The stack of papers on my desk just seems to be growing as the day goes on. Every time I finish signing one off, another seems to appear next to me. It’s impossible, and I’m getting irritated at this point. It’s nearly 11:30 and I know that I have to at least get through half of this stack before you come visit me for lunch.

That thought alone makes me work a bit faster, the excitement growing in my gut.

You come by here and there to spend some time with me since my schedule is always so busy. It’s mainly lunch dates and late night cuddles for us these days, but we make it work.

My door creaks open after two soft knocks and my eyes peer up at the intruder. My new assistant, Rachel, walks in with a fresh stack of documents I have to go over. I hold back my groan. It’s not her fault. She smiles sympathetically as she sets them down, lingering by my desk. She’s still pretty new here, only on her 5th week, so she is still getting used to how I like things.

Like my alone time.

I peer up at her, still standing at the end of my desk. “Yes?”

“Just wanted to know if there was anything you needed from me, Mr. Styles,” she offers, hands crossing in front of her.

“No, this is fine, thank you.” I smile tightly, watching as she lets herself out. I’ve also got to remind her of the dress code here. Her button up was too tight and her skirt wasn’t regulation length.

After an endless amount of more work, I get a buzz on my phone intercom just before Rachel’s voice comes through.

“Mr. Styles, there’s someone here to see you.”

I perk up immediately, knowing exactly who is here to see me. “Let them in.”

“I think you should come out here,” Rachel speaks, confusing me.

I stand from my chair and straighten out my suit jacket as I make my way to my office door. I’m expecting you to be here and I don’t understand why you wouldn’t just be let right in. You’re my wife. You could order this whole office around and I’d expect them to take it.

As I step out into the main office, I spot you standing by Rachel’s desk, your posture tense.

“I’m sorry, but you’re not on the approved lift of guests for Mr. Styles,” I hear Rachel speak to you, a condescending tone in her voice.

“I’m his wife. Mrs. Styles,” you respond, voice tight with anger.

“Mr. Styles never mentioned he had a wife.”

Okay, woah. I immediately intervene, stepping up beside you and wrapping my arm around your waist. I bend down to press a quick kiss to your cheek.

“What’s going on out here?” I ask, eyeing the situation warily.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Styles, it’s just that she was claiming to be your wife and you didn’t have her listed on—“

“She wasn’t claiming to be anything,” I cut her off. “This is my wife and she doesn’t need to be down on any list. Remember her face.”