Chapter 34
LINCOLN
“I’m glad you could make it out here with us, Lincoln,” Eric What’s-His-Face is saying as he drops his driver back into his golf bag. “Gotta keep the new wife in line by showing her where your priorities are on day one. Smart man. I like it.”
His dumbass associates all laugh. Meanwhile, I sulk at the reminder that I practically took off the second Jules and I traded wedding vows.
I feel like an asshole, leaving for this business trip less than a week after my wedding. I don’t care that it wasn’t real. I would rather be home with my bride right now.
I picture her in her boots and leather jacket. It does something to my chest. “I’d never want to keep my wife in line.”
It’s the truth. Her spontaneity and no-fucks-given attitude are some of my favorite qualities. I’d never want to stifle that.
“That’s what you say now,” Finance Guy grunts. “Wait till you’ve been married a few years. You’ll be singing a different tune.” Another round of pompous laughter erupts.
God, these men are exhausting.
I force a chuckle, but I hate every word out of that guy’s mouth. “Trust me—I won’t change my mind. Who wants some docile, meek lonely wife waiting for them at home? That’s not a real partner.”
I say the words with conviction. But, heck, what do I even know about marital partnership? I’m gearing up for my second divorce after all. I should just grin and shut my mouth if I want this business deal to go through.
But this is Jules they’re talking about. Maybe I’m a fool, but not defending my wife isn’t an option for me.
As soon as the WinningEdge associates got word of my recent nuptials, they invited me to fly out to Seattle and meet with them at their satellite office.
I’d expected we’d be doing work in the actual office—making plans to finalize our partnership—but somehow, here we are on this godforsaken golf course.
Unfortunately for me, I forgot that these pretentious fuckers do whatever they please.
But I keep telling myself that this is just part of the process. Be patient. Win them over. Save my business. Still, this whole situation is just getting on my damn nerves.
I yank my collar up a little higher, trying to ward off the chilly air.
It’s cooler and rainier here than it is back home, just adding to the mounting list of reasons I’m so damn homesick right now.
By the eighteenth hole, the dizzying smell of cigars and stale cologne, paired with the constant string of shitty sexist jokes have made me downright nauseous.
I’m normally half-decent at golf, but today, my mind is painfully distracted. I grab my own golf club, taking a quiet moment to pretend to focus on my shot, grateful for an excuse to block out their misogynistic noise.
My shot is garbage, though. Because instead of concentrating on the game, I catch myself humming the Macarena song and wondering what Jules and Cameron are doing right now.
I’m used to traveling for work. I’ve been doing it since the day I launched my business.
I go where my clients are. I whisk off to meet an athlete without a second thought, or I jet across the country to meet with the general manager of a professional sports team. It’s just the nature of the work I do.
But damn it, being away this time just doesn’t feel the same.
Of course, I’ve never enjoyed leaving Cameron behind. But I always make sure he’s in good hands, whether he’s with his mom or staying with his grandma.
But now, he’s got Jules. And I just wish I could have stayed home.
I can’t help but feel like I’m missing out. I wish I didn’t have to pander to these creeps for the survival of my business. But my livelihood and Cameron’s future depends on it.
On the bright side, I think the finish line is close. I’ve just got to hold my shit together for a little while longer.
When we’re carting over to the final green, the bald one catches me checking my watch for the hundredth time.
“What’s the problem, buddy? The ball ‘n chain has really got you domesticated already, huh?” He full-on belly laughs while the rest of the men joke about how whipped I am.
I shake my head, shrugging off the ribbing. Secretly though, the idea pleases me. Being legally shackled to a woman like Jules isn’t turning out to be too bad.
“Having someone at home, waiting for me. Having a purpose for clocking out on time. Having someone to talk to at the end of a long day. Domestication sounds pretty fucking good, if you ask me.” I pat him on the shoulder and then stroll off.
When the round of golf ends, I can’t get back to my hotel fast enough. Finally, I can take a full breath without having to listen to smug, delusional businessmen trying to hit on women half their age.
