The woman’s eyes widen, and she opens her mouth and closes it, desperately trying to figure out what to say.
“Your future…” She stutters, “Husband. Shoes.”
I shake my head, clearing my shock as I give her hand a squeeze, “My wife has a sense of humor.” I tell her, “Just here for a pair of black Prada loafers.”
“I really don’t,” Olivia says, rolling her eyes like the brat she is. Fuck, it makes me hard.
She walks off before the assistant can guide her and I cock my head, watching her go, her steps sure and determined. Likely to get the fuck away from me.
“We can handle it,” I tell the woman before I follow Olivia, slipping further into the store. I find her down the men’s aisle, eyes scanning the row of boxes as shelooks for the pair I’m after.
“Your future ex-husband,” I purr in her ear, watching as she stiffens with my proximity.
“I just figured I’d let you know now, wouldn’t want you to be surprised when I eventually leave you,” She smiles at me sweetly, pressing up onto her toes to reach a box on the top rack. “I guess a size eight?” She flutters her lashes.
I roll my lips together, not biting at her clear tease and reach above her, pressing my chest to her spine. “Twelve.”
“Weird flex,” She breathes, “But okay.”
I shake my head. Fuck, I feel on edge around her, like control is right there but out of reach. I thrive on control, live for organization and a clear outcome but she blurs all the lines. One minute the tension between us is thick enough to slice it with a knife, the next, she’s cold and distant, making it hard to believe she reacts to me at all.
But I can’t forget the way her breath stutters from her chest when I’m close, or how her eyes devour me. I can’t scrub the image of her pressing her thighs together, leaning closer to press our lips together only for me to take it away.
What a fool I was.
I try the shoe on before I take the box to the counter, Olivia hanging back.
“Let me take you to lunch,” I tell her.
She scrunches up her nose, “I’ll pass.”
“Okay,” I growl, “I’ll rephrase it. We are going forlunch.”
“Sorry, do you want me to bark too?” She snaps at me.
“No, but I wouldn’t mind you crawling.”
Color blooms on her cheeks, “Pig.” She spins and storms from the store and I let out a chuckle as I follow her.
I take her to a small hole in a wall pizza place downtown, away from the busy streets and heaving traffic central city is known for. She sits on the opposite side of the little round table, manicured fingers playing with the hem of the white tablecloth.
“Malakai!” Gina, the manager beams as she walks to the table, “Hi!”
“Hi, Gina,” I greet her. She’s been the manager here for years, too many to remember.
She shoves her hand toward Olivia, who hesitates only for a moment before she accepts it, “I’m Olivia,” she tells her politely.
Gina’s eyes go round, “Oh!TheOlivia!”
My wife sinks down in her chair, cringing a little.
“Those damn magazines,” Gina continues as if she doesn’t see Olivia currently trying to sink under the table, “Anyway, what can I get you? The usual?”
Gina has no idea what I do, she doesn’t need to. I pay her wages and she runs my business, though this pizza place isn’t one on the Farrow books. This one is just mine. It’s one of the manycleanbusinesses Iown.
“Yes,” I give her a smile, “Olivia?”
She selects something from the menu and reaches for her water.
