Between Commitment and Betrayal (Hardy Billionaire Brothers, #1)(33)

“No, it’s fine. I—” She twisted the necklaces on her collarbone, worried now that I was giving her all my attention.

“Everly,” I tapped my desk and then smirked up at her. “You know in a marriage, the spouse comes first. Technically, my wife comes first. You have something you need to discuss, I’ll push a meeting.”

“Declan,” she whisper-yelled my name, then glanced quickly behind her before closing the door. “That’s not a funny joke. Don’t talk like that at work, or publicly anywhere.”

“I wasn’t joking. You are my wife.” She was also the person I wanted to talk to in that moment more than anyone else. I was going to give her my attention whether she wanted it or not.

She sighed and shook those waves back and forth before she continued, “The kids are so freaking excited. And having the signs that allow for the clients to donate too is really going to be so much help.”

I’d taken her advice and discussed charities with my brothers. We looked up a couple of the schools Everly was working with for yoga courses and found some of them didn’t have avid gym curriculum or the finances to bring in more teachers and aid. So, we were funding it and helping the kids in the community.

It wasn’t something to thank me for. “We needed to be doing more. I wasn’t aware that Carl hadn’t restructured some of our finances to allow for this.”

She combed a hand through her massive waves of caramel and brunette before she grabbed at her wrist and huffed when she realized she didn’t have a rubber band to tie it up. It was the one thing she seemed to forget half the time. “Don’t downplay it. They … You made their day. And mine.” She walked around the desk, bent over, and kissed my cheek.

Were we in fucking high school?

I grabbed her neck and pulled her close to take her lips and mine. She smelled like ocean and sweat and sweet coconut. I growled and spread my legs, let my hands drift down her neck, down her arms, down to her waist to grab hold of her ass. Her hands threaded in my hair as she pulled me closer still, like she was starved for me too. But just as I brushed a thumb on her bare thigh, she stepped back fast, gasping for air. “I didn’t come by for this.” Her sapphire eyes dragged over my body as she licked her lips. “I just needed to say thank you.”

“Thank me on my fucking desk, Drop,” I growled.

She tsked but I saw the small smile as she turned around and left.

Finding that I wanted to make my fake wife happy was a damn problem. Because the rest of the day, I walked around like a dumbass with a bright smile on my face.

Dom elbowed me during our last meeting and ground out, “Get your mind off whatever the fuck you’re thinking about and pay attention. If you want the press focused on our new sponsorship, you better nail this meeting or they’ll be focused on some other shit.”

His words killed my mood.

The press was always circling, always waiting for their next target, and I didn’t want our marriage to be it. Not when things were going just fine.



THE NEXT WEEK, I idled in front of her house, deciding to take the Bugatti because Peter was off.

Right on time, she came out in the white she always wore on Tuesday.

We were silent on the car ride like we had nothing to say. Or maybe it was we had too much to say; so much that we didn’t know where to start.

Small talk was easy though. “What did you have for breakfast?” She grumbled something over her coffee. The woman hated discussing anything before she’d downed the whole cup. “What?”

“I don’t eat breakfast in the morning.” She slouched down in her seat like she wanted me to disappear so she could enjoy the silence.

I turned onto the highway instead of going straight to work.

“What are you doing?” she grumbled.

I didn’t answer, just veered off the first exit and pulled up to a small drive-thru coffee stand. “What do you want to eat?”

“Nothing,” she pouted. Like I was inconveniencing her.

Great. So I ordered just about everything on the menu.

“Are you that hungry?” she questioned, her brows furrowed. “Don’t you eat at home?”

“I do.” I nodded and pulled around to collect the food and pay.

“Oh, Mr. Hardy! We thought it was you in the camera.” A young guy stared in the window and a few others peeked around him. “No need to pay. I watched the Super Bowl last year. Huge fan. How’s your wrist been? Can’t believe they didn’t fine more of those guys—”

“Great.” I wiggled it in front of him. “Good as new.”

Someone snapped a photo. “Can I have an autograph?”

I tried to suppress the sigh. I took her pen and signed a book she had on her. Then, someone shoved their phone. “Just sign the back please.”

I signed five more things before I pointed toward the gym. “Have to get to work.”

They all waved goodbye as I pulled away quickly.

“Here.” I handed her the bag of food.

“For me?” she whispered, and when I glanced over, there was a frown on her face.

“You work out hard. Enjoy some food before you do.”

“Is it like that most places you go?” she asked as she looked in the bag.

“Most places that aren’t HEAT owned.”