Bull (The Buck Boys Heroes 1)

“Graham,” she repeats.

I nod.

“I’m going to take the subway,” she says as she twirls the ring on her finger to hide the diamond from view. “I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Miss Shaw.”

Her lips lift into a soft smile. “It’s Trina or Mrs. Locke.”

Indeed it is.

“Trina, “ I go for the less jarring choice. “Goodnight, Trina.”

“Bye, Graham.” She wiggles her fingers in the air before she starts in a brisk walk down the sidewalk.

Chapter Seven

Trina

I stare at the ring on my finger.

I half-convinced myself before I fell asleep last night that I’d wake this morning to realize that it was all a dream, but this stunning diamond ring says otherwise.

Even though I’m not changing my name legally for this temporary arrangement, Mr. Abdon will still view me as Trina Locke.

“Trina Locke,” I whisper. “Mrs. Locke.”

When I blurted it out to Mr. Locke last night, it was a joke. Now, I’m starting to realize just how uncomfortable it makes me to say it and hear it.

I finish brushing my hair before dressing in a navy blue pencil skirt and a light blue blouse.

Blue is my color.

I’ve had enough people tell me that to convince me it’s true.

Just as I’m about to slip my feet into a pair of nude heels, my phone chimes from my bedside table.

I rush over and pick it up to read the text message on the screen.

Mr. Locke: Mr. Abdon will be arriving in New York shortly after 1 PM. I’ll forward you his itinerary. Schedule a car to pick him up from the airport and make arrangements for his stay at the Bishop Hotel Tribeca.

No good morning, or how are you doing, wife…nothing but another one of his curt orders.

This one is different, though, and I intend to treat it as such.

I type back a response.

Trina: I’ll handle it.

Once I hit send, I open my contact list and scroll down to my boss’s name. I edit the details switching out Mr. Locke for Graham.

If I’m going to train my brain to call him that, I need to start this very second.

Another text message arrives just as I go back to the messaging app.

Graham: As you’re aware, I’ll be in meetings most of the day. I suggest we discuss what to say to Lloyd before we meet him at the hotel later for a drink. Agreed?

Yeah, no.

I won’t agree to that.

I’m not sending one of the company’s drivers to the airport to pick up its founder. That will not happen on my watch.

I choose my words carefully before I text Graham back.

Trina: You have an opening at 4. I’ll be at my desk.

I press send, leave my bedroom, and head to the kitchen for a quick breakfast before I start my first official day as Mrs. Locke.

Worry settles in my belly as I watch the passengers that were on the same flight as Mr. Abdon file past me.

I’m at JFK airport waiting in the arrival area for Mr. Abdon.

I know, for sure, that he would have deplaned first. He always deplanes first because he’s superstitious about where he will sit on an airplane.

“It’s the first row all the way, Trina,” he told me once.

I remembered that advice on the day I took my first flight ever. I was headed to Cincinnati to visit my sister, Falon, and her husband, Asher Foster.

The trip was their gift for my twenty-fourth birthday, including the first class airline ticket.

I sat in the second row that day, terrified and excited at the same time. When the plane landed, Falon was there to greet me. She took me to the hotel they were staying in and checked me into a luxury suite. A few hours later, we watched her husband perform to a sold-out crowd on the final stop of his world tour.

My brother-in-law just happens to be a rock star.

He offered me a job when I graduated from college. I jumped at the chance to handle the duties of being his assistant, but over time, I realized that mixing business with family wasn’t for me.

I had to venture out on my own, and fortunately for me, Mr. Abdon fell into my path.

I breathe a sigh of relief when he appears.

I can tell immediately that he’s changed since the last time I saw him months ago. He’s thinner, he’s walking more slowly, and the usual bounce in his gait isn’t there anymore.

Rushing toward him, I hold up the makeshift sign I made before I left the office.

His laughter fills the terminal once he spots it and me.

“World’s most handsome watchmaker,” he reads it aloud. “If that’s not fuel for my weary soul, I don’t know what is.”

Before I can say anything, he tugs me into an embrace.

It’s the first time he’s done that, and I relish in it. I hold him tightly as he clings to me.