One with You (Crossfire 5)

“Why don’t you come over to the penthouse tomorrow?” I suggested. “I would love for you to see it and we can discuss everything that still needs to be decided. We’ll have lunch in and just hang out.”

Her face brightened. “What a wonderful idea! I would love that, Eva.”

Leaning over the armrests, I kissed her cheek. “Me, too.”

“You’re not even going to take a nap?” I watched, astonished, as Gideon shifted through his closet.

He was wearing only boxer briefs, his hair towel-dried after the shower he’d taken the moment we got home. I was on the bed, feeling exhausted and wrung out even though I’d slept on the plane.

“It’ll be a short day,” he said, pulling out a dark gray suit. “I’ll be home early.”

“You’re going to catch a cold if you don’t get enough sleep. I don’t want you sick at our wedding or on our honeymoon.”

He pulled the blue tie I loved off his tie rack. “I’m not going to get sick.”

I looked at the clock on his nightstand. “It’s not even seven! You never go to work this early.”

“I have things to do.” He buttoned his shirt quickly. “Stop nagging me.”

“I am not nagging.”

He shot me an amused look. “Didn’t you get enough of me yesterday?”

“Oh my God. Are you full of yourself or what?”

He sat and tugged on his socks. “Don’t worry, angel. I’ll give you more when I get home.”

“I want to throw something at you right now.”

Gideon was dressed in a flash, yet somehow looked so polished and perfect. That only soured my mood more.

“Stop scowling at me,” he chastised, bending to kiss the top of my head.

“It takes me forever to look as good as you do without trying,” I grumbled. “And you’re wearing my favorite tie.” It brought out the color of his eyes, made sure you didn’t see anything else but him and how gorgeous he was.

He smiled. “I know. When I get home, would you like me to fuck you while wearing it?”

I pictured it and my scowl faded. What would it be like if he just opened his fly and screwed me with one of his power suits on? Totally hot. In more ways than one.

“We sweat too much.” I pouted at the thought. “We’d ruin it.”

“I’ve got a dozen.” He straightened. “You’re staying home today, right?”

“Wait. You’ve got a dozen of those ties?”

“It’s your favorite,” he replied simply, as if that explained everything. Which I supposed it did. “Home, right?” he repeated.

“Yes, my mom will be here in a few hours and I have calls to make.”

He started toward the door. “Take a nap, grumpy angel. Dream about me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, hugging a pillow and closing my eyes.

I dreamed of him. Of course.

“Most of the RSVPs have come in already,” my mom said, running her fingers over the trackpad on her laptop to show me a spreadsheet that made my eyes cross. “I didn’t expect so many guests would attend on such short notice.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” Honestly, I hadn’t a clue. I didn’t even fully know who all had been invited to the reception. I just knew it was Sunday evening, at one of Gideon’s hotels in the city.

We never would have gotten the space we needed otherwise. Scott never said so, but I had to think someone else’s event had gotten bumped at the last minute. And the number of rooms we’d reserved to accommodate my dad’s side of the family … I hadn’t considered any of that when I picked Gideon’s birthday as the date.

“Yes, it’s great.” My mom smiled at me, but it was a tight smile. She was stressed to the max and I felt bad about that, too.

“It’s going to be wonderful, Mom. Totally amazing. And we’re all going to be so happy, we won’t care if something goes wrong.” She flinched and I rushed on. “Which it won’t. All of the staff are going to make sure they do everything right. This is their boss’s big day.”

“Yes.” She nodded, looking relieved. “You’re right. They’ll want everything to be perfect.”

“And it will be.” How could it not? Gideon and I were already married, but celebrating his birthday was something we hadn’t done together yet. I couldn’t wait.

My smartphone chimed with a text message. I picked it up and read it, frowning. I reached for the TV remote.

“What is it?” my mom asked.

“I don’t know. Gideon wants me to turn the TV on.” My stomach tightened, worry crowding out the anticipation I’d just felt. How much more would we have to take?

I clicked on the channel he’d specified and recognized the set of a popular talk show. To my shock, Gideon was just settling into a chair at a table circled by the five female hosts—to applause, catcalls, and whistles. Think what they would about his fidelity, women couldn’t resist him. His charisma and sheer sexiness were a million times more potent in person.

“My God,” my mother breathed. “What is he doing?”

I turned up the volume.

As was to be expected, after congratulating him on our engagement, the hosts launched right into the topic of Rio and the infamous ménage à trois club photo. Of course, they made sure to point out that it couldn’t be shown on air because it was too risqué. But they directed viewers to the show’s website, which was highlighted on a banner that ran continuously along the bottom of the screen.

“Well, that’s subtle,” my mom snapped. “Why is he giving this any more attention?”

I hushed her. “He’s got a plan.” At least I hoped he did.

Holding a coffee mug branded with the show’s logo between both hands, Gideon looked thoughtful as the hosts all chimed in before letting him speak.

“Should we even be having bachelor and bachelorette parties anymore?” one of the hosts asked.

“Well, that’s one of the things I can clear up,” Gideon interjected, before they started debating that point. “Since Eva and I married last month and I’m no longer a bachelor, it couldn’t be a bachelor party.”

Behind them, on a massive video screen, the show’s logo gave way to a photo of Gideon kissing me after we’d said our vows.

My breath caught right along with the live audience’s gasps. “Wow,” I murmured. “He outed us.”

I barely caught the rush of conversation that followed the reveal, too stunned by what he was doing to process everything. Gideon was such a private man. He never gave personal interviews, only ones focused on Cross Industries.

The photo of us changed to a series of shots taken inside the same nightclub where the leggy brunettes had climbed all over him. When he glanced at the audience and suggested that some of them might be familiar with the location, there were a few shouted affirmatives.

“Obviously,” he went on, looking back at the hosts. “I couldn’t be in New York and Brazil at the same time. The photo that went viral was digitally altered to remove the club’s logo. You can see that it’s embroidered into the curtains of the VIP lounge. All it took was the right software and a couple of clicks to make it disappear.”

“But the girls were there,” one of the hosts countered, “and what was happening with them was real.”

“True. I had a life before my wife came along,” he said evenly and unapologetically. “I can’t change that, unfortunately.”

“She had a life before you, too. She’s the Eva mentioned in, um, a Six-Ninths song.” She squinted slightly. “ ‘Golden Girl.’ ”

The host was obviously reading the information from a teleprompter.

“Yes, that’s her,” he confirmed.

His tone was neutral. He seemed unruffled. While I knew the show was never as spontaneous as it seemed, it was still surreal to see our lives used to boost the morning ratings.

A photo of Brett and me at the “Golden Girl” video launch in Times Square popped up and a portion of the song played for a moment. “How do you feel about that?”