Just before I turn into the parking deck, I receive a text from Theo.

Talia’s still here at work.

Frowning, I punch the number for Theo’s cell. “Why the hell is my wife there? It’s almost eight.”

“Don’t know. You’ll have to ask Den. He’s sending me home for the night, but before I left, I wanted you to know, since you asked for extra security.”

“Go home. I’m heading there now.” Exhaling, I punch in Den’s number, then turn my car around and head back toward the office.

“Good evening, Sebastian.”

“It would be if I wasn’t coming home to an empty apartment. Why didn’t you tell me Talia was working late?”

“I didn’t realize her every move needed to be reported.”

Ignoring his droll comment, I speak in a clipped tone. “Why isn’t she home, Den?”

“You’ll have to ask her.”

Before I can say, “I’m asking you,” he clicks off.

“Sonofabitch!” I grumble, annoyed the British bastard is making a habit of hanging up on me. Since I’m less than ten minutes from the office, I don’t bother to call back.

Den glances up from his desk just outside Talia’s office when I stop in front of it. “Are you trying to get yourself fired, Den?”

Talia’s bodyguard stands to his impressive six-five height and casually buttons his jacket over his holstered gun. “Only Talia can fire me.”

“I pay your salary.”

Den pins me with his cool MI6-trained stare. “Your wife is my priority. I was under the impression that is all you care about.”

I start to speak, but he has a point. My ego takes a back seat to Talia’s safety. “You should at least text me to let me know when she’ll be late.”

He nods, acknowledging my comment. “In the future, I’ll inform you of her arrival time.”

“Thank you.” Rolling my tense shoulders, I gesture to Talia’s closed door. “Why is she here so late?”

Den just gives me a blank stare. I grunt my irritation at his loyal silence, then step to her door and turn the knob, walking inside.

Talia lifts her gaze from her laptop screen, chopsticks in one hand and a box of Chinese takeout in the other. “What are you doing here?”

Closing the door, I walk over and pick up her laptop’s bag from the chair in front of her desk. “I’ve come to take you home.”

“I’m working,” she says, gesturing toward her desk with her chopsticks. “Den will bring me home when I’m done.”

“Whatever you’re working on will have to wait until tomorrow. It’s time to shut down, Little Red,” I say quietly as I unzip her bag.

“You’re the one who suggested that I take advantage of the quiet time in the office.”

My gaze shifts to the box in her hand. “It looks to me like you’re working long hours and eating crappy takeout food. How is that good for the baby?”

“It’s vegetables and rice, sans MSG, Sebastian.” Exhaling a tired sigh, she drops her chopsticks into the empty box, then ties it all up inside the plastic take out bag.

“You’re usually yawning around this time of night.” I glance at the clock on the wall. “My suggestion didn’t include you trying to finish your book in one day.”

“If I’m on a roll with a project, I stay,” she says, shrugging.

When she doesn’t move to stand, but instead picks up a pen and jots down a couple of notes on the notepad in front of her, I try a different tact. “Den won’t leave until you do. Let him go home and eat dinner.”

“I bought him dinner too,” she says. I catch the guilt flickering across her face, but I miss the bloom on her cheeks as she glances toward the door anyway. I don’t say a word because I know my wife. A couple seconds pass, and she mutters, “Fine,” then stands and pulls her knee-length jacket off her chair, slipping it over her black turtle neck and light grey slacks. I exhale to ease the tension from my jaw and put her laptop, notepad, and research file folders inside the laptop case for her.

As I wait for my wife to finish buttoning her jacket, my gaze strays to her hair and locks on the formal twist. “Wasn’t your hair down earlier today?”

Talia nods and pulls something from her coat pocket, tossing it to me. “Here.”

Catching it, I stare at her in confusion. “What’s this?”

“Your fortune.” She lifts her chin toward the fortune cookie. “Open it.”

Since she hasn’t moved from behind her desk, I humor her and drop the cookie through the end of the plastic that’s already open, then break it to read the typed message on the paper inside.

Your child will be born in a jail cell.

“What the hell is this?” I snap, jerking my gaze to her.

Talia pauses as she rounds the side of her desk, her expression eerily calm. “If you don’t want your wife arrested for assault, tell Regan to stay away from you.”

My chest tightens. What the fuck? Before I can reply, she picks up the laptop bag and walks out of her office, straight past Den’s desk. Frustrated she didn’t give me a chance to speak, I watch her pull open the door and walk outside without looking back, then cut my gaze to Den as he steps into place beside me. “Was Talia at Blake Industries today?”

