Chapter 60

60

Edward

"Didn’t expect to see you at poker." Sinclair blows out a cloud of cigar smoke from the other side of the poker table. "Shouldn’t you be on your honeymoon?"

"Been there; done that." I train my focus on my cards. The image blurs in front of my eyes. I reach for my twentieth—or is it my thirtieth?—cup of coffee of the day in a bid to clear my vision. This is what happens when you’re running on three hours of sleep. I'm lucky I caught that. And only because I managed to snag her nightshirt from the laundry basket and buried my face in it. Y-e-a-p, I'm the pathetic sod who can’t fall asleep without sniffing his wife’s scent. That’s what I’ve been reduced to since she moved into a spare bedroom down the hall. That’s what she asked of me, and I couldn’t say no. At least, she's still under my roof. That has to count for something.

It's been a week, and I’ve missed her every second of it. She also took charge of the on-site-nursery and had it up and running in five days. When that woman sets her mind to something, nothing gets in her way. To be fair, I'd already prepared the space and purchased the necessary supplies, but she interviewed, hired, promoted, and managed the hell out of it. I managed to watch from afar, managed not to interfere, managed to even have the cameras and bugs on her phones and Kindle de-activated, managed not to have any new ones installed in her guest room or in her new car. I can’t lie to her on this again. Can’t justify looking her in the eye and saying I haven’t stuck to my word.

It almost killed me, but I did it. And if it means I follow her in my car to and from work, at a distance, to make sure she reaches her destination safely? Well, that's not a crime. I'm not engaging anyone else to do it. I'm doing what any good husband should do; I'm looking out for my wife.

Good thing no one around the table knows that.

"He doesn’t look like he’s been on his honeymoon. In fact, it doesn’t look he’s been on holiday at all." This, from Knox.

"Shut the fuck up," I grumble.

"It’s the early days of being married, you’d be better off bonding with your other half and all that." This, from Nathan, who sounds like he doesn’t give a fuck, either way.

"Who invited you here, again?" I frown.

"I did." Sinclair rolls the cigar to the other side of his mouth. "You don’t mind, do you, ol’ chap?"

I glare at him, but he merely shrugs. Of all the people, Sinclair should know Nathan is not on my list of favorite people, but he went ahead and invited him. Which is his way of telling me I need to build bridges with this man who's an equal decision maker in Davenport Industries. Or rather, equal decision-maker after my grandfather, considering he hasn’t yet handed off full control to me. And Sinclair’s right. Arthur has shown he trusts Nathan as much as me.

Given my adoptive father, Arthur’s oldest son wants nothing to do with him, and my biological father who is also Nathan’s father is dead, it makes Nathan his oldest grandson and the logical successor to Arthur’s fortune. It also makes him my closest competitor for the position of my grandfather’s heir.

Strangely, that doesn’t bother me the way it might have before I met my wife.

Before I realized the most important thing in the world is taking care of her—her safety, her security, her happiness, her future. All of that takes precedence. It’s disconcerting and, also, grounding, in an unexpected fashion. It’s why I don’t rise to the bait when Nathan nods his chin in my direction. "Trouble in paradise, I take it?"

"None of your business," I growl.

"It’s affecting your performance at work, so it is my business."

I still, then glance up from my cards. "Explain?"

"You missed a crucial loophole in the takeover documentation for the Young Group. Of course, I spotted it and fixed it prior to signing the deal."

"What loophole?"

"One that would have cost us close to a million dollars, but it’s been taken care of."

"I don’t let loopholes slip by me."

"You did, this time." He jams his cigar between his lips. "Might have to do with the fact you leveraged this takeover for your marriage, and?—"

I reach over and grab his collar, then haul him forward. "Shut the fuck up."

He smiles, the satisfaction in his eyes showing he’s proven his point by getting a rise out of me.

"Let him go," Sinclair snaps.

I glare at Nathan. His smile grows wider. I tighten my hold on his collar, then release him. He sits back; so do I. But our gazes are locked.

"Thought you could control your temper better," he says in a mild voice.

"What do you want?" I square my shoulders. "Why did you accept Arthur’s proposition of sharing the veto power?"

"I have enough money, thanks to my investments. What this brings me, is power...and the breadth of control that comes from being the joint CEO of the Davenport group."

