The Convenient Wife

Clearing my throat, I pull myself together and walk up to his desk. Sucking in a gulp of air, that same sweet scent explodes around me and I want to drink it in. It’s different this time, inhaling his cologne so close to him. He casts a spell over me, taking me hostage.

Looking up at me, his patience seems to thin as he flares his nostrils and sinks deeper into his seat. “Please,” he says sternly, holding out his hand. “Sit.”

My body reacts, taking the seat without thinking about it. Crossing my legs, I sit my clutch on my lap. “You have an amazing place here.” I choke the words out, trying to formulate some conversation because I feel so overwhelmed inside.

“I do, don’t I?” Looking around the room, a smug grin fills his face. “It’s home.”

“I can’t wait to see more.”

Bolt lowers his lids and smirks, two dimples appear on his face. His jaw is cut with sharp angles and a light shadow of stubble. The kind of stubble you wonder if it will tickle or burn your skin if his face is buried between your legs.

A flutter skirts through my belly, causing my stomach to flip. Sweat is beading up on the back of my neck. It’s cold as ice as single droplets slip down between my shoulder blades and follow my spine to the seam of my pants. I want to wriggle in the chair because it tickles, but I stay still, digging my nails into my small purse.

“Did Yale give you any real information when you got here?”

“None at all,” I say, shaking my head. Remembering something I brought, I open my purse quickly, and pull out a folded piece of paper. “Oh, I meant to give this to your assistant.”

“What’s this?” Bolt asks, not even attempting to read it.

“It’s my résumé. It has everything listed that I’ve done with whiskey and with distillation. I don’t want to brag, but I know my stuff.”

“Only people who are bragging say that.” Bolt peers up at me under hooded lids as his lip twitches into a crooked grin. “You’re not going to need this, not for why I brought you here.”

“I’m confused, I know you said this is different, but I thought I was here to intern with the master blender. . .” Pausing, I nibble my bottom lip, keeping my eyes on his.

There is something I can feel between us, a static electricity in the air, something that makes the hair on my arms prickle and my skin buzz.

“Am I wrong?” I ask.

Crumpling my résumé, he tosses it across the room, landing it in the waste basket by the door. “Drink?” he asks, standing from his seat and moving to a bar against the wall.

Towering over me, every inch of him is solid, thick, built like a football player. His blazer is wide open, exposing a deep blue button-up that’s so tight I can see his abs as he moves. I think I count eight, but it’s hard to tell for sure in the dim lighting.

Standing at the bar, he grabs two glasses and a bottle of liquor. Walking back to the desk, he pours two short glasses and hands me one. “I don’t like telling people I just met that they’re wrong, but, yes, you’re wrong.”

“Then what am I here for?” Smelling the liquor, I let the subtle notes of honey find their way into the back of my throat before I take an actual sip.

The color is rich, reminding me of sap when it dries. The amber hue has dark shadows and a strong scent. It’s delicious, like the first glass from a newly opened cask that’s been aging for ten years.

Bolt watches me, studying my face and how the whiskey goes down. I don’t cringe, I don’t wince or react harshly. I let the liquor do what it does best, calm my nerves.

His fingers are wrapped around the rim of his glass as he gives it a swirl. Lifting it to his lips, he takes a drink. “I have a very special job for you.”

“What is it?” I ask, swallowing the lump in my throat. Squeezing the glass tighter, I hold it against my bottom lip, ready to down it all in one gulp.

The way he looks at me makes me even more nervous than I already am, and his voice is so smooth it makes my heart skip a beat. Biting his bottom lip, his eyes darken as he slips between me and the front of his desk to rest against the edge.

“It’s simple, really. . .” Pausing, he takes another small sip. “I want you to be my wife.”

The liquor is in my mouth and down my throat before the last word comes out of his.

“Hit me with another,” I say, holding out the empty glass in his direction.