Her Fiance's 'Work Wife' Wrecked Her Engagement (Can this Marriage Survive #11)

Chapter 1

By the time Lucy Brooks and Adam Shay reached the gleaming cruise terminal in downtown Miami, Adam had already checked for his passport a dozen times.

He’d patted the inside pocket of his blazer in their apartment foyer, fingered the leather sleeve of his carry-on in the elevator, made a point of lifting his jacket flap on the short drive from home, and then—after the driver reminded them that they weren’t going to the airport—twice more on the sidewalk outside the terminal’s sliding doors.

Each time, he drew out the little blue booklet, peered at it with solemn intensity, then nodded as though confirming the existence of Schr?dinger’s passport: both present and unvanished. Lucy hovered beside him, arms crossed, watching the same ritual repeat in slow motion.

“It’s still in there,” she said finally, folding her hands over his.

She didn’t bother adding, You’ve checked it more times than I’ve checked my phone today.

She let a teasing smile play at her lips.

“Unless you have a secret second passport, and you’ve been sneaking off to Cuba under the name Alejandro, I don’t think you need to worry. ”

Adam blinked at her, frowning in mock offense. He patted his jacket pocket again. “Alejandro would have remembered to pack sunscreen.”

Lucy quirked an eyebrow. “Alejandro is swarthy. He doesn’t need sunscreen.”

He took a step closer—close enough for her to see the faint worry lines around his eyes soften—and lifted her hand.

He kissed her fingers just above the engagement ring that still caught the light in tiny rainbows.

She could feel his relief as he pressed his lips to her skin.

“Alejandro would never have packed his own suitcase, so you’d never have agreed to marry him. ”

That, at least, was true. She smiled as reminded her how neatly they worked together, even at eleven in the morning, in the heat of Miami, beneath a banner stretched across the terminal entrance: Welcome, Northstar Creative.

Within seconds, automatic doors whooshed open and a wave of refrigerated air washed over them.

Dozens of Northstar employees spilled out in matching cobalt shirts, laughing and pointing at rolling suitcases.

Beyond the glass fa?ade, the Celestial Dawn lay at anchor: four decks of gleaming white railings, blue-tinted windows, and a row of bright orange lifeboats—like decorative buoys—dotted along her side.

Lucy had spent the previous week studying photos of the ship online: it looked exactly like a floating city, full of pastel decks, staterooms with sliding doors, and more dining options than anyone could reasonably visit in seven days.

She’d joked that cruising was for people who wanted to eat prime rib in a place they could die at any moment by slipping off a sun lounger.

Nothing with a miniature golf course and a three-story water slide could possibly sink, right?

A uniformed porter stepped forward, silver luggage tags gleaming in his hand.

He hooked the rings through the handles of their cases while Adam tried to help—resulting in two frantic hands on the same bag.

“You can leave that,” the porter said kindly, prying Adam’s fingers away from Lucy’s oversized suitcase. “You’re on vacation now.”

Lucy laughed. “He doesn’t know how to relax.” She gave Adam a sideways nudge. “But maybe he’ll learn by osmosis.”

Adam shook his head, amusement flickering across his face. “No laptops,” Lucy reminded him, echoing the terms of the invitation they’d read together at their kitchen counter. “No client calls. And absolutely no talking about market penetration at dinner.”

He held up both hands in surrender. “Karina has the only copy of the presentation. She’s sworn on her yoga mat not to give it to me until Thursday.”

Lucy grinned. “You trusted your entire marketing deck to the woman who schedules your meetings? That’s like asking the bartender to hide your gin.”

He shot her a mock glare. “She’s been my right hand for three years. She knows I hate breakfast meetings and become irrational when I skip lunch. She can be trusted.”

Lucy first met Karina three months after Adam hired her: a poised woman with a knack for filing expense reports, anticipating Adam’s whims, and somehow tracking the one jeweler in the city who could resize Lucy’s engagement ring the weekend before the holiday.

She wasn’t exactly Lucy’s friend—more like a colleague who kept tabs on Lucy whenever Adam got lost in a yawning schedule or buried in email.

They’d shared a bottle of pinot at the annual holiday party while Adam orbited around the CFO, and since then they’d texted each other war stories: Karina warning Lucy that Adam was late for a health checkup, Lucy reminding Karina that Adam had forgotten to eat breakfast.

