My Secret Husband Is My Cold Boss novel Chapter 57

Having learned her lesson, Wendy deliberately set her alarm thirty minutes earlier than usual.

Free from the brutal midnight emergency calls, a solid eight hours of sleep was more than enough.

She got up and washed her face.

The second she reached for her bedroom door, the blazing memory of his half-naked body from yesterday slammed into her brain, freezing her in place.

She could clearly hear the rhythmic clanking of gym equipment from the living room. Was he shirtless again?

If he was...

Was she supposed to march past him and pretend she didn't see a thing?

Or casually wave it off like it didn't affect her?

Neither option felt remotely safe. She stood frozen, intensely strategizing her exit.

In the massive, quiet apartment, the faint click of a door handle echoed loudly.

Out on the balcony, Sampson was deep into a core workout. Hearing the noise, he paused and turned around.

And then—

Instead of seeing his wife walk out, he saw a single, deeply suspicious head peeking cautiously around the doorframe.

"…Morning," he said flatly.

Seeing that he was mercifully dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants, she exhaled sharply. Tugging at her collar to regain her composure, she strode out confidently. "Morning."

Mortified at being caught creeping around, she immediately launched into a terrible, unprompted excuse.

"So, you decided to wear clothes to work out today, huh?"

He glanced down at himself, instantly putting the pieces together. A slow smirk touched his lips. "You sound a little disappointed, Dr. Gates."

Maybe her furious rant last night had somehow bridged the gap between them.

Because he was actually teasing her.

The realization caught her off guard.

She cleared her throat loudly, wildly changing the subject. "You always work out this early?"

Stepping off the machine, he wiped his face with a towel. "Yeah. If I'm not pulling an overnight shift, I lift from six to seven."

She had only ever seen that kind of psychotic discipline in finance bros on television.

Apparently, top-tier professionals universally hated sleep.

While she was busy marveling at his dedication, he had silently closed the distance between them.

Thanks to the brutal hospital hours, her diet was practically entirely automated.

She survived purely on instant oatmeal, breakfast sandwiches, and quick grab-and-go cereals.

The fridge was fully stocked, and the microwave made heating everything up dangerously easy.

He was in the master bathroom, taking a shower.

Listening to the relentless sound of the water, Wendy started anxiously checking the clock, terrified of being late.

She marched over to the bathroom door and knocked sharply. "Director Sanders, do you want oatmeal or a breakfast sandwich?"

The rushing water abruptly cut off.

Thirty seconds later, he yanked the door open, practically radiating steam and heat. "You're cooking?"

Dressed in a dangerously soft, pearl-white silk robe, he looked devastatingly relaxed and intensely inviting.

Wendy stared blankly for a second too long. "They're frozen. I just have to throw them in the microwave."

"Oatmeal, please. Thank you."

She had wildly misjudged his tastes again.

"I honestly thought you'd ban all processed foods from your diet," she admitted.