I drop down on my plush hotel bed. Within minutes, my relief turns into emptiness. The place is luxurious and painfully silent. The pillows are too soft, and I’m surrounded by cold, sterile artwork.
It’s nothing like home.
I pick up my phone and call Jules. I have no idea if she’ll be happy to hear from me, but even arguing with her is far more enjoyable than holding yet another stiff, fake conversation with those business dudes.
The moment her raspy voice comes through the line, my tense muscles begin to relax.
“Jules. Hey. It’s Lincoln.” I try to keep my tone casual, not giving away that I’ve been waiting to hear her voice all day.
I hear a quiet laugh. “I know. I have caller ID.”
“Right.” I’m such an idiot. “Hard to turn off business mode. Sorry. Long day.”
“Right,” she says with a wistful sigh. “I understand.”
“How’s Cameron? How was his day?” I question her.
She runs through the highlights. Her voice is soft and lazy, making me wonder if she’s in bed, too. After she tells me about the park and dinner and homework, the conversation lulls.
I want to ask her about her day. I want her to keep talking. About anything. Everything.
But I don’t know if I’m allowed to go there.
I’ve tried knocking down the walls between us, and each time, it’s blown up in my face. Jules seems determined to keep propping up those boundaries between us.
“I’d better let you go. It sounds like you have a lot on your plate,” she says after a while. “I’ll have Cameron call you in the morning, so he can say hi before school.”
I’m not ready to end the call. Not yet. Just…not yet.
“Wait!” I call out.
“Yes?” she asks sweetly.
“Did you check the thermostat settings? Cameron won’t sleep well if his room is too warm.”
“Yep. It’s on sixty-eight, like you wrote down in your notes.”
“Oh, right. Great. Thank you.”
After a short silence, Jules speaks. “Well, good nigh—”
“Wait!” I panic, not ready for her to hang up. “Cameron’s scrape. Are you sure it’s good? It’s healing well? He doesn’t need stitches?”
Jules chuckles. "He got a cartoon bandaid, Lincoln. Trust me, the wound is fine.”
“No more bleeding?” I stall again.
“I stopped the bleeding with a powerful glare. Don’t worry.”
“Oh, of course you did.” I chuckle.
“Okay, so…talk to you in the morning?” Jules asks, sounding a little confused as she tries again to end our call.
But I like the sound of her voice too much to say goodbye so fast. I just want her to keep talking. Those assholes are right about one thing. I actually might be whipped.
“Is that all, your majesty?"
I smile. What a snarky little thing I married.
“I…uh…”
When I fumble again, seriousness enters her voice. “What’s your deal, Lincoln? Is everything okay?”
“I…I just…” I let out a heavy sigh.
I take a moment, looking at my reflection in the dark hotel window. All I see is a lonely hypocrite.
I should make the excuse that I’m worried about this business deal.
I should lie and tell her that things are looking shaky.
That it’s got me all out of sorts. Or better yet, I should try to have some self-respect, say good night and let her get off the damn phone.
But that’s not what comes out when I open my mouth.
“Fine. I miss my wife.” My fingers rake through my hair.
There’s a long pause before Jules whispers, “Hold on.”
The phone goes quiet for a long moment. The longer she’s silent, the more nervous I get.
Did I say too much? Am I crossing too many lines? That crumpled contract sitting in my desk at home comes to mind. Yeah. I’m definitely overstepping our neatly-typed boundaries.
I hear a faint, muffled sound, and I strain to hear more. “Jules?” I ask, but she doesn’t answer. I can’t figure out what’s happening.
Then, my phone buzzes suddenly. Confused, I look down to see that Jules is requesting a video call.
Video? Shit.
I fumble with my phone, nearly dropping it as I try to tame my messy hair and straighten my wrinkled shirt.
Worried that I’m going to miss the call, I quickly hit ‘accept’. And when I do, the breath rushes from my lungs.
There on the screen, in vivid HD, is Jules spread out in lacy black lingerie. On my bed.
Yeah. I’m definitely missing my wife.