“Langston.”
“Yes, Sweetheart?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You didn’t ask.”
“No,” he agrees. “I didn’t.”
Quiet Victories
Langston
Bringing Sabrina into my office wasn’t part of a plan.
That’s the problem.
I don’t usually do things without one.
The elevator doors slide open onto my floor, and Jack is already there—leaning against the reception desk with my coffee in hand like he always is. Efficient. Unflappable. Annoyingly perceptive.
His gaze flicks to me first.
Then to her.
And for the first time since I hired him, Jack freezes.
Just for half a second—but I catch it.
“Well,” he says slowly, recovering as he straightens. “Good morning.”
I take the coffee from his hand. “Jack, this is my wife. Sabrina.”
Sabrina smiles at him—easy, warm, genuine. “Hi. You must be the famous Jack.”
His grin turns boyish. “Depends who you ask.”
She laughs, and something sharp twists in my chest before I can stop it.
They seem comfortable together and are a lot closer in age than Sabrina and myself, my brain supplies stupidly.
I shut the thought down immediately. Jack’s been with me for years. He knows better. And when he flicks his eyes up at me and gives a subtle wink, I know exactly what he’s doing.
Trying to get under my skin.
It works.
“Clear out the office next to mine,” I say, already moving.
Jack blinks. “Sir?”
I place a hand at the small of Sabrina’s back and guide her toward my office, my tone calm, decisive. “My wife needs the space.”
Jack’s footsteps follow. “For…?”
“She’s creating a nonprofit,” I answer without slowing. “She’ll need somewhere to work. And for potential meetings.”
That grants me with another curious and sharp look.
I stop just long enough to turn. “Get her whatever she needs while she’s here. Anything.”
