“I needed a wife. They didn’t specifyhowI was supposed to get her. Just wear something tasteful and beautiful, and we’ll keep things above board.” He winks. “I’m going to work out. You get some more rest. I’ll have the chef prepare us breakfast.”
“What time is it?” I stretch.
“Five a.m. I’m always up at this hour, but I order you to sleep.” He furrows his brow, trying to look menacing.
“Ah, the mean boss act. No need to break a blood vessel. You couldn’t drag me out of bed if you tried.” I snuggle deeper into the blankets.
“I could be enticed to stay, though... fucking is a workout.” Griffin gives me a seductive grin. I lift my knee to find him already hard.
“You’re too much.” I laugh.
He wiggles his fingers playfully. “I can use these if you’re achy.”
God. With the thought of him touching me with such expert skill, sleep suddenly sounds ridiculous.
“If we’re gonna play, I want all of you,” I say, pulling him down for a kiss.
That's all it takes. We spend the rest of the morning making love.
By the time he leaves and I’m soaking in the bath, I’m pretty wiped out. I have some kind of savage amnesia when it comes to sex with Griffin; I always forget about his size and exuberance until afterward.
When I’m done bathing, I have coffee and a small bowl of Greek yogurt with berries. I don’t want to eat too much just in case I get sick again.
I get dressed in my most elegant daywear: a brown raw silk tea dress with pearl buttons and chunky heels. I add a stained-glass butterfly necklace—the one item I purchased myself from the boutique. It reminds me of freedom.
I am nervous about entering the building and facing Griffin’s staff, but I tell myself I look good, I smell good, and I’m married to their boss. I’m wearing the Tiffany rock to prove it.
The elevator doors slide open on the thirty-fifth floor. Seated at the reception desk is a woman I don’t recognize. I plaster a smile on my face and step forward. Sunlight pours through the glass walls, catching the gold in my hair. I feel ready.
“Selena Calloway to see Griffin Calloway,” I say casually.
The receptionist looks up, her brow knitting in confusion. “SelenaCalloway?”
My heart skips a beat. Did Griffin not tell them?Keep calm.
“Yes. Griffin’s wife.” I widen my smile.
“Oh. I’m sorry. Sure, let me call him.” She’s flustered. Good.
“I’ll wait,” I say politely.
Two weeks ago, I wouldn't have cared. But suddenly I feel possessive. I don’t want any barriers between me and the father of my unborn child.
“Mr. Calloway,” her voice changes to a soft, seductive purr. “Your...wifeis here to see you?” She asks it as a question, her face flashing shock. “Okay. Thank you.” She turns to me and almost glares. “You may go in.”
The old me would have been polite. The me from two weeks ago would have been nice. This me just walks past her without a word. Thank you, pregnancy hormones, for turning me into a goblin.
As I walk down the long aisle of cubicles, conversation ceases. The walkway seems to stretch for miles. I can feel eyes on me. I turn to face a man in a cubicle beside me.
“Hi,” I say with a bright smile, and keep walking.
When I reach the cluster of desks outside Griffin’s office—my old workspace—I gaze upon two stunned faces.
“El,” Joe mutters, not looking up from his monitor. “Maybe don’t.”
And then it hits me. I saw Joe at the charity ball. Of course he told the entire office. He’s probably shared his scathing commentary onwhywe got married, too.
El smirks anyway, fueled by venomous jealousy. “What? Just admiring how confidently she’s walking in here like she didn’t win the temp lottery.” She looks up at me with a wicked grin.
