She does not acknowledge me or it. I managed to get the silent treatment from a woman I’m not even in a relationship with. Marriage doesn’t count in this instance. The silence doesn’t bother me. In fact, it’s my nature.
Game on, Wifey. Game fucking on.
Sliding the car to the shoulder, I set the hazard flashers, grab her left hand, and slide the ring past her knuckle until it hits home. I’m not going to lie. It’s gorgeous, fits perfectly, and tells the whole world she’s mine. Probably some astronaut at the international space station, too, if their telescopes are set to the right coordinates. There. I’d say it out loud, but I’d be picking a fight. There’s no sense in making this more challenging than it already is.
From my periphery I see her mouth open in an O. She never even tried it on. She doesn’t know I know that. I can tell she’s trying not to stare. And she’s definitely avoiding eye contact with me. Pristine posture. Chin set straight ahead. The curtain of herhair blocking access to her features. Sunglasses obstructing what I could make out from her eyes. No wiggles, except for the fingers on her left hand.
We get to the mousetrap where C470 hits US6 and I-70, and I can see the war in her body. She’s tense. Is she going to give me directions? Does she want to know my research included where she worked? She starts to lift a hand, and I wonder if she’s going to direct me, but instead she keeps her stoicism as I make the turns that take us closer and closer to her office.
We arrive, and with nothing to say, she exits the car. Halfway to the front door, I lower the passenger side window and, with a smile in my voice, proceed to piss her off. “Have a great day, Wifey.” She whips around, her mouth set in a hard line. “I’ll pick you up at five thirty.” I roll the window up and manage to make it out of the parking lot before I crack up.
I should be careful. That woman with a little anger and spice will be far more irresistible.
And I’m already holding on by a thread.
My to do list is exponential, and I got one hour of sleep last night if I got any. And that’s a bigif. But there’s something I have to do before all of that.
I jump on I-70 and head east, remembering when traffic wasn’t this ridiculous. Before they legalized pot, before the tech gurus thought they should have an office within driving distance of the best skiing in the world, before the real estate boom that made my family wealthy.
I’m sliding south on I-25 when the exhaustion hits. Ayla will have coffee. I need a double.
My sister and brother-in-law live in Cherry Hills Village, one of the ritziest zip codes in the country. The money thrown around here is insane, but it also comes with more restrictions than I could ever stand. Christian and Ayla fit in. They’re the Joneses other people try to keep up with.
I park in their driveway and let myself in through the door to the sitting room. When I slide into a chair in Christian’s office, I exhale what little energy I have left.
“Liam.” My brother-in-law leans back in his chair, hands onthe armrest, looking for all a king in his castle. “What can I do for you?”
“I owe you an apology for yesterday. I’m sorry.”
No excuses.
No caveats.
No bullshit.
He looks taken aback. That’s a new look on him. He could be smug instead.
“Thank you. I don’t apologize for defending my wife.”
I smile, though it’s a small one. “That woman doesn’t need defending. She’s a force of nature.”
“That she is.” His face gentles. It’s either soft when he speaks of her or fierce in the extreme. There’s no middle ground. “You look whooped.”
“I haven’t slept. I was on my way here yesterday when all the shit popped off. Mind if I get a coffee? Or three.”
He stands and rounds the desk. “What’ll you have?”
“Triple espresso.”
He looks back at me before checking the screens on the wall behind me. “I’m on it.” He taps the doorframe. “Coming right up.”
He returns with a tray service. “Corinne set you up. Fresh scones and cream. There’s an Americano and your espresso.”
“If I were the other half, the first thing I would do is steal Corinne,” I say, lifting the espresso to take a sip of the thick drink. “But she’d probably mother me too much, and I’d have to fire her.” The older woman reminds me of a grandmother from when I was a kid. She’s soft, round, and friendly, but has that air about her that she’ll put you in your place for your own good.
He retakes his seat. “If you got her, you’d never let her go.”
“I’d bet.”
