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I shake my head. Of course it’s an act. Even if others aren’t close enough to hear us, they can still read our body language. And she’s on her A-game, signaling her interest.
I mimic her pose, getting closer, reaching out a hand to brush the backs of her fingers. “That’s different. You’re my wife.”
A smile curves over her lips, and I find myself leaning in, actually wishing all these people weren’t surrounding us. Small amounts of PDA are acceptable, sure, but what I want to do to her right now shouldn’t have any witnesses.
“Archer,” a nasally voice sounds from a man approaching us. “Just the man I wanted to see.”
I lean back, tugging at the lapels of my suit jacket, thankful for the interruption. Why is my mind going to such extremes lately?
As the man gets closer, I recognize him as some lower level executive in our advertising department at Bishop Industries. Michael? Miles? There are too many managers in the company to keep them all straight.
I give him a nod, wrapping my arm around Serena’s waist. “Good to see you. This is my wife, Serena.”
He gives her a perfunctory shake of the hand. “Micah Keating.” Micah, that’s right. “Could I have a word with you, Archer?” He motions behind him, expectant for me to follow.
Serena’s body stiffens next to me, though her face remains impassive.
“Regarding…” I prompt, needing a damn good reason if he expects me to leave.
“The budget meeting yesterday. I wasn’t invited, but I wanted to pitch you-”
“If it’s work related, schedule a meeting with my assistant.”
He blinks at me. “You can’t talk about it now?”
“I’m here with my wife.”
The tension slowly releases from her, and she hides a smile as she takes a sip of her champagne.
“Right.” His gaze flicks between us, finally seeming to recognize the position he’s in. Lower level manager trying to dictate to the Chief Financial Officer? Yeah, I don’t think so. And if no one invited you to a meeting, there’s probably a valid reason for that. “My apologies. Have a good night.”
He makes an awkward bow and leaves us, Serena curling further into my side. “Thank you,” she whispers in my ear, her breath warm on my neck.
“I promised I wouldn’t leave you.”
“I can’t believe you turned down the chance to work,” she teases.
“I’d rather spend the night with you.” It takes me a moment to realize how my comment sounds. “I mean, like you said, this is also work.” I gulp down the last of my champagne and set it on a passing server’s tray. “Our job is to play a part. It defeats the purpose of coming here if I leave you.”
Her eyes lose their playful edge and I immediately regret these words too. “Wait, that came out wrong.” Somehow, in just over a week, she’s crept her way under my skin. I’ve never put so much thought into how others interpret me. “Forget about the act we’re putting on. You said you have trouble talking to people you don’t know well. So I’m obviously not going to leave you to fend for yourself in here.”
Her face takes on a panicked edge and she backs up, bumping the table behind her.
What? I thought I said the right thing that time.
She grabs my arm, steering me over to the east side of the room. “Come on. Let’s go over here.”
Okay, then. “Where are we going?”
“The, um-” She points ahead, waving her hand aimlessly. “There’s more stuff to bid on here.”
She stops in front of an all expenses paid trip to Bora Bora, her breaths a touch faster than they should be. I glance behind us, but I can’t tell what I’m looking for.
“Are we running from something?”
She swallows, picking up the pen on the table, hand shaking slightly.
I reach out to cover her hand with my own. “Serena, talk to me.”