Lucy tucked the thought away as they stepped past a row of potted palms into the check-in hall.

Everywhere she looked, Northstar’s record-breaking year was emblazoned on banners: 214% Growth.

ONE TEAM. ONE VISION. ONE EXTRAORDINARY YEAR.

She recognized some of the slogans—they were versions Adam had dismissed at their kitchen island when he practiced his elevator pitches for ad-agency prospects.

She remembered arguing over “Family” as a theme, wondering aloud whether families usually drafted nondisclosure agreements and held quarterly performance reviews.

He’d thrown “family” in the trash as soon as she teased, “Do Mommy and Daddy get performance bonuses?”

From the back of the line, a broad man in a Northstar polo spotted Adam and broke off to embrace him. “Adam Shay! There he is—the man who paid for all this.” His laugh filled the hall, echoing off marble floors.

Adam pulled him in for a quick handshake. “The clients paid. I just convinced them they should.”

The man laughed again, then turned toward Lucy with a look that said he ought to recognize her. “And you must be his sister?”

Lucy’s shoulders stiffened playfully. She glanced at Adam, waiting for him to correct the assumption.

“Fiancée,” Adam said in a crisp voice.

The man’s face went pink. He looked down at Lucy’s hand, where the ring was practically glowing, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course. God, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I thought—someone said—well, congratulations.”

“No harm done,” Lucy said, because she hated seeing embarrassment turn into agony. “Although, I’ve always wanted a brother who invites me on cruises.” She let the small joke settle between them, hoping to smooth over his discomfort.

Adam clapped the man—David Keller, he introduced him—on the shoulder and steered him back toward the check-in queue.

Lucy watched them go, then let her gaze wander over the sea of business associates reconnecting after a year apart: hands shaking, children being pointed out through floor-to-ceiling windows, spouses murmuring names as though trying them on for size.

She thought about how easy it was to be a blur in the background when your name floated around as a concept rather than a presence.

No one at Northstar had ever seen her as anything more than “Adam’s partner,” even though she’d been the one who designed the cover for the charity’s annual auction catalogue and baked every cake for his office birthdays.

It was strange to occupy the same physical space and still feel like a ghost on someone else’s stage.

A gentle tap on her elbow brought her back. Karina stood there, one hand on her hip, eyes bright. “You wore the green dress! It’s perfect! I knew it would be.”

Lucy turned, smiling shyly. “Are you sure? I still think I look like split pea soup.” Karina had convinced her to buy it, but she still worried it was unflattering.

Karina laughed, then leaned in to kiss Lucy’s cheek.

The scent of citrus and sea salt followed her.

She looked like she’d been plucked from a cruise brochure: white linen trousers, a sleeveless sapphire blouse, and flat gold sandals that caught the light with every step.

“It is perfect” she said. “Much better than the funeral colors you usually wear.”

Lucy gave a small smile again, unsure if she had been handed a compliment or an insult, but she decided to err on the side of grace. “Well, thank you for your advice.”

Karina tapped her phone, brows furrowed. “Speaking of miracles, where is Steven?”

“Who?” Lucy asked, following Karina’s gaze.

“He’s my date.” Karina’s smile turned mischievous as a tall, brown-haired man threaded through the crowd, two coffees balanced in one hand.

When he reached them, he shifted one cup into Karina’s waiting hand and offered Lucy the other.

“Steven Driver,” she said. “He works in the ER. I’ve made him promise to be off the clock though.

If anyone on board suffers alcohol poisoning, he’ll look extremely disapproving while the ship’s doctor pokes them with needles and rehydrates them. ”

Lucy took the cup from Steven. He had a friendly sort of handsomeness—clean-cut, with that slightly self-conscious posture of a middle-child forced into family portraits from ages four to fourteen. “Nice to meet you,” she said, genuinely pleased.

He gave Karina a fond look that made her laugh. “I’m mostly along to fetch sunscreen and make sure she eats.”

Lucy tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Thank you.” She raised her coffee cup in a small toast. “To sunscreen and sandwiches.”

At that moment, Adam reappeared, freed from Dave and whatever other colleagues had sidetracked him. He scanned the scene, spotted two coffees where none had belonged five seconds ago, and flashed that grin that made Lucy’s heart skip.

