“Speaking of which,” he continued, “I’d like you to plan a dinner party for twenty guests in about two weeks. Does that give you enough time?”
“Of course.”
Two weeks?
Panic flipped her stomach inside out. How would she organize an entire party in two weeks? Well, she’d just have to.
This was why Elise matched her with Leo, and running his personal life was what she’d signed up for. She couldn’t lose sight of that. “I’d be happy to handle that for you. Can you email me the guest list?”
He nodded. “Tommy Garrett is the guest of honor. Make sure you pick a date he’s available. No point in having the party if he can’t be there. Any questions?”
A million and five. “Not right now. I’ll start on it immediately.”
That was the key to enduring a marriage that wasn’t a marriage. Jump into her job with both feet and keep so busy she didn’t have time to castigate herself. After all, if she’d begun to believe this marriage might become more than an arrangement because of a few sparks, it was her fault. Not Leo’s.
Her mother was being taken care of. Dannie was, too. Furthermore, she’d spoken her mind with as much blunt opinion as she could muster and Leo hadn’t kicked her out. What else could she possibly want? This was real life, not a fairy tale, and she had work to do.
She bid Leo good-night, her head full of party plans. It wasn’t until her cheek hit the pillow that she remembered the total discomfort on Leo’s face when he thought friendship had been code for sex.
If he expected her to get naked, get pleasured and get out, why wouldn’t he take immediate advantage of what he assumed she was offering?
* * *
Leo’s forehead thunked onto his desk, right in the middle of the clause outlining the expiration date for his proposal to finance Miles Bennett’s software company.
That woke him up in a hurry.
Why didn’t he go upstairs to bed? It was 3:00 a.m. Normal people slept at this time of night, but not him. No—Leo Reynolds had superpowers, granting him the ability to go days without sleep, because otherwise he’d get behind. John Hu had slipped through his fingers at the alumni gala and was even now working with another backer. It should have been Leo. Could have been Leo, if he’d been on his game.
And not spending a good portion of his energy recalling his wife’s soft and gorgeous smile. Or how much he enjoyed seeing her on the porch waiting for him, the way she had been tonight.
Sleep was for weaker men.
Younger men.
He banished that thought. Thirty-five—thirty-six in two months—wasn’t old. But lately he felt every day of his age. Ten years ago he could have read contracts and proposals until dawn and then inhaled a couple of espressos to face the day with enthusiasm.
Now? Not so much. And it would only get worse as he approached forty. He had to make every day count while he could. No distractions. No seductive, tantalizing friendships that would certainly turn into more than he could allow.
Maybe he should up his workout regimen from forty-five minutes a day to an hour. Eat a little better instead of shoveling takeout into his mouth while he hunched over his desk at the office.
Gentle hands on his shoulders woke him.
“Leo,” Daniella murmured as she pressed against his arm. “You fell asleep at your desk.”
He bolted upright. Blearily, he glanced up at Daniella and then at his watch. Six-thirty. Normally he was already at work by now.
“Thanks for waking me up,” he croaked and cleared his throat. “I don’t know how that happened.”
She lifted a brow. “Because you were tired?”
Her stylish dress was flowery and flirty, but clearly altered to fit perfectly, and her hair hung loose down her back. Flawlessly applied makeup accentuated her face and plumped her lips and he tore his gaze away from them.
“Besides that.” He shuffled the Miles Bennett proposal back into some semblance of order without another glance at his wife. Though he wanted to soak in the sight of her. How did she look so amazing this early in the morning?
“Let me make you a cup of coffee,” she offered and perched a hip on his desk as if she planned to stay awhile.
“I have to go. I’m late.”
She stopped him with a warm hand on his bare forearm, below his rolled-up sleeve. “It’s Saturday. Take ten minutes for coffee. I’d like to make it for you. Indulge me.”
The plea in her eyes unhitched something inside. After he’d thrown up barrier upon barrier, she still wanted to make him coffee. How could he gracefully refuse? “Thanks. Let me take a quick a shower and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
The shower cleared the mist of sleep from his mind. He dressed in freshly pressed khakis and a button-down shirt instead of a suit since it was Saturday. A concession he couldn’t recall making before. What had possessed him to do it today?
When he walked into the kitchen, the rich, roasted smell of coffee greeted him only a moment before his wife did.
She smiled and handed him a steaming mug. “Perfect timing.”
He took a seat at the inlaid bistro table off the kitchen and sipped. Liquid heaven slid down his throat. He wasn’t surprised she’d somehow mastered brewing a cup of coffee to his tastes. “You even got the half-and-half right.”
“Practice makes perfect.” She slid into the opposite seat and folded her hands into her lap serenely.
Something in her tone piqued his interest. “How long have you been practicing?”
“Since the wedding.” She shrugged, and her smile made light of the admission. “I’ve been trying to get up before you every morning so I could make you coffee. Today’s the first day I succeeded.”
The coffee didn’t go down as smoothly on the next sip. Why had she put so much effort into something so meaningless? “That wasn’t part of our agreement. You should sleep as late as you want.”
“Our agreement includes making sure your life runs fluidly, especially at home. If you want coffee in the morning, it’s my job to ensure you get it.”
My job.
Daniella was in the employee box in his head, but he’d never expected her to view herself that way. Of course, why would she view herself any differently when all he talked about was their arrangement?
The cup of coffee—and the ironed clothes, ready at a moment’s notice—took on implications of vast proportions. Everything EA International promised, he’d received. Daniella had slipped into her role as if she’d always been his wife. The staff liked her and already deferred to her judgment, which freed him from having to deal with the cook’s grocery account or the gardener’s questions about seasonal
