Purposefully Accidental

Chapter Twenty-One

"Jo Archer," I repeat, as poor Ruth remains frozen in her seat.

She blinks, and I smile at her innocently.

"Now, can I see my husband in his office, please? Unless he's keeping another woman behind the door, in which case I should really just be going."

My joke falls flat as her face quickly drains of color. She stands up and gives me a frantic jerk of her head. "Right this way, Mrs. Archer—Mr. Archer is available in his office. He just... told me earlier he's not accepting guests at this hour. I'm very sorry about that."

I wave her apology away and thank her for walking me down to his office door. She dismisses herself and I knock on the tall door, waiting until I hear him call out, "Come in!" before pushing the door open.

He has his back to the door, while crouching down on the floor in front of a cabinet, seeming like he's looking for something. His suit jacket is off, hanging haphazardly over his chair, leaving him with a white button-down shirt tucked into dark gray pants, that, dare I say, hugs his round ass pretty perfectly, which I'm blatantly staring at.

"Nice view from up here," I greet him, and smirk as he jolts up from where he's crouched on the floor, very nearly banging his head on the open cabinet door above him.

"Hannah!" he exclaims in surprise, a grin blooming on his face. He stands up and slams the cabinet door shut with his leg, before walking over to me. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Is that how you greet your wife?" I tease him, leaning up as he presses a kiss on my cheek.

He helps me take off the blazer over my shoulder. "It is, when I have no idea she's coming. Have you just arrived? You should've called me—I could've picked you up."

"It's fine. Peter took care of it. And I actually got here yesterday—sorry for basically breaking and entering into your home while you were here."

"You know it's your home, too," he nudges my shoulder gently. "And I can't believe I let you sleep alone there. Peter really should've told me. I would've gone home last night."

"I told him not to let you know. I didn't want to bother you—you sounded like you were having a busy night."

He puffs out a loud breath. "I guess you could say that. What time is it, anyway? I took a shower at the gym earlier and only ate some kind of healthy cereals I found in the pantry 'cause I was in a hurry."

"Was it good?"

"Heck no. Tasted like cardboard and rat piss, so I threw out the rest of the box. I'm so hungry I think I'm starting to see double. Wanna grab some food?"

"It's 10 and I already took care of it," I tell him, holding up the lunch bag I prepared earlier. "I brought brunch."

His face lights up and he takes the bag from my hands. We walk toward the small, rounded table at the corner of his office room, and he immediately unpacks the bag as soon as he sits down.

"You made my favorite sandwich!" he says happily after unwrapping one of the sandwiches.

I slip my aching feet out of my shoes and grab the other sandwich. He doesn't waste any more time before digging into his brunch.

"Haven't had this in such a long time," he says, voice a bit muffled as he chews. "Still as good as I remember."

I shake my head fondly—all of these years and he still eats like a pig. I hope he doesn't do this in front of his business associates.

"Personally, I think it's even better. Since your fridge's stocked with all of the expensive, organic shit," I say with a laugh. "I couldn't afford any of that in college."