BULL (The Buck Boys Heroes Book 1) Page 6

  “We will.” Graham nods sagely.

  I glance in his direction to find him staring at me.

  I arch an eyebrow before I turn my attention back to Lloyd. “Goodnight, Mr. Abdon.”

  “Goodnight, Mrs. Locke.” He winks. “I sure like the sound of that.”

  That makes one of us.

  I can’t wait until I can drop this lie, so that I can go back to my simple life as Trina Shaw.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Graham

  “Trina,” I call out my assistant’s name as soon as I notice something is out of place.

  She glances in the direction of my office. “Yes, sir?”

  I curl a finger to urge her toward me. “I need to speak with you in private.”

  Pushing back from her desk, she glances to the right and then to the left. “This is private.”

  She’s right, of course.

  I inherited this office from Lloyd when he decided to retire. It’s tucked away from the other offices of the executives of the company. They have to tug open a heavy glass door, trudge down a long corridor, turn a corner and pass Miss Shaw before they have access to me.

  No one, but the two of us, is present at the moment.

  “Come in my office now, Miss Shaw.”

  She skims a palm over the front of the skirt she’s wearing. If there’s anything I can depend on day-to-day, it’s that my assistant will always be wearing a plain blouse and a pencil skirt.

  The color of the garments varies, as do the shoes she chooses to wear, but she sticks to the same script every day.

  I’m not complaining.

  I admired the red skirt and white blouse she has on in my kitchen this morning when I wandered in there after the aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted me.

  I found her settled on a stool next to the island with Lloyd by her side.

  He was eating a bowl filled with what looked like oatmeal, fresh fruit, and some seeds sprinkled over the top of it.

  There wasn’t a portion waiting for me. I didn’t expect there to be. Miss Shaw signed on as my wife, not my personal chef.

  After she left for the office, I spent an hour with Lloyd before I promised him I’d stop at home mid-day to check on him.

  Trina brushes past me as she enters my office.

  I can’t help but notice the soft scent of her perfume, or perhaps that’s just her.

  When the door clicks shut, she turns to face me.

  I stay silent while she takes in the gray suit and light blue button-down shirt I’m wearing. I pride myself on looking impeccable every single day.

  I’m the CEO of a globally recognized designer watch brand.

  When Lloyd handed me the reins to the company, he reminded me that I’m the brand ambassador and to live my life accordingly.

  I have, for the most part.

  “What can I help you with?” My wife asks in a soft tone.

  My cock hardens, as it has every fucking time I’ve been within ten feet of her since we were married two days ago.

  I don’t know if it’s her voice, or her body, or a combination of that and the fact that she’s effortlessly beautiful, but it’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore my dick’s reaction to her.

  I look at her left hand. “Your rings, Trina. Where are they?”

  That sends her gaze to my hands. “You’re wearing your ring? Why?”

  “Because we’re married.”

  She gives her head a slight shake. “I’m aware.”

  I wait for her to expand on that, but she takes on the stance of a woman about to defend her position. Her feet part slightly as her hands fall to her hips.

  This is in no way helping me in my battle to overcome this erection.

  “You agreed to be my wife for three months,” I remind her as I cross my arms over my chest. “If I wasn’t clear, that was three months full-time. Twenty-four hours a day, Trina.”

  Her right hand darts to her left hand. I watch as she rubs her bare ring finger. “I see other people all day, sir. I don’t want anyone who works here asking me who I married.”

  I considered that, along with every other possible complication.

  “They are bound to find out.”

  “Why?” She sighs. “Aren’t we doing all of this for Mr. Abdon’s benefit only? Why drag anyone else into this farce?”

  “Farce?” I fight back a chuckle.

  “The word fits,” she insists. “This is a farce. It’s a sham. We are pulling the wool over Lloyd’s eyes, and I, for one, feel shitty about it.”

  As do I, but I’d feel a whole lot shittier if I didn’t grant him the wish of seeing me married to Miss Shaw before he dies.

  “We are making him happy,” I remind her.

  Her eyes search my face. “I still feel guilty about it.”

  I’d admit the same, but I’ve learned that guilt can be viewed as a burden or an opportunity for real change. If you take that emotion and channel it into something useful, the weight of it lessens.

  At least, that’s what I tell myself.

  “I haven’t asked,” she begins as she drops her gaze to the floor. “I haven’t wanted to intrude, but I’ve been wondering about Mr. Abdon and his condition. What exactly is wrong with him?”

  “It’s his heart.”

  “His heart,” she repeats.

  Nodding, I shift back to the subject at hand, or the subject about what’s not on her hand. “I need you to wear the rings, Trina. If Lloyd stops by and you’re not wearing them, that’s a discussion neither of us wants or needs.”

  Her eyes widen. “He’s coming here today?”

  Feeling as though I finally have her full attention, I shrug. “He’s unpredictable.”

  “I locked the rings in my desk drawer.” She drops her gaze to her left hand. “I’ll put them back on, sir, but we need to agree on what to tell everyone.”

  “Everyone?” I question. “Like who?”

  “Like Kay,” she tosses out the name of one of our designers.

