Chapter 4 – Pleasing the Boss

“And her husband.” When he offers a hand to Hadrian, he wr*ps his free arm around me, with an air of possessiveness. It’s odd coming from him. He was the one who decided we didn’t need to wear rings. I’m usually the one who’s grabbing for his hand, eager to show people he’s mine.

Whether it’s out of jealousy or out of a husbandly duty to be protective of their wife around someone who is so obviously a predator, I’m grateful for the gesture.

Strangely, though, I felt more protected by Hadrian’s defense of my work than by this indication of ownership.

If Hadrian is surprised by the discovery that I’m married, he doesn’t show it. “You did some freelance at SNC in the past, didn’t you, Elvis? My father has mentioned he’d love to have you back.”

“I have,” Samuel agrees. “Perhaps, you’ll think about working with us on something again.”

I can practically feel Elvis vibrating, and for a horrific moment, I wonder if he’s going to forget that we’re a team and bail on me.

But of course he doesn’t. “I’d love to. But we’re a package deal these days.”

“Ah, well…of course. Makes sense.” Samuel is already writing us off. It’s always the men they want. The women are just extra weight. I feel unnecessarily guilty, and have to clench my jaw so that I don’t say something stupid and set Elvis free to discuss opportunities without me.

But maybe that’s the way to get me in. Let Elvis pave a road first.

Before I can make an impulsive decision on the matter, Hadrian speaks. “Hold on, Dad. Do you have something in mind, Elvis?”

“I do.”

His words momentarily negate the late nights sitting at the kitchen table, hours and hours of brainstorming together.

But then he fixes it. “We do, actually. Brystin and I. We’d love to discuss it with you sometime.”

And this is it. Our moment. The reason we wed in the first place, always hoping to get here. Our entire marriage is built on our shared ambition, on the notion that we’ll go further together than alone.

Right now, we see if that notion pays off.

Hadrian takes a beat, as though considering. The whole time, he’s looking at Elvis, but I feel his eyes like they’re still raking down my body the way they did in the elevator.

It’s overwhelming, and I move tighter into Elvis’s embrace, as though he’ll shield me.

“I’m having people over to my country house next weekend,” Hadrian says finally. “A creative retreat, so to say. I’d love for you to join.”

Samuel nods in approval. “Great idea.”

Hadrian’s invitation isn’t directed at me, and even though I hear Shiloh in my head, telling me to stand up for myself and work my way in, I keep my mouth shut and let Elvis accept.

But then Hadrian’s eyes are back on me for real. The intensity of his attention feels like a spotlight, and I feel both lit up and unprepared. “That’s enough time to get a substitute for the show?” he asks.

“Oh, me? You want me there, too?” I sound like an idiot, which is nothing compared to how I feel.

“I took the package deal to mean the two of you?” Something about the question is challenging. Makes me wonder if he’s asking something else, something I don’t know how to answer. Something I very much want to answer right.

“Yes, more than enough time.” Elvis jumps in because he’s not an idiot and not affected by blue-gray spotlight eyes.

“Good. I’ll send a car Friday morning.” He turns to his father, dismissing us with the physical shift of his body. “Have you met the Camdens yet? I’ll introduce you.”

And then they’re gone.

“He likes you.” Elvis watches after them.

I don’t know what’s worse. That he’s right? Or that I like it?

* * *

I kick my shoes off as soon as we walk into our apartment. With my feet free, my exhaustion no longer overwhelms my excitement, and now I feel like I’m walking on air.

“He had to know who you were in the elevator.” Elvis’s buzzing almost as much as I am. “Those segments he mentioned were not part of the recognition cl*p they showed.”

“He sure didn’t seem like it. Maybe someone just brought him up to speed later.” I throw my purse down on the entry table and take my phone with me. In the kitchen, I grab a banana and climb up one of the barstools.

Elvis follows after me. “He was too familiar with your work. He knew you.”

I look up from peeling the fruit. “Maybe?” If Hadrian did know who I was, it changes the moment in the elevator. He wouldn’t have said those words to someone he knew worked for one of his stations, would he?

I suppose it’s just as crazy if he’d said it to me thinking I was a stranger.

Not crazy—offensive. Offensive was definitely the word I was clinging to, even if my insides didn’t feel the same.

“Point is,” Elvis begins.

But I jump in, knowing exactly where he’s going. “Point is, we’re in.”

“We’re in.” He grins. Then pumps the air in a very un-Elvis gesture. “f**k yeah!”

I laugh and pick up my phone to check the text that just arrived.

He did not say that to you!

Of course, I told Shiloh the details of what happened in the elevator. There are husbands and there are besties. Anyone who doesn’t know the difference hasn’t had both.

He did!

I can’t decide if that’s rapey or hot. Tell me it was hot.

I think it was, in actuality, rapey, but I answer from my gut. Or lower than my gut, rather.

It was w*t-my-pa**ies hot.

My breath stutters thinking about it, and I have that stupid girl-crazy stomach flutter going on again.

I told you I was brilliant.

“Is that Shiloh? Is she taking the credit?” Elvis grabs a beer from the fridge. He’s high class professionally, drinking sophisticated liquors, but at home, he’s much more laid back. “This wasn’t her. It was all you.”

“And you,” I say as I type another message to Shiloh.

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