Husband by Penelope Skye

deserved this.”
WHEN I STEPPED into the hallway, she was in front of me. Her hair was in a high ponytail, and she
wore snug black jeans that showed the perfect heart shape of her ass.
In just a few days, that ass would be mine.
She wore a skintight black blouse with pumps, and she looked through papers as she walked back to
her office.
I took my time walking down the hallway—enjoying the view.
I stepped into her office and saw her sit behind her desk, her chin tilted down as she read. She hadn’t
noticed me yet, so her face was tight in a focused expression. No matter what mood she was in, she
was beautiful, but she looked particularly erotic right now. With red lipstick on her mouth and gold
earrings in her lobes, she looked like a model rather than a manager.
And her engagement ring was the sexiest thing of all.
It was a leash made out of diamonds.
I cleared my throat as I entered the room.
She looked up, and instantly, her guard was up. She was uneasy around me, still the recipient of my
resentment. Her timid nature was synonymous with guilt. She knew her rejection of me had been
wrong, that she was responsible for our untimely demise. She said she’d never wanted it, but I
believed that was a lie. She just couldn’t bring herself to trust anyone.
I was the one person in the world she could actually trust.
I sat in the chair facing her desk. “I’ll notify the board of our nuptials this afternoon.”
“Why? They don’t give a damn.”
“Yes, they do. You won’t have any problems with them from here on out.”
“You’re just going to snap your fingers and make them respect me?” she asked incredulously.
“No. I don’t need to snap my fingers.”
She was probably impressed, but she chose not to show it. She sighed like my statement was
ridiculous rather than a spot-on prediction of the future. “You came all the way here to tell me that?”
“We’re getting married in five days. We still have things to talk about.”
“Like?”
“Money.”
“I have my own money, and you have yours,” she said. “I don’t want your assets.”