Page 98 of The Wrong Groom

ME: So do you, Mrs. Thorne.

ALEXIS: You’re right. Because if you were here right now, and you were hard for me, I don’t think I could stop myself from dropping to my knees, no matter who was watching.

Heat begins to gather under the collar of my button-up shirt. I reach up to loosen my tie a bit, then start to type a response, my fingers flying over my phone’s screen.

ME: Fuck, that’s my filthy girl. Would you open that perfect little mouth for

The sound of someone clearing their throat startles me before I can finish the sext. I slam my phone down on the desk, hiding the screen from view, and try to compose myself.

Tristan is standing in the doorway of my office, leaning against the frame. He wears a knowing expression, one eyebrow raised.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says. “Got a minute?”

“Yeah, sure.” I slide my phone off the edge of the desk and fire off a quick text to Alexis.

ME: Shit, sorry, Tristan just walked into my office. Give me a minute. I DEFINITELY want to know where those texts were going..

“What’s up?”

He steps into the room, closing the door behind him. His eyes flicker briefly to my phone, then back to me. “I came in to talk about the market reports, but… well. You’ve seemed distracted lately. Anything you want to talk about?”

His tone is pointed, almost teasing. Instinctively, I bristle a bit.

“I’ve just been preoccupied with FlashUp,” I say. I glance at my second monitor out of the corner of my eye. Muted, Alexis is still talking to the camera, running her fingers over a skein of smooth silk. I minimize the tab quickly before Tristan can see it.

He clicks his tongue. “Right, right. Of course you are.” He paces forward, then pauses. “But you’ve been busy with FlashUp since last year, and this is a recent change. Are you sure it doesn’t have something to do with a certain redhead?”

“Oh, shut up,” I mutter.

He grins, clearly aware he’s hit the nail directly on the head. “That’s what I thought.” He takes one of the empty armchairs facing my desk, folding his hands on his lap. “Well, spill. What’s going on with you and Alexis?”

“None of your⁠—”

“Dude, I’m a listening ear. Anything you say in this room is strictly confidential. Doesn’t leave these four walls. I swear.”

I heave a sigh, leaning back in my chair. It can’t hurt to confide in Tristan a little. In fact, it might help to talk about it out loud, even if it’s just to get my thoughts in order. I glance at Tristan, who’s already looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to crack.

“Alright, fine,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. “Yeah. Things are… not what I expected them to be.”

“How so?”

“I thought this whole marriage situation would be… different. Uncomfortable. A pain in the ass.” I pause for a moment, thinking, then add, “And simple.”

“And it’s none of those things,” Tristan guesses. “Certainly not simple.”

“No. It’s not.” I shake my head. “I thought I would put three years in, like the will says, then split up and go back to how things used to be. Me and Peyton, on our own. I thought I’d be, I don’t know… detached.”

Tristan smirks. “And how’s that working out for you?”

I shoot him a look, then huff a mirthless laugh. “It’s not, if you can believe it.”

“I can,” he says. “I’ve been there.”

“I think about her all the time,” I admit. Hell, I’m thinking about her right now. Minimizing the FlashUp window doesn’t do anything to keep her out of my head. I can still see her in my mind’s eye, walking around her workshop space, beaming from ear to ear as she explains some technical equipment she’s having installed.

Tristan nods sagely. “Yeah, you do.”

“She got a call the other day from Travis Whitaker. You know him? He’s a venture guy. He was the Beaumonts’ second choice for the whole marriage deal.”