  Kay is a holdover from Lloyd’s days. She’s still working on designs that hit the market hard decades ago. I haven’t used one of her ideas since I took control of the company.

  “We’ll tell Kay, and anyone else who asks, that we’re married.”

  It sounds reasonable, but judging by the look of confusion on my wife’s face, I missed the mark with my suggestion.

  “We’ll tell her that it started with innocent flirting, and then we went out for a drink after work,” she says softly. “That led to dinner and a night of talking. Fate took over from there, and it became a whirlwind romance.”

  Impressed, I nod. “I can work with that.”

  “Three months from now, I’ll tell the staff that…”

  “You realized that my attitude is more than you can deal with,” I interrupt. “You decided to leave me because the flame that was burning brightly was extinguished by my raging level of assholeness.”

  “Assholeness?” she repeats. “That actually fits.”

  That should sting, but it’s fuel for my erection. I harden even more.

  “Put your wedding rings back on,” I say to chase her out of my office.

  I don’t need my wife to glance down to catch my body’s reaction to her.

  “Yes, sir,” she says with a smirk.

  Jesus. How the fuck will I survive being fake married to this woman when all I can think about is that kiss we shared last night and how I want more?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Trina

  I circle the block for the third time, gazing up as I pass Graham’s building.

  He left the office before me.

  I’d say he snuck out, but Mr. Locke isn’t a sneak. He’s bold and unapologetic. He’s also forgetful at times. That happened this afternoon when he left his office while I was on my coffee break.

  I came back, plopped my ass down in the comfy leather chair behind my desk, and started talking to him about a shipment of watches bound for San Francisco.
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  When he didn’t huff out an acknowledgment, I finally turned to find his office empty.

  It wasn’t until twenty minutes later that he sent me a text message telling me that he had gone home to work.

  I have to go up to the penthouse to pretend to be his wife, but I need another minute as my alter ego Trina Shaw before I do that.

  “Mrs. Locke?”

  Hearing that stops me so abruptly that the person behind me runs into the back of me.

  She doesn’t apologize. All I get from her is a sneer as she rounds me and continues her trek down the crowded sidewalk.

  “Mrs. Locke, over here.”

  I search the faces that pass me, wondering who the hell knows that I’m married to Graham.

  When I see the doorman with his arm raised in the air, I sigh.

  I wave back at him. “Hey.”

  I’ve never had a doorman, so I have zero understanding of how to greet one properly. I assume that I’m supposed to put some money in his hand when he does open the door for me.

  I lucked out yesterday when I arrived with my suitcase. I snuck in after another tenant. This morning, there wasn’t a doorman in sight when I left to go to work.

  “Are you lost?” he asks with a tilt of his head.

  The answer to that is too complicated to get into with him, so I shake my head.

  “You’ve passed the building three times in the past fifteen minutes,” he points out.

  Considering the fact that I’m wearing heels, that’s impressive.

  I’ve never joined a gym. My workouts have always consisted of strolling around the city and doing lunges in my living room. When I feel inclined to lift weights, I go to Brooklyn since my sister, Clara, keeps five-pound hand weights in the kitchen of the bakery.

  I fit in a sisterly visit and an arm workout all at once.

  “I do my best thinking on my walk to work,” he admits. “I sense you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

  He has no idea.

  A million thoughts are racing through my head, including the way Graham kissed me last night.

  I was going to bring it up at work, but it felt out of place.

  Now, I’m not sure I should mention it at all. He was playing the part of the devoted husband. I’m not an expert on kissing, but to me, it was an Oscar-worthy performance.

  I drop my gaze to the doorman’s nametag. “I was getting my steps in for the day, Eugene.”

  He looks at my wrist. “Do you have one of those fancy watches that count steps, heart rate, and calories?”

  If I did, I’d never look at it.

  Simple is best in my world.

  I take as many steps as I need to get where I’m going. My heart rate has only spiked recently when I’ve been near my husband. As for calories, I eat as healthy as I can, except for when I go to Brooklyn.

  I can’t walk out of the bakery without sampling something. That’s tradition.

  “I don’t.” I turn my arm to show him the Abdons watch on my wrist.

  I found it at a vintage store called Past Over years ago. I didn’t realize what a true treasure it was until I started working for Mr. Locke.

  He pushes up the sleeve of his jacket to show me a watch with a black leather band. “Me either.”

  I note the time on his watch and realize that if I’m going to cook dinner again, I need to get upstairs.

  “I’ll walk you to the elevator,” Eugene offers.

  I loop my hand around his offered elbow. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Locke.”

  I know this will cost me a dollar or two, but I stroll through the lobby next to him, feeling slightly less lost than I did ten minutes ago.

  I step off of the elevator to find my husband and Lloyd standing side-by-side.

  Graham has lost the tie and jacket he had on at the office. The button-down shirt he’s wearing is open at the collar. His shirtsleeves are still held in place by cufflinks, so I’m not going to get the bonus treat of a view of his bare arms today.

  I take a second to wonder whether the tattoo on his forearm is the only one he has.

  I’ll never find out.

