It’s meant to be a joke, but it’s a shitty one.

“Hmm. I guess.”

She plugs her earphone back into her ear, picks her keys up off the key holder, and then collects herself at the garage door. When it swings open, I expect her to turn back and say goodbye, see you later. Maybe one of those I love you’s. Like I said before, I don’t get any of that anymore.

She just leaves.

The door shuts, and I stare it for several seconds before swinging my eyes over to the food on the table. I haven’t eaten yet. I waited for her to join me.

I’m sure it’s no longer warm, so I put two slices of French toast and bacon on a plate and toss it in the microwave.

Arianna steps into the kitchen with a broom in hand. She has her black hair pulled up into a ponytail, her tan face crinkling with the wrinkles around her eyes and cheeks.

She observes the kitchen, her dark-brown eyes then dropping to meet mine. “Mrs. Boyd is gone already?”

“Yep,” I sigh. The microwave beeps and I take out my food.

“You made this?” Arianna asks.

“I did. For Colette.” I meet her eyes as I sit at the table. She looks down at me, pity swimming in her eyes. I don’t need it, so I hold my hand out, offering her some. “Come on, Ari. Take a break. Eat with me.”

She smiles. “I can wait until lunch. Are you sure?” she asks, hesitant.

My lips press, forming a stiff smile as I pick up my fork. “Positive. Have as much you want. Someone might as well enjoy it, right?”

She grins, taking the chair across from me. She grabs a stack of French toast and eggs, the orange juice, and asks for me to slide the syrup across the table. She digs right into her food, nodding and smiling. “Good,” she garbles out, mouth full.

I smile, and as I watch her eat, somehow it makes my stomach churn, the smile slipping away from my lips.

This isn’t supposed to be what my mornings consist of. Sharing breakfast with my housekeeper instead of my wife? How did it get to this?

What am I doing wrong?

I have a great cock. I give good, deep strokes. I know it. I blow Colette’s brains out every time we fuck—whenever that happens anyway.

I treat her like a queen. I give her whatever she wants.

I come home weary almost every night when I don’t have to travel and if her back aches, I massage it, relieving her stress even though I’d just been wrapped up in my own.

I care for my wife, I do, but I honestly don’t know how much more of this I can take.

Being alone.

Feeling abandoned.

Feeling like I’m always wrong.

I want my wife back. I want her to try too. I want the same love I express in return. I want us to be happy again.

That’s not too much to ask, is it?

My phone rings on the glass table, pulling me out of my cluttered thoughts. I look down, spotting Kelly’s name on the screen. Kelly is my personal assistant. Unfortunately, Kelly is also man.

Colette wasn’t comfortable with my first assistant, a blonde bombshell I had to admit, but I didn’t think of her that way. Her name was Olivia. We worked together; she kept up with my shit. She was way more organized than I could ever be.

She was really good at her job, but I had to let her go, all because my wife didn’t want to wonder about how I spent my late nights at work… and also because she’d complained to my father-in-law.

I answer the phone with a sigh. “Kelly?”

“Sir,” he says into the phone. “The owners of Stratford and Clark are here a day early.”

“What?” I sit forward in my seat. “What made them want to come today?”

“I’m not sure. I told them it was your day off and that I am only here to double-check on a few files, but they won’t accept. They want to settle the deal with Quarter Banking today or they think the deal will crash. They seem to be in a bit of a rush, too. Well… one of them.”

“Okay. Don’t worry about it. I’m coming in. Tell them to give me twenty. Try and keep them satisfied.”

“Yes, sir.”

I hang up, sliding my cellphone into my pocket and pushing my chair in. Arianna looks at me with big eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Yep. Fine.”

“You’re going to work?” she asks, picking up her orange juice.

“Yes.” I shrug. “No days off, right?”

She looks disappointed, giving me that motherly look she always does when I seem a bit overwhelmed. I guess that’s why I adore Arianna. She reminds me of my mother.

She’s kind, sweet, and understanding. She doesn’t judge me—not even Colette. She sees the best in people, a quality I wish I had. “Everyone needs days off, Mr. Boyd. Especially you.”

“Yeah, well… not today. I’d much rather be working than spending my free time chasing after Colette… though I’m sure she doesn’t care.”

“She loves you,” Arianna assures me as I shrug into the jacket.

There she goes… always seeing the good. She’s witnessed firsthand the damage Colette can do with her words and actions and yet she still defends her. And no, it’s not because she works for us. It’s just how she is. She’s one of those people that always looks towards the bright side.

“Yeah, well, I’ll wait until she shows me proof of that.” I pick up my keys from the key hook by the garage door. “See you later, Arianna. Enjoy the rest of your breakfast.”

She nods with a press of her lips.

I step out, jumping into the Maserati and starting the ignition. It’s a fifteen-minute drive to get to Boyd Enterprises, an extra five with the Florida traffic.

I’m certain I can make it in twelve.

I step into the building, feeling a sense of pride as I’m greeted by a few employees.

The women smile and bat their eyelashes at me. Most of my female employees are drop-dead gorgeous, allowing me a little stare here and there.

It comes in handy on days like this, when my wife is doing everything possible to avoid me.

Unfortunately they don’t work anywhere near my floor or office. No ogling throughout the day for this man.

They work on the other floors, assistants of the men or women who handle stocks for smaller companies. Or “beginners” as we call them. The smaller ones are usually just starting out. I only handle the larger ones.

I hit the elevator, pressing the quarter-sized button for floor sixteen. The very top floor. The doors start to close, but a female voice fills the area, catching my attention. “Wait! Hold the elevator!”

I press the button and shoot my hand out between the doors before they can meet.

A woman appears outside the elevator, out of breath. She stumbles into the elevator on six-inch heels when the doors slide completely open, rushing her way to the opposite corner of me.

Panting, she fixes her silky brown locks and then her shirt. Her eyes are fixed on the buttons of her blouse as she mutters, “Damn it,” beneath her breath.

I straighten my tie, looking her way. Now she’s making me feel disheveled. Her button has popped, a pair of full, perky breasts on display.

She starts to look up but I look away immediately before she can catch my eye..

“Sorry,” she murmurs when the doors finally close.

“For what?” I ask without looking at her.

“For holding you back.” She fidgets and is quiet for a moment. “I know exactly who you are. You own this place, right?”

My brows draw together and I finally look over to her. Out of all the colors out there, I’m not expecting to meet eyes as blue as hers. They’re basically see-through—like glass—like I can see right into her soul… only something about her doesn’t allow complete access. They’re aqua, just like the ocean water we live only miles away from.

“Yeah,” I finally say when she cranes her neck a bit, awaiting my response. To keep myself from looking any more foolish, I extend my arm and offer a hand. “Griffin Boyd. Owner of this goose chase,” I say, smiling.