He trails his hand up higher to cup my breast, and I close my eyes at the tingly feeling that courses through my body.
“I think maybe we need a re-do,” he whispers darkly against my ear, sending shivers up my body. Then, he stiffens. “Annabelle?” Worry laces his tone.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
There’s an extended silence…
“Why the hell am I wearing a wedding ring?”
What?
I glance down, and holy fucking shit. This can’t be happening.
I hold my hand to his face. “I think… for the same reason I’m wearing one too.”
1
One Year Later
Annabelle
For the fifth time,I dare myself not to look at the clock. However, I can tell by the burning sensation rapidly growing in my eyes that more time has passed than I would like.
My anxiety is through the roof, and I can’t kick the nervous feeling I’ve had all week.
Owning a PR firm at a young age is hard enough. Waiting to hear about the biggest deal of your life? That’s more stressful than you could ever imagine.
Always trying to compete with well-established companies while showing your worth as a young female entrepreneur is a daily struggle, but today’s meeting will be life-changing, and I have no idea which way it will go.
My client has been pleased with our performance over the last year; of that, I’m sure.
The looming question is whether they want to extend our contract or not.
I’ve been working with the DeLuca family in Tuscany to help rebrand and rebuild their image throughout Italy after one of their sons almost drove their winery into the ground by gambling away everything they’ve worked so hard for.
Our deal was that we start small.
A year long face-lift in Italy, and if they were happy with my company’s performance, they would extend to a three-year contract where we would work alongside their California-based family to bring their brand to the States.
Which, in turn, would make Hughes Agency a worldwide company. A dream I never thought would happen so early in my career.
I turn over and finally look—threein the morning.
This is ridiculous. I’m getting up.
I’m stressing myself out more about my sleep than the actual meeting. I was planning on getting up at five anyway, so I might as well start my day two hours earlier to prepare. Surely if they didn’t want to keep us on, they wouldn’t have suggested lunch or flown from Italy to meet me.
Right?
“Okay,” I say into the darkness, shaking myself out of my thoughts. I know I need to stop before I drive myself insane, so I pull out my favorite purple yoga mat—because, obviously, outside of black, purple is the superior color—and turn on the light. Then, I start the flow I do every morning to calm my nerves.
For so long, I thought this was a joke of an exercise and a waste of time.
When I work out, I want my heart pumping and music blasting as I run in the park or sweat my arse off at SoulCycle.
After being told a few times—okay, maybe more than a few—that I’m “too high-strung” in the office, I relented, taking up yoga to start my mornings with the goal of a calmer and clearer mind.
I must admit I’m addicted, and it doesn’t hurt that I’m more flexible than ever. Which is something I’ve never heard anyone complain about… especially in the bedroom.
