"What is it, Marcus?" Grayson demanded into his phone, his deep voice turning cold and grand. "I am in the middle of a very delicate culinary operation."
Marcus's deadpan voice came through the speaker clearly. "Mr. Ashford, I am calling to inform you that a delivery vehicle has just arrived at the front gate of the estate."
Grayson raised a dark eyebrow, his blue eyes narrowing. "A delivery vehicle?"
"It is a courier, sir," Marcus replied flatly. "Mrs. Ashford ordered three clay plant pots and two bags of soil from the local garden store yesterday. The driver requires a signature."
Grayson gasped softly, looking utterly offended. He set his wooden spoon down on the counter and stood up to his full, towering height, adjusting his frilly pink apron with sharp, angry movements.
"A signature?" Grayson echoed, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble. "A complete stranger is standing at my gates, demanding that my wife put her sacred name on a piece of paper for dirt?"