  “Trina!” Mr. Abdon comes at me with his arms outstretched. “I was getting worried.”

  My gaze drifts to Graham as I let Lloyd take me in a hug.

  My boss doesn’t look like a man who is concerned about his tardy spouse. He’s sporting his signature ‘what the fuck?’ look.

  I didn’t realize I had a curfew.

  I pull back from Lloyd. “I’ll get started on dinner.”

  I arranged for a grocery delivery less than an hour ago. I decided we’d eat salmon tonight with rice pilaf and steamed broccoli.

  “No need.” Lloyd beams as he looks at me. “I’m having dinner brought in.”

  My gaze volleys from him to Graham. “That’s not necessary. I can change and have dinner on the table in thirty minutes.”

  Lloyd holds a fist to the center of his chest. “I’ll be long gone in thirty minutes.”

  Given the condition of his health, I try not to take that literally. “What do you mean?”

  “I have plans,” he explains. “I’ll be out for a couple of hours. That will give you two enough time to enjoy your special meal and perhaps some dessert.”

  He tosses my husband a wink.

  I narrow my gaze, concerned that he’s overdoing it. “You’re going out?”

  “I’m leaving now.” He moves to press the elevator call button. “Don’t wait up for me. I promise I’ll head straight to my room once I’m home.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Graham

  I’d bow out of this dinner, but I suspect Lloyd is paying the woman who showed up thirty minutes ago to spy on Trina and me.

  She’s wearing a chef’s coat and is preparing something in the kitchen, but the way she keeps popping back into the dining room is a dead giveaway that her job entails more than putting food on the table tonight.

  Since she arrived, she’s asked me three times if I need anything.

  The only thing I need is for my wife to reappear.

  She ran off in the direction of my bedroom after Lloyd left.

  I expected as much. I’ve asked a great deal of Miss Shaw the past few days, but she is being generously compensated, so I expect her to at least make an appearance before the night is over.

  “I brought a bottle of wine,” the chef announces as she peers around the corner yet again. “Should I open that now, or would you rather I wait for your wife to join us?”

  I’d rather it was a bottle of aged scotch, but liars can’t be choosers.

  “I’m sorry that took so long,” Trina apologizes as she approaches from behind the chef. “I wanted to change before dinner.”

  I didn’t bother to swap out my suit pants and button-down shirt. I can’t say the same for my wife.

  Her skirt and blouse have been replaced with a red dress that’s cinched at her waist with a thin belt. The shoes on her feet are strappy with low heels.

  She’s braided her hair to one side.

  I not only feel underdressed, but I feel unworthy of this.

  She’s fucking breathtaking.

  “Do I look all right?” she asks before she spins in a circle.

  “You’re beautiful,” the chef whispers. “Wow.”

  I wholeheartedly agree with her assessment, so I chime in. “You look lovely, Trina.”

  She smiles before her attention falls on the face of the chef. “I’m Trina. It’s really nice to meet you.”

  That sets the gray-haired woman back a step. She skims a palm over the front of her white chef’s jacket before she offers her hand to my wife. “I’m Bette.”

  They exchange a soft handshake as Trina closes her eyes briefly. “Whatever you’re cooking smells like heaven. Can I help you with anything?”

  Bette lets out a light-hearted chuckle. “That’s not necessary, but thank you.”

  “If you change your mind, yo
u know where to find me.” Trina smiles.

  The chef glances in my direction. “Should I open the wine now, Mr. Locke?”

  “Please.” I nod. “You can serve dinner as soon as it’s ready.”

  “You can’t rush perfection,” Trina chimes in. “Don’t feel the need to hurry, Bette. Graham and I want you to take all the time you need.”

  I don’t want that.

  I want to strip that dress from my wife’s body and take her to bed, but since that’s not an option, I want to eat dinner and race out of here with an excuse about needing to take care of a work issue.

  Surely, Lloyd won’t question that when he receives his surveillance report from Bette.

  As soon as the chef is out of view, Trina turns to me. “I didn’t want her to feel pressured. I know what it’s like when you want something done right now, sir.”

  The fact that ‘sir’ keeps popping out from between her bee-stung lips is a problem, but I’m not going to correct her this time.

  It’s rousing something within me.

  Something dangerous and completely out of the realm of possibility.

  I can’t fuck my wife.

  I chant that to myself while she studies my face waiting for me to respond.

  I’m saved by the reappearance of Bette with a bottle of Merlot in one hand and two wine glasses in the other.

  She’s not only bothersome, but she’s also laser fast.

  I wait while she pours a splash of wine in one of the glasses and offers it to me for my approval. I skip past the expected sniff and small taste and instead gulp down every last drop.

  “I take that as a sign it’s good to go,” Bette mutters under her breath.

  She half-fills the other glass for my wife before she does the same with mine.

  As Bette heads back to the kitchen, Trina turns to me and raises her glass in the air. “To red wine.”

  “To red wine and red dresses.” I follow that with a slow sip as I rake my gaze over my wife.

  Leave it to me to marry the most stunning woman on the planet. She just also happens to be the woman who wants nothing to do with me outside of the office and our temporary arrangement.