Today was Friday and it meant two things.
One — work at Gray & Milton would be lighter. No major meetings, no pressure from Clarkson hovering over their heads. The Finance Department always wrapped up by Thursday so reports could be balanced, budgets tied, and any fires extinguished before the weekend.
Two — Val would be leaving tomorrow.
But I wasn't going to think about that yet.
Not when I'd barely opened my eyes and she was already tugging the blanket off me, hair still messy from sleep, wearing that oversized shirt of mine like she'd stolen it on purpose.
"Husband," she whispered, voice soft but firm, "you'll be late."
Late. For work.
Which was ironic, because I was pretty sure she was the reason I could barely move.
I groaned and rubbed my eyes. "You realize this is your fault, right?"
She blinked innocently. "I didn't hear you complaining last night."