Despite the passionate romp in the hay, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I started to doze off, I would flinch awake, paranoid that I had heard something nearby. I couldn’t relax entirely just knowing that there was someone out there that wanted to take the life of my wife. I felt helpless, scared, and small at the thought.

Each time I would spring awake, I would catch my breath, hold Hannah a little closer, and attempt to go to sleep. It was all for nothing, though. Even the comfort of the woman I loved more than anyone wasn’t enough. There was just too much going on and I was too scared of the unknown at that moment.

Before I knew it, the sun was starting to lighten the room. Sighing heavily, I crept out of bed and headed downstairs after dressing myself. I figured getting in the kitchen and starting breakfast before Geoffrey would be a good distraction for me. It had been a while since I had last cooked, but I still knew how.

I got out the eggs, bacon, green onion, tomatoes, english muffins, and anything else I saw to make myself and Hannah a deluxe breakfast. The thought of serving her breakfast in bed brought a smile to my face. She deserved pampering, and I figured it would be a great way to start the day.

As I beat the eggs into a homogeneous mixture, I went ahead and mentally made the decision to stay home. There was no possible way I was going to be away from Hannah for that long. It was too soon. I needed to be near her, even if I didn’t always have eyes on her. Anything to ease the panic that had overcome my body just at the sheer thought of her being in danger. I needed to be near enough that I, myself, could spring into action. I might not have been as helpful as the bodyguards, but I just needed that peace of mind.

Cooking proved to be a therapeutic activity to me. I was able to turn my mind off a little bit and just focus on the task at hand. Even though I hadn’t initially had a meal plan in mind, it all started to come together. I poured the egg mixture—along with bacon I had pan-fried, tomatoes, basil, and green onion—into a muffin pan to make frittatas. As they baked, I combined avocado, plain greek yogurt, lime, and salt to create a spread. Toasting off the english muffins, I started contemplating if there was any way I could plate the dish with a creative flare.

As I pulled the frittatas out of the oven, I heard one of the bodyguards talking to someone at the door. I glanced at the time and drew my brows together. Who in the hell would be there so early in the morning? Taking off the oven mits, I moved through the house until I reached the entrance.

I stood back and blinked at the sight of Jessica Sullivan standing there. She was arguing with one of the guards before her eyes cut to me and a smirk fell over her face. "There you are," she all but purred. "Can you please tell this man to let me in?"

I paced forward, though I kept some distance. "What are you doing here, Jessica?" I asked.

"Well, it’s nice to see you too," she pouted.

I folded my arms. "It’s barely seven in the morning. What is the meaning of coming over so early? Or, honestly, at all?" I retorted.

She shifted awkwardly and rubbed her arm as she stood in the doorway. "I would really rather discuss this in private. Please?" she asked.

I didn’t want to, and something in my gut was telling me not to give in. I should have told Miguel to slam the door in her face and let the thought die with her. My curiosity was too strong, though. I reluctantly nodded and gave Miguel a reassuring look. I didn’t think Jessica was a danger to anyone. "Let’s go to the study to talk then," I replied.

The two of us moved through the halls until we reached the office. Stepping inside, I shut the door behind us to contain the noise. I moved over to my desk and leaned against it. I eyed her curiously. I had a feeling that I knew what she was there for, but why at such an hour? What was the purpose of it?

"Say whatever you came here to say," I instructed after a couple of minutes of silence, my annoyance growing. I didn’t want to waste my time standing there with her when I could have been enjoying a homemade breakfast with my wife.

She wrung her hands and paced about anxiously. Her troubled demeanor was making me feel a bit worried, but I didn’t dare show that externally. I didn’t want her thinking I was sympathizing with her. I was just in a sensitive position in my own life.

"It’s hard," she began, still pacing back and forth. "I need to ask you something but I know the answer is going to be no. I have to ask, though. And I have to convince you."

I quirked a brow. "Well, what is it? Go ahead and say it."

"Please, just hear me out," Jessica pleaded again. She turned in my direction and clasped her hands together in front of her. "I know that there are differences in point of view that are weighing heavily when it comes to our families. And I know what I need to ask sounds ridiculous but... Can you please, and I mean pretty please, change your story in a way that helps Bernard’s sentence?"

I gaped at her and the audacity to ask such a question. "You can’t be serious. You can’t really think you’ll get a favorable answer to that."

She walked forward, drawing nearer to me. "I don’t expect you to right away, but just remember who Bernard is. I know he can be an asshole, I know he can be entitled, but he’s still a good guy underneath it all. He got caught up in things he shouldn’t have been, but he’s human, Roman."

I averted my eyes and shook my head. "It doesn’t matter who he used to be. It takes a certain kind of person to even consider doing the things that he’s done—let alone actually do them. There’s nothing you can do to change my mind."

"Nothing at all?" she questioned, her voice drawing closer. I was not looking at her.

"Not at all," I stated matter-of-factly.

"Are you sure about that?" she purred.

The tone of her voice and how close it sounded caused me to turn my head. She was right in front of me then. Jessica draped her arms over my shoulders and stood between my legs as I sat on the desk. Her lower lip pouted and her lashes batted at me.

"There’s nothing, nothing at all, I can do to change your mind?" Jessica questioned, putting on a bit of a baby voice.

I wanted to laugh at her. I wanted to laugh right in her face.

How could she possibly think I was that weak-willed? Not to mention, I was a married man! The Sullivan family really had no morals. Who did she think she was to try and snake her way into my pants, in my home, while my wife slept upstairs?

As much as I wanted to mock her or laugh at her, I held it all in. It wasn’t a savory path, but I saw it clearly.

I could exploit her attraction to me and get information. I would just have to play her game, just a little bit.