Den’s dark brow creases, his light brown eyes sliding to me. “You didn’t see her? She brought you lunch.”

“Fucking hell!” I shake my head. “No, I didn’t see her.”

“If you never saw her, that’s not good.”

I stare at the closed door my wife just exited, the weight on my chest rolling to my stomach. “Actually, I did see her for the briefest second just before she turned the corner in the hallway. I remember thinking the woman looked so much like Talia from behind. But I knew it wasn’t her, since she was wearing a dress, not slacks like Talia wore to the office today.”

Den glances toward the office’s main door. “She went home and changed before she came to bring you lunch.”

From the brief glimpse I saw of Talia in that fitted dress and high heels, she looked sexy as hell. Damn, I hate that I missed her. “She changed twice?”

“Fix it,” Den says, giving me a pointed look.

I stiffen, my first instinct to tell him to “fuck the hell off,” but I know that beyond his job, he’s protective of Talia as a friend. I narrow my gaze. “You weren’t hired to chew my ass.”

Den folds his arms, his gaze unapologetic. “Honesty costs nothing.”

Grunting, I walk off and call over my shoulder, “Lock up. We’ll see you here tomorrow morning.”

* * *

“We’ll talk at home.”

That’s the only thing Talia said to me once we were seated in my car. Beyond that, she doesn’t say anything the entire ride home. Instead, she looks out the window, lost in Sebastian-roasting thoughts most likely, her hand resting on the small curve of her belly. She looks tired and I feel like total shit for being the cause of it.

I fucking hate the tension building between us in the elevator. I can feel it expanding with each floor we pass. Once the door slides open to our penthouse apartment, Talia walks out and I follow, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

Setting her laptop bag down on the kitchen island, she shrugs out of her coat, then pulls a folder from her bag. “What do you know about magnets?”

“Magnets?” I frown my confusion, stepping closer to her. “I thought you wanted to talk.”

She flips open the folder and points to a print out with a list of metals. “Did you know magnets aren’t attracted to all metals? See here.”

Worried that she’s acting as if the Regan thing never happened, when it obviously bothered her, I take the folder and set it down, then cup her face. “I’m so fucking sorry I missed you coming by with lunch today. You’ll never know how much.”

She holds my gaze. “I know you love me, Sebastian. I trust you. I don’t trust Regan. I’ve said what I need to say on the subject.”

I search her eyes for any hidden meanings in that statement, frustrated that my color blindness won’t let me see the green color currently staring back at me. Before I lost the ability to see all colors but the darker shades of red, I loved how her green eyes shifted based on her mood. Now, I’m fucking drowning in indistinguishable shades of gray. The instant my hold tightens on her jaw, I ease the pressure.

“I adore every part of you, Talia. I would never do anything to hurt you. Regan showed up after my meeting with food. I was hungry and honestly didn’t think anything of it. In my mind, it’s no different than you having lunch with your editor.”

“The difference is my lunch meetings with Jared are working ones, and I never had a relationship with him.”

“Not for his lack of trying,” I grumble, still pissed that the asshole tried to block me so he could date her himself.

“Um, hello?” she says, pointing to her belly. “Baking a Blake bun here.”

When I give a cocky smile, she rolls her eyes. “Other than to hope you’ll take up whipping her ass with a crop once more, did Regan have a reason to be there? Does she work in the IT department?”

“She asked why we were implementing the system…” I trail off, then shake my head and her gaze shifts away, tightening my chest. I touch her bottom lip, sliding my thumb across it until her gaze returns to me. “In hindsight, it wasn’t smart to have lunch with Regan. Your fortune cookie cut right to the bone, Little Red. Message received.” Tracing my thumb along her jawline, I fold my fingers under her hair, cupping the back of her neck. “You sure know how to deliver one hell of a punch. I have to admit this jealous, bloodthirsty side of you is hot as fuck.”

“I delivered my message in a way you’d understand, Sebastian. Beyond the obvious, the fact that Isabel approved of her should give you pause. She has an agenda.” Smiling for the first time tonight, she pushes up on her toes until her mouth is close to mine. “When have your wife’s instincts been wrong?”

“Not once,” I murmur, wishing that her rosy lips hadn’t disappeared from my sight. Holding her gaze, I nip at the sweet plumpness with savage intensity, then press my mouth to hers.