Page 42 of One Night Bride
If Remington and I stayed married for real, would I somehow slide into that assistant role just because I was someone’s wife?
There was only one way to find out, and that was to talk to him about it. Share my concerns and make sure he understood what I didn’t want to have happen. After he said he loved me at the horse ranch, I had to assume he was thinking about staying married for real. Right? Or was that just something a guy said in the heat of the moment? I hadn’t said it back, and he hadn’t said it again, so maybe it was just a slip of the tongue.
I pushed away from the desk and stood. There were too many thoughts and unanswered questions in my head to sit still. Kicking off my heels, I headed to the guest bedroom. When I poked my head in the doorway, Remington was just ending his call.
“Got a second?” I asked.
He put his phone down and glanced up at me, his jaw locked tight. “Sure. I’m done for the day.” He sighed, and I wondered what happened to make him look like he wanted to bale hay or whatever cowboys did to burn off steam.
I sat on the edge of the bed. “Want to talk about it?”
He ran a hand over his jaw. “Not really.”
“Okay.” I paused to figure out what to ask that wouldn’t upset him. This wasn’t how Remington normally acted. He’d usually smile, make a little joke, and then pull me onto his lap until I squirmed away or we ended up naked. Whatever was on his mind had certainly thrown him off. “Want to lift some weights downstairs? I think Izzy is still at work, so we’ll have the place to ourselves.”
I had a mini gym set up in the garage downstairs and we’d been either lifting weights or going for runs together since he’d been here. Maybe he could sweat his problems out.
He nodded curtly and stood. “Sounds good. Meet you down there?”
“Sure.” I stood too and walked out of the room to let him change, feeling like he was a million miles away. Something was definitely up with him. Once I’d changed into a sports bra and shorts, I headed down to the garage where Remington was already into a set of push-ups. I grabbed some bands and started warming up.
When he finished his set, I asked casually, “Are all your investors in place now?”
“Yep. Just have one more document that needs to be approved and we’ll officially be ready to start things up.”
I grinned. “That’s great news! Do you plan to work with those inner-city programs you researched?”
Remington picked up some dumbbells and began to do some bicep curls. “Yep.”
Why wasn’t he more happy about his business? One-word answers were not his style. Something was definitely wrong. If he’d just talk to me, maybe I could help.
“Did that guy get back to you about accepting the manager position?”
He clanked the weights down and huffed. “What’s with the twenty questions?” Then he grabbed the pull-up bar and grunted out some reps, essentially cutting off the conversation.
I stood and grabbed my own set of weights, annoyed at his whole attitude. He didn’t want to talk? Fine with me. I lay on the bench and did some chest presses, his shitty mood spreading to me.
“I don’t need you telling me what to do with my business, Esme. I’m not one of your clients.”
Okay, that was it. I finished my rep and dropped the weights, standing up and putting my hands on my hips. He stood there all sweaty, muscles pumping, and a scowl that only made him hotter. “What is your problem? I’m not giving you advice. I’m asking questions. Showing interest. Who beat you with the grumpy stick today?”
His scowl deepened, and he started to walk to the door.
“Where are you going?” I asked, turning in shock. He’d never walked away from me before in the middle of a conversation. Then again, we’d never had a fight before.
“I get enough shit from my parents. I don’t need you dumping on me too. I figured I’d just give us some space so we don’t fight about it.”
I took a step toward him. “Oh, we’re definitely fighting. Too late.”
His burning gaze took a trip down the length of my body before returning to my face. “Okay, fine. Can you please just back off and not ask questions? I’m trying to be my own man here and chart my own course. I don’t need input.”
I folded my arms across my chest, noticing his gaze dipping down to take in the boobs that squished up in this position. He may be mad, but the guy still wanted me.
“You ask me questions about my business all the time. Why can’t I ask about yours?”
“That’s different.”
I shook my head incredulously. “No, it’s really not.”
