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“Several months. But it’s not because I’ve been stuck in my work. I need a physical connection with someone to have sex.”
“And who was the woman you had sex with months ago?”
“An old friend. Too much alcohol and reminiscing had us ending up in bed together. It was a mistake. She was on a break from her long-term relationship.”
“Erika?”
Foster’s forehead creases. “Not Erika. I loved her. I didn’t love this woman.”
“Why did it end with Erika?”
Foster sighs. “I was a jerk. A selfish asshole. I broke her heart, and I regret what I did.”
“Will you regret our marriage too?”
“I don’t think so. This is a business deal, and I’m not in danger of breaking your heart.”
“I guess not.” I turn to look out the window at the sun sinking in the sky. This is not going to be easy.
Living with Foster has taken time to adjust to. He is set in his ways. He likes to get up early, workout, eat a breakfast of steel-cut oatmeal, raisins, and honey and drink a strong cup of coffee while he scrolls through his emails. Sometimes, I doubt he has any clue I’m in the same room as him. We travel to work together and spend our lunch hour in his office if he doesn’t have a meeting.
For all his talk of cooking for me, it hasn’t happened in the six weeks I’ve lived with him. When we’re home together, Foster leaves me to my own devices. If I didn’t pass him in the hallway on the way to the kitchen, it would feel like I live alone. I try to keep myself busy, and I’ve started to workout in the evenings in the building’s gym. It’s large and often unoccupied after six in the evening. I can huff and puff and make as many grunting noises as I want without worry that someone will hear me.
Tonight, I’m soaking after I finish on the step machine. My hamstrings ache with exertion, and I need a hot shower. It’s well after eight when I arrive upstairs.
“Paige, please come in here,” Foster calls out to me from his office as I walk down the hall to my bedroom.
I look horrible. My hair is as heavy with sweat as my clothing, but I push the door open and find Foster leaning back in his chair with his laptop open, shirtless. I suck in my breath at the sight of his lean, sculpted torso and chest. It’s the first time I’ve seen him with a shirt off, and I can only hope he’s wearing something below.
“Did we have fun this afternoon?” he growls, grabbing a crystal tumbler from his desk, draining it of the clear liquid inside.
“Foster, what the fuck is your problem.”
He flips the laptop around, which shows security footage of me in the lobby. I went down during the afternoon to get a cup of coffee from the small café rather than drink the sludge from the kitchen. I’m speaking to another man, then reach out to touch his arm as we laugh.
“That’s none of your business,” I say defensively. “He’s a friend.”
“What kind of friend? A former lover?”
I clench my fists and come closer to his desk. “You can’t tell me who I can and can’t be friends with. You’re acting like a jealous boyfriend. This is a business deal, remember?”
“I remember, but I wonder if you do.”
The smell of alcohol is thick on Foster’s breath, taking up the space between us. I place my hands on my hips and widen my stance.
“I do. You keep reminding me, so how can I forget,” I growl back.
“This makes me look like an ass. You’re touching another man in public.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No, I’m deadly serious.”
“Stefan is a friend from college! I haven’t seen him in ages.”
“A friend or you fucked him?”
“You might fuck those you call friends, but I don’t.”
