TROUBLE

FIFTY THREE

I stupidly agreed to join Miles at work today. We haven't spent a full day together in a while, between our individual workloads plus finding Marina it has been near impossible for us to see each other.

The only real time we see each other is before bed, but by the time one of us wake up the other has already left. When it started happening I was worried Miles was getting fed up with the residual drama that came with me. From being shot, to losing our baby to the many disturbing thoughts plagued my mind.

I trusted Miles, I knew he wouldn't leave me for something like that, he would want us to go through it together, like the Saldaro saying: 'vulnerability is weakness, but in strength there is courage'

We arrived at his headquarters about thirty minutes ago, Miles had been in talks with Mr. Queen, the Australian investor he met at the gala. They were discussing advancement in Australia.

I was getting bored. I was sitting on his large leather couch. My heeled feet on the arm rest while I laid outstretched with my phone in hand. I was texting with Camden, who was joking about not offering whiskey at the wedding at the end of week, knowing he would get his ass beaten because every single male in my life who exclusively drink whiskey.

I had also left my papa a number of messages and voicemails, I hadn't spoken to him since the day after Villin was executed. I was getting worried, I know my papa can handle himself and the boys still mostly live at home with him. I cant remember a day since my return that I haven't spoken to my papa.

I look over at Miles, he was leant back in his leather chair, the phone pressed to his ear as he spoke calmly to Mr. Queen, he had an expressionless face as usual while he wrote down quick notes.

Shouldn't his assistant be doing that?

Oh yeah, he still hasn't gotten a new assistant after the Emery incident.

My mistake.

I stand up, one wanting to stretch my legs and two wanting to go over to my husband who is too damn tempting sitting there. I kick off my heels, I wear them almost every day and I still hate wearing them.

Where is my logic?

I walk over to him, Miles catches me from the corner of his eye, his lips curl up when he takes in my appearance: a short grey plaid skirt, with sheer black tights, a black turtleneck. It was nothing tempting at all. But to Miles I look like I was Victoria Secret Angel. He rolled his chair back from the desk and with his spare hand he tapped his thigh, as well as holding out his free hand.

With a slight skip in my step like some teenager girl in love, I took his hand softly, his thumb already drawing soft patterns on my knuckles. I sat down on his lap, his arm went around my waist drawing me closer, his hand moved, positioning itself in under my thigh, he squeezes it roughly. He quickly retracts his hand moving it to the part between my hip and the top of my thigh.

I lean my head in his shoulder and I look up at him with a loving smile on my face. Both of my arms are wrapped around his waist cuddling him close to me. He smiles down at me, kissing my forehead lightly, lingering his lips there before going back to talk business.

While sitting here I don't do anything, I just stare at his side profile. He can feel me staring as he would occasionally look down at me with a smile. He was so damn loving and attentive it always makes me feel needy for his attention all the fucking time. It frustrates me but I fucking love it so much.

"Thank you Mr. Queen-- yes I look forward to seeing you-- the wife and I will visit Sydney soon-- of course, have a good day."

I got butterflies when he said 'wife', I don't know how, he made sure to say at least once a day either to remind me or himself. He puts the phone done, discarding of it on the desk, he leans further into the seat, both his arms come around my was it holding me tight to his body. His head comes and rests on top of my own.