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Just like that, everyone else disappears.

“Hey,” she says.

One word.

Soft.

Warm.

Almost intimate despite the dozen other people in the room. I cross toward her without thinking about it.

“Hey yourself.”

She tips her face up. And I kiss her.

Just kiss her.

A simple greeting. A hello. Nothing heated. Nothing intended to lead anywhere.

My hand settles naturally at her waist, and I bend my head and brush my mouth over hers like I've done it a thousand times.

Except I haven't. I've never done anything like this. Not with anyone else.

Not once.

I've kissed women. I've fucked women. I've taken women to dinners and events and hotel rooms.

But this? Walking into a room full of people I know and kissing one particular woman simply because she's mine and I'm happy to see her?

Never.

The realization comes approximately half a second too late. Because the entire fucking room goes silent.

Not quieter.

Silent.

I straighten slowly. My hand is still on Layla's waist. I leave it there.

Fuck it.

Layla looks up at me, hazel eyes soft and warm.

She's smiling. She hasn't noticed yet. Or maybe she has and doesn't give a shit either.

I like that possibility.

I like it far too fucking much.

My thumb moves against her side. One small, unconscious stroke. Her smile deepens.

Christ.

One week. That's all it's taken. Seven nights of falling asleep beside her. Seven mornings of waking up wanting her closer.

A week of walking through my own house and finding traces of her everywhere. And now apparently I'm kissing her hello in front of my team like this is something we've been doing for years.

Like she's been sitting in my library with the wives forever.