“Oat milk, extra shot, no sugar,” Karina told him. He accepted the correct cup with an appreciative hum, closing his eyes as though tasting the difference between perfection and compromise. “Thank you,” he said, nodding.

Lucy leaned in. “Why did Dave think I was your sister?” she whispered.

Adam took a sip, then answered, “He assumed.” He draped an arm around Lucy’s waist, pulling her close. “I corrected him before you could ask for a share of the inheritance.”

Lucy laughed, her cheeks warm. “There is no inheritance.”

“Except for the good dishes,” Adam said, tapping the ring finger where the silver band glinted. “Your future mother-in-law already promised them to you.”

Lucy let herself melt into his side, the noise of the terminal falling away for a moment. Someone cheered from behind—perhaps a greeting or a farewell—and Adam’s lips brushed her temple as he turned his head. “Ready to inspect the floating buffet?”

They wound through the security queue, with Karina and Steven right behind.

Adam held Lucy’s hand tightly, like a lifeline, every time someone called his name.

He answered each greeting in turn, never letting go of her fingers until the other end of the rope yanked them apart.

Then he found her again, as reliably as tomorrow.

Forty minutes later, they reached the final checkpoint near the gangway.

A tall woman in a Northstar badge hurried over to Karina, her brow creased.

“There you are,” she said. “We need the guest-of-honor party first for the boarding photos.” She glanced at Steven, then at Lucy, and hesitated. “This must be Adam’s sister?”

Karina blinked. “No.” She shot Lucy an apologetic look.

The woman’s cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry—” She stepped back. “Marcy, Corporate Communications.” Her voice wavered. “I just joined and must have mixed things up.”

Adam cleared his throat behind them. When Marcy turned, he said, “Lucy is my fiancée.” His tone held amusement, not annoyance, but his hand slid around Lucy’s waist with a firmness that drew warm comfort through her ribs.

Marcy’s gaze dropped to Lucy’s ring as though it were an illusion, shooting a look of confusion at Karina, but she recovered fast. “Congratulations,” she said, and led them toward a backdrop printed with the Northstar compass.

Lucy’s pulse throbbed as she stepped into position next to Adam. Karina nudged them closer. “Move in. You two look like you just met.”

Lucy laughed and leaned her head against Adam’s shoulder.

He pressed his cheek to her hair and glanced down at her with an expression so soft that the photographer called out, “Again, and this time smile at each other.” The flash popped, and for a moment Lucy forgot everything else—the mistaken identities, the endless lines, the fact that she might still feel like a ghost instead of a person.

After the photo session, they walked down the gangway together.

Lucy’s pulse jumped each time she heard her own name or saw someone glance at the ring.

A flight of stairs led them onto the lower deck, then up a spiral escalator that dumped them into a corridor stocked with deck-chairs and deck-games and so many cheerful signs reading “WELCOME ABOARD.” She clutched Adam’s hand tight. She hated navigating crowds.

Their suite sat on Deck Nine and turned out to be almost unreasonably spacious: a living area with two chairs and a small couch, sliding glass doors opening onto a narrow balcony, and a king-size bed facing the midday sun.

Their luggage stood neatly by the closet, each piece labeled with the porter’s silver tags.

On the little desk sat a pair of stamped envelopes and a wine bucket filled with ice, holding a chilled bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes.

Adam went straight to the desk, tugging open drawers to inspect the outlets—half expecting to find an HDMI port for his laptop.

Lucy carried the envelope onto the balcony, inhaling the mix of salt spray and city warmth.

In the distance, a squadron of pelicans swooped low over the harbor.

She sank into one of the deck-chairs and slit open the envelope with careful precision.

Inside lay a thick card. The compass logo printed at the top was familiar, but the message below was unexpected. She read the lines once—then twice—before her eyes focused on the handwritten script curling around the type:

“Congratulations on your engagement, Adam and Karina. May this be the beginning of your greatest adventure yet.”

The sea was calm, but something shifted beneath her feet. She looked down at the neat handwriting, then out at Adam, who was still behind the desk, plugging in lamps and counting outlets, blissfully unaware that his fiancée had a sudden uneasy feeling about this trip.