Page 3 of The Write Choice

“No, Brandon, that’s not what I want.” I chuckle. “I want… you. And Mason. The three of us, together.”

“I want that too, Katie.” He raises the ring box again, this time snapping it open to reveal a beautiful, emerald-cut diamond on a silver band. Except, knowing Brandon, it’s platinum or something out of my league. “Marry me.”

The ring is too good for me. Hell, the man is probably too good for me, too. He’s got more money than I could ever dream of. He could have had his pick of women if I hadn’t kept him in my bed for a week, and if we both hadn’t forgotten the condom several of those nights. He probably deserves someone who doesn’t have a drinking problem, or who comes from a more solid family background, or a thousand other things I could name.

But, right now, I don’t care. All I want is us.

“Yes.”

Chapter 1

Brandon

Present Day

It has been ninety-four days, seven hours, five minutes, and fifteen seconds since I last had sex with my wife.

And she is standing in the doorway of my home office in leggings that leave very little to the imagination and a sweater that hangs off her shoulder like some sexy 80s rom-com vixen. It’s doing nothing to quell the seemingly semi-permanent stiffness between my legs.

The next thing I know, she narrows her eyes, purses her lips, and puts her hands on her gloriously full hips, and I’ve more or less lost track of this conversation.

Katie in a state of calm is perfection, but Katie fired up is downright sinful. Unfortunately, at the moment, her ire is directed at me. I have a feeling my less-than-zero chance at breaking our dry spell tonight is plummeting with every word I say.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut as I take a deep breath. I need to regain some focus.

“I think this would be a good move for us. It’d be an upgrade,” I say for the hundredth time this week.

“An upgrade for whom?” she asks through gritted teeth. When I open my eyes, her hands are still on her hips, and I can’t think about anything but how supple her skin felt the last time I grabbed exactly where her palms are resting. I close my eyes again and take another deep breath. If I can’t see her, I won’t think about how long it’s been since I’ve been able to hold her.

Except that’s exactly what I’m thinking about. It’s been the only thing on my mind since she kicked me out of our bed over three months ago.

I open my eyes but look down at the shiny surface of the mahogany desk in front of me. “For all of us. Mason has had a hard time making friends at school, Christine will have more space to play, and you hate it here—”

“I love it here.” Her words are like daggers, each one punctuated just a little.

That’s not what she said a few months before she kicked me out of our bedroom, but I’m getting the sense throwing her words back at her right now won’t end well for me. Instead, I say, “I don’t know what hold this city has on you, but you haven’t been happy here for a long time.”

She mercifully drops her hands from her hips as she leans back slightly, her mouth making an O-shape and her eyebrows pinching together. Her nostrils flare slightly as her brow furrows even deeper. “How would you know if I’m happy here or not? You’re never home.”

I press my palms into the desk in front of me and push myself to standing. “Because I’ve been busting my ass as a senior architect for years, working for a promotion that won’t ever come because my parents thought handing the firm to their very qualified son would look like nepotism. The guy they did give it to is too young to retire, and it’s too good of a gig for him to ever move on to a different firm. I can head up the Chicago branch like my parents want, and that will free up more time for me to be available for you and the kids.”

She scoffs at this and folds her arms in front of her chest. This pushes her perfect breasts up a little higher, and I curse my past self for thinking standing up was a good idea.

“I don’t think you understand how promotions work, Brandon. When has more workplace responsibility ever resulted in more family time?”

“I can set some boundaries as a stipulation of moving my entire family halfway across the country to do them a favor,” I insist. My parents had been worried about anything that looked like nepotism a few years ago when a rival firm was dealing with allegations of their own. Now that that’s blown over, they know they need me if they ever want to step back. Some boundaries would be the perfect compromise.

Apparently, Katie doesn’t see it that way. She eyes me warily. “I also don’t think you understand how boundaries work. When was the last time you set any with your parents?”

Without thinking, I run my hand through my long, rust-colored hair. I didn’t go into the office this morning, so it’s loose and falls to my shoulders. Katie catches the movement and rolls her eyes so far back I’m surprised they don’t continue for a full three-sixty.

“Your hair is not a boundary,” she says drily. “And neither are your tattoos.”

“Considering it pisses them off every time they see me, I think it is.” My parents have long held the opinion that their son shouldn’t have long hair or ink, and that clients wouldn’t trust me if I look like a “vagabond”—their word, not mine—but as of yet, my hair hasn’t put anyone off.

Katie raises an eyebrow and, thankfully, drops her arms to her sides again. She sighs slightly but doesn’t say anything. She’s softening.

“Listen.” I need to switch tactics here to capitalize on this shift. I come around the desk and sit on the edge of it, facing her. “Chicago is great. You loved it when we were out there for Daniel’s wedding. Mason really hit it off with Ben’s nephew, so he’ll have a friend waiting for him. This is a huge opportunity. I won’t get a chance for a promotion in New York for a long time. My parents want to retire and leave the whole Chicago firm in my hands, which means I can delegate more tasks. I can be around more often. Plus, my parents will be looking for things to do, so they can take the kids whenever we need them to.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know I’ve made a mistake. To say Katie hates my parents would be a stretch, but my mother has a tendency to meddle. Katie was all too happy when they moved out to Chicago to open the Midwest branch of their architecture firm.