Page 9 of The Billionaire's Wife

I was going to need my brain firing on all cylinders in order to deal with her. There was too much at stake. I would help her as best I could, then I would give her the divorce papers, and then? Then I’d move on with my life.

At no time, and under no circumstances, was Faith ever going to find out that I loved her as much today as I had when we got married.

Really, that shouldn’t be too hard, since I was reasonably sure she had no idea I’d been in love with her then, either.

I pulled on jeans and a thermal tee, then ran a comb through my hair and spent a few extra seconds mussing the front like the hairstylist always did after a cut. It wasn’t something I usually bothered with, but I could admit it looked nice that way.

Which shouldn’t matter.

Maybe I just liked looking nice for myself?

I blew out an exasperated breath and turned away from the mirror. I gave my room a quick once-over on my way through, then paused at the door and listened.

Still quiet.

I slowly opened the door just enough to squeeze through, then closed it behind me and hurried down the hall to the kitchen.

The rich aroma of coffee filled the air. I breathed it in as I opened a cabinet and took down my favorite oversized mug. I filled it, added cream and sugar, and carried it into the living room. I took the first sip of the life-giving liquid standing at the floor-to-ceiling window. I stared out at the Potomac River as the first fingers of dawn began to lighten the sky.

I let my thoughts drift. Of course, they kept coming back to Faith and her little cartel problem. Hopefully she’d choose a real life going forward. I couldn’t help her if she didn’t. I knew most everyone classified lawyers as people with no moral compass, but it just wasn’t true. And I couldn’t—wouldn’t—help someone continue to lead a life based on breaking laws.

Not even Faith.

“Good morning.”

I turned. I hadn’t heard her come in. A quick glance at her feet explained it. Her feet were bare save for the hot pink nail polish on her toes. Nothing about the baggy sweatpants and long-sleeved T-shirt should make my mouth water, but I had to stop myself from saying something idiotic.

“Morning. Sleep well?”

Faith lifted one shoulder. “Mostly. It’s a comfortable room.”

I drained the remainder of my coffee and skirted around her on my way to the kitchen for more. “I’m glad. You want coffee?”

“Only desperately.”

I gestured to the machine and got down a second mug. “Help yourself. You need food?”

“I wouldn’t say no.” Faith filled her mug and doctored the coffee before crossing to the fridge and tugging it open. She hesitated briefly before removing one of the takeout containers from last night. “Okay if I eat this?”

“Sure.” I’d forgotten her penchant for weird food in the morning. The thought of Chinese for breakfast had my stomach clenching. I filled my mug halfway, doctored it, then got down a bowl. From another cabinet, I took down the box of granola and shook some into the bowl. I put the box back and went to the fridge for milk.

“You still like that?” Faith shook her head as she opened the takeout container. She sniffed it, smiled, and reached in with two fingers to extract a pot sticker. She bit it in half.

I poured milk on my cereal and carried the meal around the island so I could sit. “Apparently.”

“I don’t get it. You’ve got perfectly good Chinese food. Why would you eat twigs and berries?”

I chuckled. “It’s oats, honey, and almonds. And it’s filling and delicious. And healthier.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Faith popped the second half of the pot sticker into her mouth.

“Do you want a fork? Or chopsticks? Maybe a plate and the microwave?”

“I’m good.” Faith licked her fingers. “Unless this bothers you.”

It did, actually, but it didn’t seem like something worth mentioning. “It’s fine.”

She leaned on the counter and dug another pot sticker out of the container. I looked down at my cereal, stirred it, and started to eat. I wanted to bring up the decision she needed to make. I had a list of questions brewing that I needed answered.

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