The Next Wife Kaira Rouda (book club reads TXT) 📖

my life if I’d like. There is so much I can do now with all I’ll be inheriting.

“Even so, you should be careful. The IPO is fresh. You don’t want to upset the investors. You want them to think everything at the company can run just fine without John. Get it? It’s called a controlled company—you and John controlled fifty percent; his ex-wife the other fifty percent. Now, with what’s happened, you have sole control of his fifty percent. But you’re going to need to be sharp.”

I stretch and touch my toes. “Yes, I know.” George has taught me a thing or two—about business and life. And he’s discreet. He didn’t even ask me what really happened to John.

“There will be a lot of sharks in the water. Make sure you keep yourself on solid ground. You’re going to be on the cover of some big working women’s magazine, I just know it.” Mixed analogies aside, a shiver of dread runs down my spine.

“Should I be worried about anything?”

“No. Right now, everything is handled,” George says.

I take a deep breath. I imagine Ashlyn and I will grow closer again. I’ll be the fabulous, young, rich co-CEO of EventCo. One of the city’s top businesswomen. As for Kate, I don’t really care what happens to her, do I? I mean sure, she’ll still own half the company and will be co-CEO for a bit, but maybe I’ll figure out a way to take that, too. She’ll be heartbroken, too sad to come into the office, perhaps. It’s all a dream come true.

I pull myself out of my daydream and remember George is on the phone. “OK, well thanks. For everything.”

George chuckles. “Sure thing. But remember, blood is thicker than water in times like this, sugar.”

He said the same phrase when he came up to Columbus a week and a half ago. It’s annoying, especially if you’re a person like me without any relatives—except George, that is.

“We’ll see. We’ll see.” I am drumming my fingers on the sleek sofa table by the door. I’m feeling a bit trapped, even in this large suite. I needed George to represent me and make sure I’m covered legally. But all my life I’ve made a point of never relying on anyone, so this role isn’t comfortable.

“Do you need me to come help you? Where are you anyway?” George doesn’t believe in social media, so he has missed my posts featuring the beautiful meadow, our romantic lunch, the rustic beauty of this mountain town.

“Telluride. And no, I don’t need your help. His body will be cremated as soon as I get the death certificate.” The last thing I need is George here.

“Oh goodness. Are you sure you want to do that? There? It might not look good for you, you know?” he asks. He’s pretending his proper fundamentalist Christian cockles won’t approve of cremation.

“Fire and brimstone, George. Ashes to ashes. You know.” I add, “I’ve got things handled here. The memorial service is next Saturday. Why don’t you come?”

“I’ll be there. Whatever you need,” he says before we hang up.

As the only person from my past I trust, I need to keep him on my good side. He didn’t help with what happened at home, but he told me I’d be fine once I got out of my hometown. Out of my home. And he was right. And despite his slow southern drawl and meandering walking pace, he’s a cutthroat attorney. No doubt he’ll be the only one on my side in the entire room. Sort of the way my life has always been.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

“Mrs. Nelson? It’s Curtis, over here at the funeral home. They expedited your husband’s death certificate once you called and told them who he was. I didn’t know he was a famous man. Got celebrity treatment from the coroner.”

I sniff. “He was.” I didn’t make that call. I suppose Lance had someone handle it.

“Everything is as it should be. We can go ahead with the cremation then, all right?” Curtis sounds at once impressed by John and sort of sad to be burning up his body.

“Yes, please do. Thank you.” The call ends, and my heart pounds in my chest. I tell myself this is the storm before the calm, something I’d promise myself often as a kid. Right now, John’s body is being burned.

That’s enough to keep you on edge, wouldn’t you agree?

CHAPTER 18

KATE

My team rented the best ballroom in the city, complete with sparkling chandeliers and soaring ceilings. They had it decorated tastefully in John’s memory with blown-up photos of highlights of his life featured on easels throughout the room. But as I look around, I realize it doesn’t matter what the setting is for a memorial celebration of life. If you’re part of the family, it’s awful, claustrophobic, depressing. Despite the air conditioning, the large room is sticky and hot as the summer air blows in each time the doors open. I wipe my forehead with a tissue and take a deep breath.

Ashlyn and I stand side by side at the front of the ballroom, awkwardly greeting John’s “friends.” Most are coworkers, employees, people who have depended on us for their livelihood. John’s real friends will be at the funeral: his golf buddies, his wine buddies, the couples who all followed him after the divorce because he’s much more fun to socialize with than I am.

The people in line now are random life connections paying respects, whatever that means. I lean forward and look past Ashlyn to watch Tish. This is the first time I’ve seen her since John died, although we have struggled through many frustrating phone calls. The left side of her mouth tilts up in a smirk.

She can smirk all she’d like, but she will soon learn the truth: she better not get in my way. I’m not sure why, but I hold eye contact with her until someone touches my arm and I jump.

This is all quite awkward.