In my urge to give her everything I could and more, I forgot to give her the one and only thing that mattered to her. Love.
All she has ever asked for. Love and safety.
“I want to get back home fast,” I tell him, walking into my cabin.
Just like I wanted, the project files of our existing client and the projector are kept at their designated place. I like things in order. They make my mind feel at peace when all it has ever known is chaos.
The only chaos I am able to handle and welcome in my life wholeheartedly is my wife. She is the only exception to my every rule.
“Any special occasion?”
“Just my wife.”
* * *
As much as I love my work, I hate working with men who think they are superior to others.
When you are rich and famous and successful—all the thingsI have been already—you get selective about your energy. But using these three things to act like a pretentious asshole is disgusting and a major turn-off—even for a man like me.
And that is exactly the vibe of my current working client—Louis Maxwell. He owns a major real estate company across the UK, and while we have had major business working with him, I absolutely despise having one-on-one meetings with him. Only because his words reek with arrogance.
“Well, we like what you have presented, but how much will it work?” the fucker asks
I smiled, trying to keep my emotions in check. “We are the best in the business, Louis. Plus, you have worked with us before; you should have that trust in us.”
He chuckled. “I don’t trust anyone.”
That put me off. “We don’t work with people who don’t trust us, Mr. Maxwell.”
The tension between us is tough, making it difficult for us to breathe, but I cannot work with a prick like him for long. My dad always said to work with people who you admire—and while I have admired the way Louis Maxwell scaled his business to millions within a few years, I cannot stand the attitude and arrogance that came with it.
He chuckled, and his assistant looked between us awkwardly.
“We like the terms and conditions, Mr. Carter,” he says, trying to fix the mess that his boss created.
“That’s great to hear,” Henry says on my behalf because I refuse to break eye contact with the fucker.
Louis’s eyes roam all over me before they land on the picture kept on my right side. It is one of my favorite pictures of Aisha—the one I took when we spent a night together for the first time. She looks carefree in this picture, her hair falling behind her shoulders in a perfect mess, her eyes closed as she smiled up at me. I loved adoring Aisha. Correction—I love adoring her. Andone of my ways of showing that affection to her was by clicking pictures of her randomly. She hated that in the beginning, my camera was an intrusion to her peace, but then she got comfortable with that.
The way his eyes stop on her tempts me to get out of my seat and throw him out of my office with my own bare hands.
“What is it, Louis?” I ask when he keeps ogling her picture without shame.
I keep my hands in a fist under the desk, but I am having a tough time maintaining my calm and composed demeanor.
“Nothing,” he shakes his head, finally meeting my eyes, and my jaw clenches. “That’s your wife?”
“Yes, my wife,” I say, making sure he knows what that means. I don’t like people ogling at what’s mine.
“Beautiful,” he adds, and Henry gives me a side eye. “We have worked with you for so long; we would like to continue doing so for the foreseeable future.”
Thank God, this means he is going to leave soon.
“But before we finalize anything, I would like to invite you and your wife for dinner,” he adds, and I quirk an eyebrow.
No shit.
“Why?”
