Page 172 of The Wife Situation

I lean over and rest my chin on my hand. “Good morning, hubby.”

“How’d you sleep?”

“Better with you,” I mutter, not fully awake.

“Those panties,” he says. “Mmm. My only regret is not being there right now.”

I look over my shoulder and notice the cameras in the corners of the rooms. Having cameras inside your house is arich peoplething. “Lunch still?”

“Yes,” he says, checking his watch. “A car will be there for you in forty minutes.”

“Forty?”

He nods. “Please don’t be late.”

“I’ll be ready, just for you,” I tell him, blowing on the hot liquid.

He smirks and the screen goes black.

“I know you’re still watching,” I say, glancing around at the cameras as I sit on one of the eight stools that line his long marble counter. “Oh, wow, this coffee is great. Kudos. Guess you do have good taste.” I snicker and lift the mug.

“Alexis,” Easton says from the monitor on the counter.

I glance over my shoulder at him, and it’s almost like he’s here.

“You’redistractingme.”

“Stop making it so easy,” I say. “I’m sitting here, minding my business, drinking espresso.”

“Looking like a cocktease.” He chuckles. “I have to be in a meeting in two minutes. I’m sure everyone is waiting for me.”

He stands, showing me his pants and how his cock is nearly bursting the seams. The outline of him in his suit pants is a fucking sight to see. But I know how it feels to want someone so damn bad that it hurts—him specifically.

He shakes his head and sits back in his chair. “But I’m so fucking hungry for you.”

A mischievous grin sweeps across my face and I flip my hair over to one side as I move closer to the screen, like it will give us privacy.

“Why don’t you havemefor lunch instead?”

His eyes flutter closed as he scoots further back in his chair. He’s contemplating it.

“I might be bad for business,” I whisper.

“But fucking fantastic forme, darling. Tempting, but I have to go. Have a wonderful day, and I’ll see you soon.” He blows me a kiss.

I catch it, wanting to steal his attention a little longer, but refuse to be his greatest distraction. “You too.”

The video chat ends, for real this time, and I lean against the counter. Neither of us is wrapped around the other’s finger; we’re handcuffed together, and there is no key.

I glance at the pink diamond, the stone he reserved forthe one. And it’s on my finger.

I walk to the windows and view the park below. It’s busy with people enjoying the summer weather.

I finish my coffee, and rinse out the mug, then I glance at my cell phone. It’s like a poisonous snake waiting to strike.

I know what Easton and I did—secretly eloped. We robbed everyone of the experience of attending the wedding of the century.

I avoid reality a little longer and go upstairs. When I enter Easton’s closet, I stand in shock. It’s the size of Carlee’s apartment. It’s essentially a department store. Every color—blue, black, gray—is available in ties, suits, and shirts. And I imagine Easton wearing every single one. Polo shirts, khaki, and sailing shoes. Shorts, vintage band T-shirts, and tennis shoes galore. At least he has style.

---