Chapter 7 Drive to Work Together

Barbara's POV

"I'm sorry," I blurted out. "I shouldn't have used violence in the mall. I was just—"

"Remember who you are now," he interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. "You don't apologize. You don't fear anyone."

I fumbled for words, desperate to explain that I wasn't usually such a hothead, but his hardening gaze made me swallow my explanation.

"Eat," he said more gently, probably noticing my flinch, before returning to his tablet.

I picked up my fork and tried to focus on the food instead of the emotions swirling inside me. The pasta was perfect, al dente with a silky cream sauce that would normally have me swooning, but I could barely taste it through the knot in my throat.

The ride back was silent again, but this time I wasn't sharing the backseat with Levi. After finishing about a quarter of the massive meal, he had received a call and left.

"Mrs. Gardener," Chandler broke the silence. "If something like today ever happens again, please call me immediately. I'll come right away."

His formality was oddly comforting after my emotional rollercoaster.

"I didn't know something like that was going to happen," I replied, fiddling with the hem of my shirt. "I think I made him angry. Do you think... did I embarrass him?"

Chandler's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. "Rest assured, ma'am. If he's angry with anyone, it's me."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Chandler measured his words carefully, "Mr. Gardener has already taken action. He's sent a team to begin acquisition procedures for Harlow Construction."

My jaw dropped. "He's buying Isabella's family company? Just like that? Because of me?"

A slight smile tugged at Chandler's lips. "Mr. Gardener is... protective of what's his. He might seem cold, but he's fiercely loyal to those in his inner circle. And you, as his wife, are now at the very center of that circle."

That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Chandler's words echo in my mind like a movie I couldn't pause. The man who had barely spoken ten sentences to me was destroying my ex-boyfriend's career because he had tried to hit me? It seemed excessive, almost ridiculous, yet strangely, warmth bloomed in my chest at the thought.

I'd never experienced that kind of protection in a relationship before. But today, someone had stood in the gap for me. The man sleeping somewhere down the hall — my husband in name only — had become, for one brief moment, my unexpected defender.

The thought sent a peculiar flutter through me, a feeling I couldn't quite categorize. It wasn't romantic, not exactly, but it was... comforting. Reassuring. Whatever his reasons for marrying me, I couldn't help feeling grateful to have someone like him on my side.

The second day, morning sunlight sliced through a gap in the curtains, painting a warm stripe across my face. I cracked open one eye to check the time, expecting to see 7:00 or maybe 7:15 at the latest.

But what I saw was 8:00 AM blazing in angry red digits from my bedside clock.

"SHIT!" The word exploded from my mouth as I bolted upright, my heart immediately kicking into overdrive. Monday. Work. First day at the office as Mrs. Gardener. And I'm late.

Fifteen minutes later, I emerged from the bedroom looking somewhat presentable. The mansion seemed to unfold endlessly as I descended the grand staircase, the sound of cutlery clinking against china drifting from somewhere ahead.

"Mrs. Gardener." Chandler's voice froze me mid-stride. He stood at attention beside the entrance to the dinning room, his posture rigid as a soldier's.

I peered past him and my heart stuttered. Levi sat at the head of the table, looking impeccably put together. A newspaper lay unfolded beside his plate as he methodically cut into something on his plate.

I stood awkwardly at the threshold, shifting my weight from foot to foot, wondering if I should acknowledge him or just slink away before he noticed me.

"Sit down."

Levi's voice cut through the air like a blade. He didn't raise his voice, didn't even look up from his plate, but the command hit me with physical force.

My body responded before my brain could object, lowering into the chair that Chandler held. He immediately placed a plate before me — a croissant, sliced fruit, and what looked like a small omelet. The smell wafted up, making my stomach growl traitorously.

Chandler then poured coffee into a delicate porcelain cup, then melted away like a ghost, leaving me alone with the human glacier at the other end of the table.

"Eat."

My eyes shot up to meet Levi's. He had set down his utensils again and was watching me with that same inscrutable expression.

I nodded jerkily and picked up my fork, stabbing at a piece of fruit with more force than necessary. Wow, so this is what it feels like to be a prisoner at a five-star jail.

"When you're finished, my car will take you to work," he added, folding his newspaper with meticulous precision.

"You're... driving me to work?" I asked, my fork suspended midway to my mouth.

Levi raised an eyebrow, the first expression I had seen on his face all morning. "Is that a problem?"

Yes, it's a massive problem! My mind raced through all the possible scenarios — arriving at Gardener Group headquarters in the CEO's personal vehicle, the stares, the whispers, the questions. The gossip would spread through the building faster than a virus.

"I can take the subway," I suggested, trying to sound casual. "It's really no trouble. I'm used to it."

"The subway," he repeated, as if it was the name of a donkey.

"It's quick," I insisted, growing desperate. "And I don't want to inconvenience you."

Levi's eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?"

"What? No! I just—"

"Or have you forgotten?" His voice softened a fraction, the change so subtle I almost missed it. "You're my wife now."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Four simple words, and something strange happened in my chest — a flutter, a squeeze, a warmth that spread outward from my heart to my fingertips.

"Oh," I whispered, unable to form a more coherent response.

Without another word, I chewed mechanically on the food, and finished the last bite of croissant in record time. Then, following the two men, I slid into the backseat of the waiting car.

Half an hour later, I slammed my finger onto the fingerprint scanner, watching the little light flash from red to green with all the intensity of someone defusing a bomb in the final seconds. Made it. 8: 59. Oof.

By the time I collapsed into my chair, my blouse was sticking to my back. I dropped my head onto my desk, the cool surface a blessed relief against my flushed skin. Levi had escorted me through the executive entrance, bypassing the morning crush of employees at the main doors. No one had seen us arrive together. No questions, no stares, no whispers.

This actually might work to my advantage. A small, mischievous smile crept onto my face as I imagined all the future mornings I could skip the subway sardine can experience. Hell, if I played my cards right, I could probably shave twenty minutes off my morning routine.

"All administrative staff to Conference Room C, please. Immediate meeting."