha’ voice.
“You were right. But how about this time I’ll try to make it? You just bring the soup.”
Tilting my head, I briefly pulled the phone from my ear. “Robert Townsend is going to try his hand at cooking? Well I’ll be—”
“That’s enough of that.”
I giggled, covering my mouth so my coworkers wouldn’t overhear me too much. Robert wasn’t one for cooking, having dealt with hired staff his entire life for that purpose. But I loved that he was open to learning. He kept saying that his sons would need to know how to cook, just in case. He was adamant about this four sons thing. Speaking of …
“Hey, have you spoken to Jason?”
