King of Greed (Kings of Sin #3) by Ana Huang

My skin flushed. Normally, I wasn’t a violent person, but I was hungry, tired, and irritated after my call with Cole. It took every ounce of willpower not to grab Martha’s coffee and toss it in her smug, condescending face.

“Neither.” I dropped my polite tone. “If Dominic is currently in a meeting, I can wait. I assume he has to eat lunch at some point, correct?”

Martha pursed her lips. “He has a lunch meeting at Le Bernardin. Mrs. Davenport, please, I must insist you— ”

“What’s going on?” A cold voice interrupted her mid-sentence.

We both froze for a split second before our heads swiveled toward the now-open door to Dominic’s office. The sun backlit his frame, and the width of his shoulders filled the doorway, making him look even more imposing than usual.

My throat dried, and the leather bag strap dug into my palm before I forcibly relaxed my grip.

“Mr. Davenport!” Martha jumped up from her chair. “Your call ended early. I was just telling Mrs. Davenport that you— ”

“Repeat that.” Dominic stepped into the main office. The shadows peeled away from his form, revealing chiseled cheekbones, stormy eyes, and a frown that could deter Satan himself.

He wasn’t looking at me. Instead, he pinned his attention on Martha, who shrank beneath his ire. “I said I was telling Mrs. Davenport that— ”

“Mrs. Davenport.” The words were lethal in their quietness. “As in my wife. If she wants to see me, she sees me. Don’t ever prevent her from doing so again or the only part of a New York office you’ll see is the outside when I throw you out. Understand?”

Martha’s face paled to the point of resembling chalk. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

Vindication battled with sympathy for dominance. In the end, the latter won out.

“That was harsh,” I said quietly as I followed Dominic into his office. He still hadn’t looked at me.

“Not as harsh as she deserved.” Instead of sitting, he leaned back against his desk, the picture of cool confidence, but when his eyes finally met mine, the exhaustion in them tugged at my heartstrings in a way that had me biting back my concern.

It doesn’t matter. It’s not your job to make sure he’s getting enough rest.

Dominic’s gaze swept over my face, lingering on my eyes and mouth. “You’re not getting enough sleep.”

My skin heated. “Thanks a lot.” I guess he wasn’t the only one who looked tired.

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear with a self-conscious hand. I hadn’t been getting enough sleep. I’d thrown myself into researching how to open a physical store for Floria Designs, which was a longtime dream, and when I wasn’t working, I was agonizing over the divorce. Anxiety and overwork weren’t exactly a winning beauty combo.

“You know what I mean.” He brushed a thumb over my cheek with agonizing tenderness. “Sleep or not, you’re always beautiful.”

My chest clenched. If only he was this attentive when our relationship wasn’t on the brink of ruin.

I usually got a small brush of his lips or brief, blissful moments of our bodies connecting in the middle of the night, but he hadn’t touched me like this—casual, familiar, intimate—in ages.

I should move away and put some much-needed distance between us, but I couldn’t help leaning into him. One minute. That’s all I need.

“I’m not the only one who hasn’t been sleeping.” His dark circles and sallow complexion gave him away, but still, he was so beautiful it hurt.

“It’s difficult to sleep when your wife refuses to pick up your calls,” he said quietly.

A painful lump blocked the flow of oxygen to my lungs. Don’t let him get to you.

I forced myself to step back and ignore the flash of hurt in his eyes. “I’m not here to discuss our sleep habits,” I said, purposely skipping past the second part of his statement.

Dominic’s confident mask snapped back into place, erasing any hint of vulnerability, but his gaze burned into mine with unsettling intimacy.

“Then why are you here, amor?” The velvety nickname caressed my skin and sent an involuntary wave of nostalgia crashing over me.

“I can’t believe you speak Portuguese.” I shook my head, still in disbelief over how he’d conversed with my family over dinner in their native language. “When the hell did you learn to speak Portuguese?”

“I’ve been attending lessons at the Foreign Languages Institute every Wednesday night.” A tiny grin tugged at his lips as he rinsed the last plate and placed it on the rack. We’d offered to do the dishes since my brother had prepared the food and my mother had disappeared immediately after dessert with her latest boy toy. “Close your mouth, amor, or a fly will get in.”

“You told me you were working Wednesday nights,” I accused.

“I was. I was working on learning Portuguese.” Dominic shrugged, a hint of color rising on his cheekbones. “This is my first time meeting your family. I figured it would be a nice thing to do.”

An ache unfurled behind my ribcage. “You didn’t have to do that. They would’ve loved you regardless.”

Learning foreign languages didn’t come easily for him, but the fact that he’d done it anyway because he wanted to make a good impression on my family…