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"Exactly." He nods. "Especially since, it’s not like you’re particularly happy after having done the deed."
"What gives you that idea?" I stiffen.
“The fact your wife is no longer your secretary—"
"We thought it best not to work in such close proximity, given we’re married now. We wanted to, uh, not make things uncomfortable for those around us. Also, Belle’s skills are better utilized setting up and running the childcare facilities. That job is more important than being my assistant."
"—and the fact that she takes the tube to work, while you come by car."
I stiffen. "She’s an independent woman."
"And that the two of you missed Sunday lunch, despite the old man having asked you to attend."
"Fuck."
He nods. "So, it seems the two of you are struggling to figure things out."
"Early days of marriage. It’s normal."
"If you say so." He doesn’t sound convinced.
"In fact, the best thing the old man did was insist I get married if I wanted to stay on as the CEO."
"O-k-a-y?" He levels a disbelieving glance in my direction. “Of course, you didn’t forget to send out a company-wide email letting everyone know about the child-care facilities your wife will be leading on for the company. An initiative which you should have informed me of, considering I’m joint-CEO—”
“I’m informing you now.” I shrug.
“An initiative which has resulted in our employee satisfaction scores surging by fifty percent in yesterday’s organization wide survey, which”—he strokes his chin— “in turn, is bound to increase productivity by at least fifteen percent. A fact which might even justify the unplanned investment behind this scheme you’ve already made.”
My wife was right about how providing daycare services will impact productivity, after all. Apparently she’s right about a lot of things. My phone buzzes. I pull it out of my pocket, glance at the screen, then jump to my feet. "I have to leave."
63
Mira
"I’m fine. It’s probably because I didn’t stop for lunch today." I try to sit up, the room tilts, and I find myself flat on my back again.
"You’re not okay." Adela places a palm on my forehead. Demand for spaces in the preschool has spiraled so quickly, I need more help. When she volunteered, Ed signed her transfer to my department immediately.
"You’re burning up," she murmurs.
"My throat did feel a little scratchy this morning," I admit.
"You need to see a doctor."
"Nothing some paracetamol won’t sort out." I cough. "Just don’t tell my husband."
"I called your husband," she says at the same time.
I gape at her. "Why did you do that?"
She blinks. "Uh, he’s your husband? Also, he happens to be the CEO of the company, and I want to keep my job, and—"
"How is she?" Ed bursts into the reception area of the nursery, which is where my legs chose to give way from underneath me. He moves so quickly, his feet don’t seem to touch the ground. He sinks to his knees next to me and rakes his gaze over my features. "Why is she so pale?"
"She has a fever…and mentioned a sore throat, and—"
"Call Dr. Weston," he orders her.
