Page 113 of Dial F for Finance

“The only items left on tonight’s agenda are getting Thai food delivered and getting you out of those clothes.” I press a slow, heavy kiss to the curve of her neck, inhaling the lingering scent of bergamot. “I’m making an executive decision, sweetheart. You’re off the clock. And if you try to redline another contract tonight, I will physically confiscate your remaining electronics.”

“That sounds like a threat, Cruz,” she says, though she tips her head back to give my mouth better access.

“It’s a promise.”

I capture her mouth, turning the kiss from a threat into a thorough, devastating reality. For a second, she kisses me back with that same hungry desperation, her hands sliding up the front of my shirt. But then she shifts her weight, and before I realize her strategy, she’s walking me backward.

The backs of my knees hit the edge of the leather couch. Jenna flattens her palms against my chest and pushes.

I drop onto the cushions, looking up at her in surprise.

“Stay,” she orders, pointing a manicured finger at me. “I’m taking care of you tonight.”

I immediately start to rise, reaching for her waist. “Absolutely not, sweetheart. That’s my job. I take care of you.”

She steps just out of my reach, her hazel eyes flashing with quiet authority. “No. You’ve spent the last two days being everybody’s strength.”

“You did that too,” I interrupt, leaning forward, my elbows resting on my knees. “You literally drafted⁠—”

“I was your support,” she counters, her voice softening into something that completely wrecks me. “I managed the logistics and smoothed a few rough edges. But you did the heavy lifting. You did all the emotional labor, Dominic. You kept your brother from spiraling, you managed your parents’ anxiety, and you held that entire room together.”

She steps back into my space, gently pushing a hand through my hair. The touch is so tender my eyes flutter shut for a fraction of a second.

“Now,” she whispers, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “Let me take care of you.”

I let out a shaky breath, completely stripped of my usual witty deflections. My wife is a terrifying, beautiful force of nature, and for the first time in my life, I actually want to surrender. I lean back against the leather, tilting my head up to look at her.

“OK,” I murmur, the word feeling foreign on my tongue. “What’s the plan, Mrs. Cruz?”

“Pad Thai and Panang curry,” she says, already tapping the screen of her reclaimed phone. “Thirty minutes. While we wait, you are not to move.”

True to her word, Jenna orchestrates the next hour with the exact efficiency she uses in the office. The food arrives, and she practically force-feeds me peanut noodles and chicken satay on the couch before banishing me to the main bathroom.

When I walk in, the massive sunken soaking tub is already full, steam curling gracefully through the dim light. She’s shed the rest of her clothes, stepping into the steaming water naked. I follow without hesitation, stripping and sinking into the heat with a heavy groan that comes straight from my soul.

“Lean forward,” she instructs softly.

I do. She shifts up, perching herself on the slick marble ledge behind me. Her wet hands press into the rigid knots of my shoulders, her thumbs working the deep, accumulated tension out of my muscles until I’m practically liquid. Then, the warm rush of water hits my scalp. She works the shampoo through my hair, her nails gently scraping in slow, methodical circles. I tilt my head back against her bare thighs, closing my eyes, undone by the quiet, absolute intimacy of it.

“Jenna,” I breathe, tilting my head to look up at her.

She pauses, her slick, soapy fingers coming to rest against my temples. Her eyes are dark in the steam, stripped of the defense she usually wears like a shield. “I didn’t see it before,” she murmurs, the acoustics of the tiled room catching the quiet reverence in her voice.

“See what?”

“The kind of man you actually are.” She traces a wet thumb over my cheekbone. “I thought you were all bespoke suits and strategic charm. A beautiful, arrogant façade. But you . . . you hold everyone’s world together, Dominic.”

She rinses the soap from my hair, the warm water rushing down my neck, grounding me. “I see it now. The way you manage Logan’s trusts just to shield him from Caroline and Edmund. The way you quietly provided Bennett’s startup capital after college when he needed it most. The way you put David on retainer, then had me hire staff and outfit the office so he could have the firm he deserved without asking a proud man to accept what he couldn’t take from his brother. Your parents. Dustin.” She swallows hard, her gaze dropping to my lips. “And me. Especially me.”

I just look at her, my chest cracking wide open. I’ve spent years making sure my fingerprints were invisible on those favors, protecting my inner circle from the shadows. She’s been so busy pushing me away these last few years that she’s the last person I expected to notice.

My instinct is to joke. Deflect.

Pretend like it’s nothing.

But none of it makes it past my teeth.

“I’m sorry for thinking it was an act,” she whispers, her thumbs tracing my jawline while the warm water sluices over my collarbones. “When we first met, I genuinely believed you were all flash. A guy who threw money and charm at problems just to keep his own hands clean. I thought you were entirely surface-level.”