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I stared at him, incredulous. ‘Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking of buying Fabrizio’s company p>
‘Why not? Then I could move the HQ to Skyline and you wouldn’t have to travel p>
I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or glare. “That’s not how this works p>
He didn’t seem put off.
‘Look, if everything goes smoothly, I’ll be back in a week. Maybe sooner. I don’t need a babysitter. And this
is my job. I don’t just show up at your office uninvited and tell you what to do, do I p>
He eyed me sharply. ‘You could turn up anytime. You don’t need an invitation, you’re my wife p>
‘Fiancée,‘ I corrected automatically. ‘Not wife yet p>
‘We’re married in the eyes of the law,‘ he reminded me. The wedding certificates are real p>
‘Right. I stopped mid–step. ‘Wait, if that’s the case, why are we still having the wedding p>
‘Because it’s a ceremony, a way to officially announce our relationship to the world p>
‘I thought we already did that when we went public on X and I***a,‘ I muttered.
Ashton turned to face me, his tall frame blocking the harsh overhead light. ‘Are you getting cold feet p>
‘Nope,‘ I said quickly. ‘My feet are warm, very warm.‘ I hooked my arm through his elbow. ‘Let’s go. I’m already late p>
We reached the security checkpoint.
I stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. ‘I know your day’s full. Go on. I’m fine p>
As I walked away, I felt his gaze burning into my back.
The gate was nearly finished boarding by the time I cleared security.
Once settled in my seat, I was about to switch my phone to aeroplane mode when a headline popped up.
Granger Development Group again.
The boardroom drama had been dominating the feeds lately: inheritance mess, family infighting, rumours of a power grab.
Apparently, Clive Granger had been sick since last winter.
His health had taken a nosedive, and now he was desperate to hand over the company.
The biggest shock? He wasn’t passing control to Rhys, is eldest child and only son–well, turns out that last part wasn’t true; Daniel was actually Clive’s illegitimate son.
Word was, Clive planned to transfer thirty per cent of the company to Daniel.
And Daniel hadn’t wasted time,
In a matter of weeks, he’d pushed Rhys out of the management team, raking in massive profits from a new
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pharmaceutical venture.
I skimmed the article and swiped it away.
If Daniel and Rhys were busy shredding each other to bits, they’d have less time to bother me.
Good.
Hours later, Paris greeted me with grey skies and the thick scent of petrol and damp tarmac.
Fabrizio Marchetti met me at the gate, perfectly put together as usual: tailored suit, flawless tie, not a hair
out of place.
He grabbed my luggage without asking and led me to a sleek black car waiting outside.
‘I’ve arranged a house for you,‘ he said smoothly as we drove. ‘You mentioned you don’t like hotels p>
The house was two storeys, limestone façade, dark green shutters, flanked by high hedges.
Inside, it was serene. Just one housekeeper, the crisp scent of lemon polish and fresh bread filling the air.
The living room was stunning: polished floors, matte black fixtures, hand–carved wooden beams, soft wool throws artfully folded over slate–grey sofas.
I glanced at Fabrizio. ‘You really thought of everything. Thanks for sorting all this p>
‘Not at all,‘ he replied with a smile. ‘You’re here to push the new line forward. You need a place that keeps the flow going p>
‘I’ll keep refining the sketches I sent over. Some proportions still feel off p>
‘No shop talk today,‘ he cut in, shaking his head. ‘Get some rest. I’ll take you to HQ in the morning p>
‘Alright p>
I videocalled Ashton and showed him the house. ‘Nice, huh p>
Ashton let out a noncommittal sound. ‘Where’s Fabrizio p>
‘He just left. He picked me up at the airport, drove me here himself.‘ I added, ‘Should’ve asked him to stay for dinner. ‘
‘Not a good idea p>
‘I know. He seemed busy p>
“That’s not what I meant.‘ Ashton’s clean–shaven jaw looked sharper than usual. Also, maybe the light or angle made his eyes seem darker.
‘I know what you meant, and you’d be crazy to believe he’s interested in me like that.‘ I pulled a face at my new fiancé. ‘He’s rich, handsome, single, and let’s not forget the French accent that makes most women swoon. He can have anyone he wants. He doesn’t need to chase an engaged woman p>
‘He’s a man. I’m a man. I know how men like him think He didn’t have to pick you up himself. He’s a boss.
He has chauffeurs. ‘
‘He’s just being nice. I’m new to the city, after all p>
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‘If I had a new employee coming for work, I’d send a chauffeur p>
‘Fine, fine.‘ I surrendered. There was no winning against him. ‘How about this? If he ever tries anything, I promise I’ll smash a skillet over his head p>
‘Deal. Make sure you hit hard enough to knock him out. Don’t worry about hospital fees p>
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.
Had the shift from fake husband to real fiancé made him feel insecure?
I changed the subject, Ashton tried to steer it back, I deflected with questions about his day, and cut the call when he demanded something that would get me banned from all the PG–rated sites on the internet.
The next morning, I fixed myself a quick breakfast and went downstairs.
Fabrizio was already outside, leaning against another glossy black car.
I slid into the passenger seat.
‘Morning,‘ I said. ‘I checked the route, you know. I could have managed on my own. You didn’t have to go out of your way to pick me up p>
‘My place is on the way,‘ Fabrizio replied, easing the car into the stream of Paris traffic.
I unlocked my phone.
There was a small avalanche of texts from Ashton.