CHAPTER 3
BROOKE
I text Alex at 11:07 a.m.
Brooke: Husband’s office is empty all day. 37th floor. Code 4829. Bring tape measure
His reply is instant.
Alex: On my way, princess.
Twenty minutes later the private elevator dings. He steps out in tailored black joggers and a fitted gray tee, duffel slung over one shoulder, eyes already dark.
I’m waiting in a charcoal pencil skirt, silk blouse unbuttoned just enough, heels sky-high, wedding ring glinting under the recessed lights.
“Measurements, huh?” he says, voice low, locking the door behind him. “Sure, baby.”
He doesn’t waste time.
He backs me against the floor-to-ceiling windows first, downtown sprawling thirty-seven stories below, and kisses me filthy while his hands map every curve like he’s taking inventory.
Then he turns, eye
