Arranged(44)

She glared at me. I liked that too. “Please,” she gritted out.

I grinned. “Aren’t you a bit young to be someone’s mommy?”

That lit a challenging, almost smug look in her eyes. I knew it meant she was about to goad me in some kind of way. “We’re friends. She’s only a few years younger than me. Actually, she’s a lot closer to my age than you are.”

Gorgeous little brat. It worked. Point to her.

Abruptly, I dropped the subject and left the room.

There was no food being prepared in the kitchen. I took up the job myself. No breakfast my ass.

I’d make sure she ate something decent (only because I knew she wouldn’t eat if I didn’t) and then I swore to myself that I was outta here.

The rest of my wife’s team had gone back into their holes.

All that was left was a teenaged model drinking coffee and watching me like I was her favorite TV program.

I studied the contents of the refrigerator. At least it was adequately stocked.

“Does she like omelets?” I asked the girl.

“I have no idea,” she answered. “We don’t really have breakfast around here.”

“So I’ve heard. We’re having it today.”

“I’m Jovie,” she told me cheerfully.

“Banks,” I responded automatically. Everyone had always called me by my middle name. Everyone except my wife. Why did that realization make me flinch all of a sudden?

“So are you like living here or something now?” she asked bluntly.

I sent our bold little houseguest a flat stare. “Are you?” I returned.

“Yep,” she answered without hesitation. “I’m your wife’s roommate,” she added with incorrigible sass. “And her bestie. We’ve been inseparable since we met.”

I felt a pang of something unpleasant move through me. Jealousy, thick and bitter, shifted around inside of me, making itself right at home. It settled deep, lodging itself down into my gut. I knew the emotion, but I wasn’t certain of the why of it here. I couldn’t possibly be resentful that my wife had a friend. Even I wasn’t that much of a bastard, right?

I was dishing up the first omelet when my wife walked up to the bar that looked into the kitchen. I placed it in front of her, trying not to take in the sight of her in more than the smallest bites.

She was wearing gym clothes, if you could even call them clothes. A white sports bra and teeny tiny shorts. I tore my gaze determinedly away from her body.

She opened her mouth, to turn down food, I was sure, but I stopped that in its tracks. “You’re eating. I know that you drank more than you’re accustomed to last night, and you need food. I don’t want to hear a word of protest.”

She met my eyes squarely. “Thank you,” she said simply.

She took the food to her large, round dining table.

Damn, she was hard to read.

I made two more omelets. One for Jovie and one for myself. Right before I took my plate to the table, Chester and Vincent returned to the apartment and made themselves right at home.

I felt a tick start up in my temple as I watched Chester casually take the seat next to my wife.

The only empty seat left next to her, as Jovie had her other side.

The bastard had some nerve.

He seemed to notice me for the first time. He grinned. He leaned back, kicking the chair opposite him out from underneath the table. “Here ya go, boss.”

The tick intensified. I tried my best not to react. I calmly sat and started eating.

“What are our plans for today, Duchess?” Chester asked my wife. He was smiling fondly at her, looking directly into her eyes.

And her. She was smiling back at him with unabashed warmth! Vaguely I heard my fork clatter onto my plate. I glanced down. My hands were both in fists.

I looked around the table. Chester and Vincent were looking at her with unmistakable affection.

Like they were one big happy family.

What the hell was happening here? These men were paid to guard and drive my money hungry wife. Yet here they were acting like she was a Disney fucking princess and they were a couple of mice about to burst into song.

My wife was speaking, answering his question, but I couldn’t hear her over the roaring in my ears. Chester said something and she laughed. It was a real laugh, beautiful and genuine, and I hated that she was laughing like that for him.

Eventually I got the word out that had lodged itself in my throat. It came out in a loud growl that burst through the room and interrupted the happy little fucking exchange. “Duchess?” I asked.

Her face froze. Her smile fell. She flushed. “It’s a nickname,” she explained. “I’m not even sure how it started. Chester’s just always called me that.”

I looked at him. He met my eyes, not backing down whatsoever. “Doesn’t it suit her?” he asked casually. Insolently. “She always struck me as a proper lady.”

“It’s perfect,” Jovie piped in. My gaze swung to her. She was smiling with some sort of keyed up, wicked glee. “She’s a total, extra as fuck Duchess. You nailed it, Chester.”

Abruptly I stood. “I’m late for a meeting,” I said. A cursory excuse, though it might have been true. I couldn’t remember any of my plans. It had been a strange, completely out of my control morning. I took that control back by leaving without another word.