He scrubs at the back of his neck with his palm. “I have my moments.”
“Like when you ordered me to marry you,” I quip.
His smile widens. “Ordered?”
“Bribed?”
“Persuaded,” he settles on that. “I persuaded you to marry me with a hefty payout.”
We haven’t spoken about the money since our wedding day. I try not to think about it too much because I’ve struggled with the amount and the guilt that will always be attached to it.
“You persuaded me by confiding in me about Lloyd’s condition,” I add. “How is he doing?”
He takes another sip of water. “He’s stubborn. He won’t let me set him up with a specialist here. It’s fucking frustrating.”
I see the frustration etched in his movements. He fists his hands on the table.
“Maybe he’ll change his mind in time,” I say before I think it through.
Time is the one thing that Mr. Abdon doesn’t have.
Graham shoves a hand through his hair. “Maybe I should have ordered something stronger.”
“But you didn’t. Why?”
His gaze searches my face. “I want to have a clear head. We need to talk about what happened in the library the other night.”
This is what I feared would happen when we crossed the street and walked into this bar for a drink. “We don’t need to discuss that. It happened. It won’t happen ever again.”
Graham’s hand is on mine before I have time to react. He lowers his voice as he stares into my eyes. “It damn well will happen again. I want it to. Fuck it, Trina. I want more.”
Chapter Thirty
Graham
My wife stares at her martini as I confess that I want her.
Since she has nothing to say to that, I keep talking, “I know I fucked up.”
That brings her gaze to mine. She waits for a full two beats of my heart before she sighs. “Drop it, Graham. It’s in the past.”
The past.
The fucking past.
I avoid it at all costs, but tonight, I want to dive headfirst into it. I want to right my wrong.
“I shouldn’t have left you the way I did,” I continue, ignoring the fact that she has clearly stated that she doesn’t want to revisit what happened. “I’m sorry, Trina.”
She studies me, tilting her head to the left. “I’ve never heard you apologize to anyone for anything.”
Because I try damn hard not to fuck up so profoundly that my actions require an apology.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, so she knows there is weight in the words. “If I could go back in time to change it, I would.”
“But we can’t go back in time,” she points out. “We can only go forward, and we need to do that with the understanding that intimacy is off the table.”
Like hell we do.
I crave her. I’ve tried to convince myself that it started when I touched her body, but it began before that.
Hell, I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve always wanted her but brushed the need aside because she was strictly my assistant until I put that ring on her finger.
“Are you attracted to me?”
My direct question lures a soft smile to her lips. “I plead the fifth.”
I laugh. “I take that as a yes.”
“Take it as a non-answer.”
Shaking my head, I press on, “I know you’re attracted to me.”
She takes a large sip of her martini, drawing out the silence sitting between us as I eagerly wait for her to respond.
“You’re cocky,” she finally spits out. “Your ego is huge.”
“You’re not saying that’s a bad thing, are you?” I ask with a raised brow.
“I’m saying it’s a thing,” she states simply. “It’s the truth.”
I nod in agreement. “I’m confident.”
She tugs at the lobe of her ear. “It’s more than that. You have this air about you…I can’t explain it, but it’s as though you know your worth, and you don’t care what anyone else says about it.”
If that’s how she views me, I’ve come a hell of a long way from where I was ten years ago.
I sip from my water glass to give her the chance to continue.
She does. “When we first met, I was surprised by how good-looking you are.”
Now, we’re getting somewhere.
“You were?” I ask, wanting to keep her on this track because, yes, it fucking feeds my already stuffed ego.
“From what Lloyd told me, I had painted this mental picture of you that didn’t compare to the real thing.”
As tempted as I am to ask what Lloyd said about me, I skip past that because there are far more important matters to discuss.
My wife’s attraction to me tops that list.
“Let’s just say that I didn’t expect that when I arrived to work on my first day.” She punctuates the words with a circle of her index finger in front of my face.
I mimic her movement by trailing one of my fingers in the air directed toward her. “That feeling was mutual. I can’t say I ever had an assistant who looked like you.”
Her hand drops as her eyes widen. “I didn’t think you noticed the way I looked.”
My head falls back in laughter. “How could I not notice you? You’re beautiful, Trina.”
Her mouth curves toward a smile. “You think I’m beautiful?”
The question draws another hearty chuckle from deep within me. “Have you looked in a mirror? You’re breathtaking.”
My wife excused herself after I told her she was breathtaking. She claimed that she needed to use the ladies’ room, but I watched her from the corner of my eye.
She stopped in the corridor right outside the washroom.
I could tell that she was lost in thought.
I’ve seen it before when a work matter has stolen her focus from everything.
In those moments, the office tower could be burning to the ground, but Trina would have her gaze glued to her laptop screen.
She’s still standing in the same spot now, but her eyes are pinned on what looks like a painting on the wall across from where she’s standing.
I glance up at the server as she approaches our table.
“Can I get you another glass of water, sir?” she asks softly. “Or perhaps another martini for your wife?”
Hearing her call Trina that brings a grin to my lips. “I think we’re both good.”
Her gaze trails toward the corridor where Trina is. “You make a beautiful couple. I’m sure people tell you that all the time.”
I nod in agreement because we do make a hell of a gorgeous couple, but we’re not that. We’re boss and employee, and for the time being, fake married.
She wanders toward another table as my gaze trails back to my wife.
Anger hits me like a freight train when I see some random in a gray suit approaching my wife.
It’s not the same guy who hit on her the first time we were in here.
This guy has taste and an expensive Abdons watch on his wrist that I catch a glimpse of when he reaches out to touch Trina’s shoulder.
The fact that my wife is gazing up at him with a broad smile on her face is making me wish, for a split second, that I was him.