"Please don't do anything political." Rowan pleaded with Chris. "I can't have another PR team on my back and generals that don't want a war because your husband is possessive."
Chris turned his head very slowly, black eyes sliding toward Rowan with the kind of patient disbelief usually reserved for deeply disappointing weather forecasts.
"Do I look like I'm about to start a war in the hallway?" he asked calmly.
Rowan didn't even blink. "You look like a man whose husband nearly razed a garden yesterday, and today he is definitely razing people. I am begging you as a professional courtesy to reality—don't encourage him."
Chris's mouth curved, not quite a smile, not quite innocent either.
"Rowan," he said gently, "I am going to walk to my office. I am going to drink something warm. And I am going to do absolutely nothing that can be classified as political."
There was a pause.
"…intentionally."
Rowan closed his eyes for exactly half a heartbeat, like a devout man accepting fate.
