Marrying Mr. Wrong (Dirty Martini Running Club #3) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,32

to the elevator.

Okay. This was fine. I’d been through a meeting with Cox and Mr. Calloway in Vegas and survived. Of course, that had been before we’d gotten married, but that didn’t mean anything had to be different now.

I could do this.

We rode the elevator to the parking garage and got in Mr. Calloway’s car. Cox’s office wasn’t far. Probably walkable on a nice day, but the gray drizzle outside made me glad for my hair that we hadn’t. In all of two blocks, it would have turned into a frizzy nightmare.

With curls still intact, wrap dress adjusted, and fortifying breaths taken, I followed Mr. Calloway up to Camden Cox’s office.

The elevator opened directly into the lobby. A Cox Development logo decorated the wall behind the front desk and there was comfortable-looking furniture for waiting guests. The colors were cool and calming—beachy blues and grays that contrasted with the dark brown leather couch and chairs.

A man wearing a headset that somehow didn’t crush his spiky blond hair greeted us with a friendly smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Shepherd Calloway here to see Camden Cox.”

“Of course. One moment, please.”

The receptionist spoke quietly to someone through his headset, letting them know Mr. Cox’s two o’clock had arrived.

The instant Oliver came through the doorway to the right of the front desk, I knew it was him. It had to be him. He was tall and lean with sharp cheekbones, auburn hair, a smooth jaw, and a smart pair of glasses. He wore a tweed vest over a button-down shirt and tie, with slacks and brown shoes.

“Mr. Calloway, right this way,” he said, cute British accent and all. His eyes landed on me and his mouth curled in a smile. “Sophie, I presume?”

“Yes, hi. It’s nice to meet you in person.”

“You as well, darling. I’ll take you back.”

I let out a relieved breath—thank goodness he hadn’t called me Sophie Cox, or worse, Mrs. Cox—and followed him and Mr. Calloway.

As soon as we walked in, Cox stood. He was dressed in a button-down shirt with the collar loose, sleeves cuffed. His eyes slid up and down my body like a soft caress and the corner of his mouth lifted.

Pressing my lips together, I gave my head a little shake. Don’t you dare say anything, Cox. Don’t you dare.

He smoothly turned to Mr. Calloway and held out his hand. “Thanks for coming.”

They shook and nodded to each other, then Mr. Calloway and I took a seat.

See? Totally fine. Just business.

Cox’s gaze dipped to my chest and there was that almost-smirk again.

I cleared my throat.

Without missing a beat, he slid a folder in front of him and opened it, as if he hadn’t just been ogling my boobs.

“Can I get you any refreshments? Coffee? Tea?” Oliver asked.

Mr. Calloway shook his head without looking up. “No.”

“No thank you,” I said.

“Thanks, Oliver,” Cox said. “We’re good.”

Oliver gave me a subtle wink, then left, closing the door behind him.

A second later, the door flew open. A woman with platinum blond hair tied at the nape of her neck walked in, already talking.

“We need to—” She stopped short, her lips parted. “I didn’t realize you were busy.”

A low hum of tension radiated from Cox. His expression barely changed, but I could sense he was annoyed.

How could I tell? I barely knew him.

Maybe it was just logic. Whoever she was, she’d just barged into a meeting.

Mr. Calloway was definitely annoyed. His stiff posture and icy gaze were familiar.

“Althea McLellan,” Cox said, gesturing to her. “This is Shepherd Calloway and his assistant, Sophie.”

A flicker of something—surprise, maybe?—marred her expression. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, and she smiled. “Very nice to meet you. I’ll come back. Sorry for the interruption.”

Her eyes moved from Cox to Mr. Calloway, then to me. They lingered on my face, narrowing slightly, making me wonder if I had something on my nose. I reached up to give it a dainty swipe with one knuckle. She turned and left.

That was odd. Did she know who I was?

“Sorry about that,” Cox said.

Mr. Calloway acknowledged his apology with a tilt of his head. “No problem.”

Seamlessly, as if the brief interruption hadn’t occurred, they launched into a discussion about the project. Updates, timelines, challenges. I dutifully took notes, recorded dates, and jotted down follow-up questions Mr. Calloway might have later.

In short, I did my job.

And did not fail to notice Cox’s wandering gaze.

Somehow he seemed to have mastered the art of looking at me with undisguised heat