Don’t wait up for me.
She sees it but leaves it on read.
If that’s not a sign that she’s mad, then I don’t know what is.
At the head of the table, I take my seat and gesture for them to start, steepling my fingers over my mouth.
When I killed my father, I knew I had to be doubly feared to succeed where he never could. Gain respect and become someone who’s part of the big leagues, expanding my influence in sectors like politics and finance.
I have built an empire with various firms under a conglomerate, and as I look at my men, some have polished their appearance to climb up the ladder beyond the criminal organization. The top tier has infiltrated important places, helping me gain even more power. Others just rule the streets.
The image anchors me; it speaks of my duality.
Meeting done, they bow their heads at me, and I get in my car, driving home.
Stepping inside the penthouse, I go straight to the bar and pour myself a glass of scotch to decompress. I never drink in public, trusting no one.
I put a record on and lounge in my armchair. Closing my eyes, I savor my drink and some peace. Or try to when my spitfire of a wife shows up.
“I see you’re alive.”
Cocking my head, I grip the armrest to contain the urge to bend her over the first surface and fuck her hard. “Would it have bothered you if I weren’t?”
I love her sass. I love her battiness, but I also fucking love that damn pussy she keeps away from me just because she can.
Cruel woman.
I chuckle. Not even a single one of my men would dare sass me.
“How was your first day,mo run?”
She places her hands on her waist, her eyes narrowing to slits. “Now he’s interested,” she mutters.
“I’m asking you now.” I gesture between us. “This goes both ways. I am always available to you. But today when I texted you, I tested the waters, and you left me on read.”
“It was already late.”
I empty the glass, place it down with more force than necessary, and stand up.
She clutches my lapels, inhaling me subtly, and the breath of relief she lets out weakens my knees.
I dip my forehead onto hers, my tone softening. “I work. A lot. That’s what I am doing when I am not home with you.”
“Didn’t ask.”
“Sure. Wanna see if there are any traces of lipstick on my shirt?”
“Are there?” she blurts, the panic clear when she realizes her slip.
She stomps off, but I catch up to her and yank her back by her elbow. “Your jealousy is cute as fuck, but unfounded.”
“I’m just preserving my energy for tomorrow. You might be taxing, but you’re nothing compared to twenty little ones.”
“Are you calling me a man-child?”
Eyeing me over her shoulder, she lifts a brow. “Am I?”
Smiling under my breath, I follow her inside the bedroom. On my side of the bed lie a bouquet of peonies and a praline box.
