Beatrice stood at the window of the lavish sitting room, her manicured nails drumming against the cool glass as she watched Jack stride across the lawn toward my office. For the fourth time that week, he had gone to see me.
Her heart ached with a feeling she wouldn't identify. Jack didn't belong to her completely—but he had to meet her demands, something that no other man could: stability, authority, and his last name. And still, it seemed like all of that was escaping her grasp whenever he vanished behind my door.
“What could they possibly be talking about this often?” she muttered, her green eyes narrowing.
I sat in my office, skimming through the list of vendors for the gala, when there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I said, not looking up.
“Busy as always,” Jack’s familiar v