"Joint CEO?" I frown. That’s when my phone vibrates. I glance at the screen to find Arthur’s name on the caller ID. I fix my gaze on Nathan and answer: “Arthur?”

There’s silence, then, “I’m only G-Pa when your wife is around, I take it?”

It’s my turn to stay quiet.

Arthur sighs. “What I’m going to tell you is going to upset you.”

“You don’t say?” I ask dryly.

“You’re newly married, and I want you to focus on your wife, and?—’

“Cut the bullshit and give it to me straight.”

He blows out a breath. “I want you to share the CEO role with Nathan.”

I glance up at Nathan, who’s watching my reaction. He was expecting Arthur to call me, no doubt. I roll my shoulders. Somehow, I’m not as pissed off as I should be to hear this news from my grandfather. Maybe my wife is already softening me up? That must be the reason I haven't lost my temper yet. In fact, the thought of not having to shoulder the decision-making role on my own, having another ear with whom to discuss the daily challenges, is a relief. It means I’ll have more time to devote to my wife. In fact, the thought of not being CEO, at all— nope, not going there. You’re not giving up the role you’ve been angling for because a woman, are you? Nope, no way, am I conceding defeat to Nathan already. Not when I know Arthur’s proposing this joint-CEO deal as some kind of test to ascertain who is best placed to be his successor. “Is that all?” I bark into the phone.

“Yes, I wanted to be the one to tell you?—”

I hang up the phone. Yes, I hung up on my grandfather, the Chairman of the company. Yes, I should be more worried about the repercussions of my actions, but given I have him on the defensive, given he went back on his word and decided to make me not the CEO, but the joint -CEO of the Davenport group of companies, somehow, I doubt I have much to worry about. And if he’s upset? I couldn’t give a shit about it. Considering all I want to do is get out of here and back to my wife.

Nathan raises the cigar to his lips. "I take it, Arthur told you he’s decided it’s best you share the role with me?”

“I take it, you’re not aware I’ve won this round?” I place my cards on the table, face up. It’s a straight flush. Knox throws his cards down in disgust. Sinclair shakes his head and tosses his hand on the table.

Nathan slowly reveals his. I take in his Ace, King, Queen, Jack and Ten of Diamonds. "Guess it's me who wins." He smirks.

"Guess I let you win." I drain my coffee and rise to my feet. "I’m not giving up control of the company without a fight."

"Anything less, and it would be boring." He tilts his head.

I jerk my chin at Sinclair and Knox, then walk out of there and to my car. By the time I reach home, the anger inside me has coiled around my guts and poisoned my veins. I march up the stairs and throw open the door to her room, but she’s not there. I enter, and it feels like I’ve stepped into a garden of apple blossoms. I’m instantly hard. My heart picks up speed. And my mind…

It begins to replay how it was to tie her up and bend her over the bed and fuck her. How it felt to fall asleep inside her and wake up and push my face in between her legs. How it felt to curve my body around hers and hold her while she snored those ladylike snores. I sit on the bed, reach for her discarded blouse and bring it to my face, and sniff. Mistake. My balls harden, and my pants tighten until I’m sure I’m going to come in them.

I drop her blouse and glance around the space, taking in her cosmetics on the dressing table, the half open door to her closet, the towel she’s slung over the bathroom handle. Her books are on the bedside table, one of them annotated with post-it’s sticking out from between the pages. The drawer below is half open. I walk around and pull it all the way, spying some very interesting gadgets.

Is this why she wanted to move to another room? So, she could pleasure herself…without my knowledge? So, she could orgasm while thinking of someone else? So, she could torture me with images of her moaning herself to sleep with some inanimate objects inside her while I'm harder than a stallion on a stud farm in the room nearby? I snatch up one of the vibrators, something thick and long and veiny, but I’m proud to say, it’s not thicker or longer, or as veiny as my cock.

She could have the real thing; but instead, she’s here stuffing this lifeless dildo inside her pussy… Inside my pussy. I bring it to my nose and sniff, and it’s as if I’m back between her thighs. Fuck. I take another deep breath, when the hair on the back of my neck rises. I turn toward the door and find her standing there. She’s wearing a pink skirt which stretches across her thick thighs, and a matching jacket with a blouse underneath that dips toward the valley of her cleavage. Color flushes the column of her throat, up her cheeks. "What are you doing here?"