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I nod, tapping my fingers rhythmically against the armrest of my chair. So far, the partnership with the Rossis has held. Our products differ enough to avoid direct competition, and the numbers look good. Security is tighter than ever.

Yet my mind isn’t here.

Not just because I haven’t gotten any concrete information to hold my attention but also because I keep thinking about Aria Rossi. My wife.

To be honest, this is the best advantage of this alliance so far.

Because of how hard I stared the first time I met her, it wasn’t difficult to figure out her size. It also helped that her body was perfectly proportioned. The slope of her breast aligned with the curve of her hips, and her waist was so small I could almost wrap my hands around it completely.

Perfect. In every single way.

I told them to take all the clothes to her room. I picked them all myself, even the dinner dress. I wanted everything to be flawless.

Not because I care what she thinks—at least, that’s what I keep telling myself—but because I need her to play her part tonight.

“Boss.”

“That’s a bad idea,” I reply to Matteo like my mind never wandered. Thankfully, I could still hear their conversation in the background while my thoughts traveled elsewhere. “Instead of increasing the price of the products in our new territories, we should reduce them. We won’t establish superiority over Rossi’s products by selling ours at a higher price. We’ll do that by ensuring our products are better in quality.”

Matteo nods, and the other men at the table follow suit. They agree with me so often that I can’t remember when anyone dared to disagree. I don’t know how to feel about that.

“How about our marijuana farm beneath Martin's estate? Is it still running?”

Matteo launches into an explanation about the farm, and as much as I try to concentrate, my thoughts drift again.

Will she like the dress? Will it suit her? Will she even wear it?

I remember how good the blue dress looked on her that night. What if blue was the only color that truly suited her?

“…and asking for more money?” Matteo’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

I glance up. “I want a detailed report on how the last money we sent them was spent.”

“We’ll finalize the plans tomorrow, boss.”

I wave a hand, dismissing them. Matteo lingers momentarily, his sharp eyes scanning my face, but he doesn’t say anything. The others file out, leaving me with the faint smell of smoke and leather.

The second the door closes, I pull out my phone and dial.

The assistant I hired picks up immediately. “Yes, sir?”

“Is her closet ready?” I ask, my tone clipped.

“Yes, sir. Everything has been arranged.”

“And the dress?”

“She loved it,” the assistant says. “She couldn’t take her eyes off it, and I even heard her say it was beautiful.”

I release a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding, the tight coil in my chest loosening slightly. “Good. Make sure everything else is perfect.”

“Yes, sir.”

I hang up and slip the phone back into my pocket, leaning against the high back of the leather chair.She loved it.The thought wraps around my mind, soothing the restlessness gnawing at me all day.

I spend the afternoon picturing her in the dress, imagining how it would cling to her, how the emerald green would highlight every curve, how she would move in it—graceful, deliberate, hers.

When she finally steps into the car this evening, the reality surpasses the fantasy. The very air shifts, charged with something electric, something alive.