Ariana frowned. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“Oh, I’m serious,” Daryl muttered, straightening his tie. “The man’s face alone could get me fired.”
She laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re wrong though. Vincent doesn’t care about me that much to pick a fight with you. You know our marriages are nothing but an arrangement.”
Daryl gave her a look, wondering if she really didn’t see it or if she was just pretending not to. “You really don’t see it, do you?”
“See what?”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You hug me, and he looks like he wants to rearrange my face. That’s not indifference, Ariana.”
She scoffed. “Please. He doesn’t even like me like that. He just—”
The door swung open.
Vincent stood there, the faintest trace of annoyance in his expression. “Daryl.”
Daryl flinched. “Sir.”
