“No, thanks. I don’t need anyone on a journey with me,” I said, standing up. “And my boat isn’t a rowboat. It’s a mega yacht, and I’m perfectly fine on my own.”
Grace was waiting in the lobby of the production studio when I stormed out. She looked up from her phone.
“What a waste of time.”
“I know, right? Unbelievable. Like these people have any idea who we are,” she railed as we walked outside. My driver jumped out and opened the town car door for us.
“Right?” I said. “They have no idea who we are.”
“Like we need marriage to be happy,” Grace added.
“Exactly!”
She returned to her phone. Mine buzzed with an incoming email message, a reminder from the Svenssons about the TechBiz event the next day and that Grace’s presence was expected.
I glanced at her as she typed out emails on her phone, the little device chiming with incoming messages. I smiled to myself. Forget bubble baths and living room picnics. Riding in a town car, managing our companies, and swapping snarky comments—this was the marriage I wanted.
You are not staying married to her, I reminded myself.
But Grace had promised we were divorcing, no muss, no fuss. Would a bubble bath really be the worst thing in the world? Her curvy body all slick and wet?
Focus.
Your company is the most important thing.
“Now I’m behind because of that stupid therapy session,” she said. “I have a million messages from brides about their photos.”
“Tell me about it,” I said as my own phone practically vibrated out of my hands with messages from the Svenssons demanding my confirmation that Grace would be in attendance at the evening’s TechBiz event.
“Speaking of wastes of time…”
Grace looked up and raised an eyebrow at me.
I gave her my best sexy grin.
“How would you like to attend a black-tie event?”
21
Grace
Damn him and his sexy smile. I could feel myself wavering.
“I’m behind…” I said.
“It will be fun,” Chris crooned.
“I need to work on my book; I have all these brides…”
“This event is going to have all of Manhattan’s rich and powerful,” he cajoled. “Networking is never a bad thing.”
He tipped his head forward slightly, gazing at me from under his lashes.
Damn him and his dimple.
“I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Already took care of it,” he assured me. “Outfits are waiting at the penthouse for your selection.”
