Page 77 of Anyone But You

“Her manicotti.”

“Bet,” she replied, tapping away at the screen.

“I’m returning to the office tomorrow to show my face and—”

“I don’t approve of you scaring your employees with your face, but I can’t stop you,” she mumbled.

I chuckled softly while Doug squirmed in his seat from our unconventional dynamic.

“I scare them with my face? Do you know how many HR complaints I’ve had to squash because you are “unapproachable”?”

Victoria’s brow raised to her hairline.

“How many?”

“Eight. Six from the same person.”

“Uh-uh. Who was that?” she pressed.

I shrugged.

“The six complaints were submitted anonymously.”

“Then how do you know it’s the same person?”

“Because they misspelled your name every time.”

“Imagine calling me unapproachable, but you’re illiterate. Fire them.”

“Are you asking me to abuse my power to satisfy your personal vendetta?”

“What’s the point of being romantically involved with a CEO if he won’t throw his weight around for you? I bet everything I have that whoever the anonymous reporter was was gunning for my job. They ripped that page straight out of the Hater Handbook.”

“They did, my dear, but you emerged victorious. Not to change the subject, but when will you be returning to your apartment to collect your belongings?”

“I can handle that tomorrow while you’re at the office. I’ll get Brittney and Alyssa to help. I’ll probably give them most of my belongings and donate the rest.”

Relief washed over me when the SUV arrived at the gate surrounding my property.

Correction…our property.

The small creature comforts I once took for granted came flooding back as my home came into view. I missed the waterfall on the island, but nothing could beat the amazing feeling of four shower heads blasting nearly boiling water on you. I missed cuddling in our makeshift bed, but the thought of lying in my own bed again was enough to make me cry.

I was violently shaken from my commiseration by my wife.

“Oh, my God, Gio. Your house is amazing!” she gasped as the vehicle traveled the winding driveway.

“I told you this many times and invited you to see it.”

I chuckled when she smacked her lips. “You weren’t fooling me. You weren’t inviting me to your house for some innocent home tour. You wanted to get me alone, ply me with expensive wine from your wine cellar—you have a wine cellar, right?”

“I do,” I confirmed, still maintaining the smile on my face.

“You wanted to take advantage of me, Mr. Ramsey.”

“Still do,” I answered honestly. I leaned in and whispered in her ear. “You should be thanking God right now that I’m on light duty. Count your fucking days, Mrs. Ramsey.”

I pulled away, leaving her stupefied.