Page 148 of Perfect Satisfaction

That’s not including perks provided to long time employees—stock purchase plans, bonuses, and retirement matches.

It made me reevaluate why large conglomerates exist and have a whole new appreciation for the people who operate out of those c-suites who tirelessly give up their lives to ensure the hundreds of thousands of employees worldwide have jobs.

—StellaNova

Helen ends the extensive tourback on the c-suite floor. I see one double-paneled oak door at the end and ask, “Joshua Basset’s office?”

“Yes. It used to be Mr. Moore’s office.” Her voice turns icy.

I rear back in surprise. I’m not certain why I assumed Sula would have her father’s old space, but I am curious about Helen’s reaction. “You didn’t like him.”

She flicks a quick look at Sula’s closed door before leaning forward. “I’ve known that young woman since she moved to this country. Every year, she grows more distant. The employees love her, but this isn’t what she wants.”

“What does she want?”

“What she originally went to school for—to be a journalist.”

I feel like I’ve been slapped. “Excuse me?”Sula wanted to be a journalist?

Her smile is rueful. “Didn’t know that? Yes, from the time she was a little girl, she dreamed of seeing Ursula Kayla Moore as a byline. Of course, Mr. Moore wouldn’t have it—he’d never pay his daughter to go to school for such nonsense.”

“No, of course not,” I say faintly,

How is it that I’m still learning more about my wife?

“Being the good girl she is, she parlayed it into her job here. It’s why she became irreplaceable with deadlines and people. She’s constantly harping on the importance of MSW’s code of ethics and knows how to draw the best out of people,” Helen announces, emotion in every word.

Pride her father should have had in her.

Understanding her husband should have caught.

“How could you do that to her?”

“Oh, that’s right. Courtesy of you, now the whole world’s doing that too.”

I don’t know if she’ll do it, but if I don’t try, the answer will always be no. “Helen, would it be possible for me to see Mr. Moore’s—I mean Mr. Basset’s office?”

She looks doubtful and is about to reject my request when I offer my arm. “You can hold onto me the whole time. I just want”—need—“to understand the full picture of MSW.”I need to know the men who helped shape the woman who is my wife.

“Okay, but just from the doorway.” She guides me to the double doors. Using her badge, she taps it against the card reader. The next thing, we’re inside a small vestibule. “Wait just a moment.”

Then she pushes open the double doors.

I know, even if I was allowed, I wouldn’t be able to step foot into this office any more than if I were an uninvited vampire. This was what I was expecting throughout my tour of MSW, not the creative workspaces, the nursery, the food court filled with laughter.

The overwhelming oppressive emotion begins to suck the joy from me, and I’ve been here for minutes.

What did it do to Sula?

Then I catch sight of the island of a desk and hoarsely ask, “Do you know where Mr. Moore is buried?”I have a few things I want to say to the dead bastard.

“Why, right here on the property. The day of his funeral, they gathered in here for the will to be read. I still don’t understand why Mr. Basset hasn’t redecorated other than having that awful picture of Mr. Moore removed.” Helen shudders beside me.

Meanwhile, I want to retch.Besides, it was so comforting to have the picture of you kissing another woman presented to me on the day my father died. Classy. Truly.

I don’t know what’s causing my stomach to churn more at the moment—her father’s mistreatment of her or my doubt of the woman I knew she was. I step out of the way so Helen can shut the doors and move away before I ask, “Would you be able to take me there?”

“To where?”