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T he second I read her text I left the office and tried to catch her, but I was too late. Jersey traffic always sucked, but in December it was ten times worse.

I wanted to push everyone in front of me off the fucking road, but I was driving the yellow Ferrari, not the suped up pickup I owned with the bully bar in front.

What? I had a thing for cars.

I floored it, darting around holiday revelers. It seemed tourists came to visit New York during the entire month of December. I knew this was a holiday party, but Christmas was still two weeks away, for fuck’s sake.

Luckily, I had a tux at the office and changed before heading out. I was thirty minutes away and my palms were sweating.

I’d been a total jerk. An asshole of a husband.

Of course, I planned to make it all up to Michaela, starting the second I saw her. But first, I imagined I had some groveling to do.

And I would. I’d beg, steal, kill—hell, I’d do anything for her. And it was about time I told her so.

“Sixteen minutes, Sweetheart. Ready or not. Here I come.”