Page 13 of Perfect Satisfaction

“You can’t agree to that timeline,”I argue with the lead of the Dubai project team.

“Why on earth not?”

Why not? Because I want to fly home to see my husband? Instead, I scour the contract in front of me and—thankfully—identify a major issue the man on the other line failed to notice. “The supplier has a firm delivery after date, JB. You can’t break it just to suit your own timetable.”

There’s vicious cursing on the other end of the line, but I know it concludes the argument I’ve been suffering for the last hour. Pulling up my personal email as JB continues to gripe about, “Doing things the bloody way I want, Sula,” I shoot Arek a quick message.

I’m flying home this weekend.

His reply comes through in less than a minute.I can’t wait for our apartment to feel like a home again.

I sigh softly, as my fingers trace the letters on the screen. “Me neither.”

“What? You never agree with me, Sula,” JB’s in shock.

“What? No. I was reading a text.”

That’s when the most unwelcome voice in the world bellows into my office. “Ursula. My office. Now.”

Even JB stops his infinite whining at the familiar sound. After all, we’ve both been trained to drop everything when the boss is at his most charming. Waiting just a few moments to avoid being overheard, he hisses, “Did you do anything to piss him off?”

“Me!” I exclaim.

“Yes, you. You’re the only one suicidal enough to challenge him, Sula.”

“More like I’m the only one who doesn’t give a damn about him,” I inform JB snootily.

The man on the other line chuckles. “True. Very true. Now, tell me the truth.”

“When have I not?” I ask affronted.

“You were searching for that clause so you could go visit your husband this weekend.”

“I refuse to acknowledge that one way or another,” I inform him loftily.

There’s warm laughter on the other end of the line. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

Before I can formulate a reply, my name is bellowed through the hallowed halls of MSW’s London headquarters. “Ursula!”

“Never mind. You’d better go find out what the old bastard wants,” JB sighs.

“Right. We’ll continue our debate later.” I disconnect our call and roll back from my desk. Surging to my feet with righteous fury, I storm down the hall toward my father’s office. Without bothering to knock, I storm in—much the same way he did to mine. Before he can fire out his opening salvo, I toss down my own. “I could have been on a call with a client.”

He waves his hand in the air, flicking away my concern. “You and JB were merely arguing.” His hard green eyes bore into mine. “Do you think I’m not aware of your activities, Ursula?”

A chill races through me at the pointedness of his words, but I manage to suppress it. Instead, I drop myself into one of the chairs in front of his desk and cross my legs. “What do you want, West?”

He slaps a folder down in front of me. “I want you to tell your husband to lay off XMedia or there will be repercussions.”

I frantically try to assimilate everything that’s suddenly spun out of my control. My father—legendary software billionaire West Moore—is aware I’ve married. Arek’s involved with something to do with XMedia? I croak, “Would you repeat what you said?”

Instead, he shoves the file in my direction. I reach for it with all the caution a person uses as they’re about to diffuse a bomb. Taking a deep breath, I flip the file open and find an investigator’s report.

On me.

On my husband.

I pant as I read the little newspaper Arek works—no, owns—is in fact StellaNova—the sensationalist news magazine that exposed Angie’s identity she was so desperate to keep hidden. “How?”