Of course?
Even if I was legitimately his wife, wouldn’t she want to check with the boss before allowing me to enter his office?
Why did everything sound like he’d been extremely explicit with the staff about my importance?
“Uh, thanks,” I said, giving her a tight smile before making my way to the office door.
I kind of wished for privacy.
I could feel the secretary’s gaze on me, knew she would be watching our body language, our facial expressions, likely to use the information for water cooler chat later.
Sure, I wanted my annulment. But I didn’t want people making up stories about me or Harrison.
I exhaled hard and moved into the office.
“Yes, Madison?” Harrison asked, not turning.
“Not Madison,” I said.
It was like a current shot through his body. He jolted and turned, eyes wide and brows raised.
“Layna.” He always did that. Breathed my name. Like the sound itself was something precious.
“So, yeah, why the hell does everyone who works here know me by sight?” I asked, starting to gesture out toward Madison before remembering she was probably watching.
“Because you’re my wife.”
“Oh, my God. I’m really not.”
“You are, though.”
“Only because you won’t sign the damn papers,” I said, exasperation leaking into my voice as I moved toward his desk. “I brought another copy.” I reached into my bag then dropped the folder onto his desk.
“I see. Very proactive of you. Can I get you a coffee?” he asked, ignoring the folder and waving toward the coffee bar.
Damn him.
He found my kryptonite.
He knew it, too, judging by the way his eyes warmed and his lips curved up into a smile.
“Allow me,” he said, already making his way in that direction.
“I can make it,” I insisted.
“Of course you can,” he agreed, but kept moving.
“You don’t know how I like it.” I started to fold my arms, remembered Madison, and dropped them again.
“You like it hot when you’re inside, but iced when you’re outside. And you always like it sweet, slightly creamy, and flavored.”
How the hell did he know that much?
“So my only question is if you’re more in the mood for vanilla, caramel, mocha, or brown sugar and cinnamon?”
“You have brown sugar cinnamon syrup?” I asked, eyeing the rack of syrups that looked out of place.
“I do,” he said, reaching for it.
