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

step out onto the sidewalk and look up at the impressive building, a wave of pride washes over me. This is my company now. At least half of it. People have to take me seriously. I’ve arrived. I’m a co-president. Or a joint CEO? I’m something important. I need to figure out what my title is and order business cards. Oh, and new office furniture, too. I’ll create a look more feminine than John’s, a look more like Kate’s furniture. Maybe I’ll just copy Kate’s setup. I have to admit I like her office, even though I once thought it was overdone. I realize it’s not. Our offices will be indistinguishable. Over time, I’ll learn everything she knows. Or I’ll pretend to know it. How hard can this be?

I let myself in the first floor and walk past a bunch of offices on my way to the stairs. I don’t know exactly what all of these people do all day, but I understand their general categories: accounting, IT, sales. I’m going to need to do a sit-down with the department heads and get up to speed. Sure, I know all their names and what departments they lead, but what do they do? I haven’t a clue. I’m going to need someone to take me under his wing. I’m going to need Lance. That thought brings a smile to my face as I climb the stairs to the executive offices.

I’m humming as I push through the large glass door and stand in the two-story atrium where John loved to challenge people to Ping-Pong games. I sort of miss the big guy about now, even though I would not be here if he was still alive. He was going to make me stay home. That remembrance infuriates me. After all I did for him. He was going to make me stay home, and do who knows what, so he could spend quality time at the office with Kate. And then he was going to dump me.

Too bad, John. This is all going to work out much better under my plan. I hurry to John’s office, pop the key in the door, and walk in. Some small part of me keeps thinking Kate will have the locks changed again to keep me out, but she’s not that strong, or that stupid. Perhaps she knows she’s lost?

According to the will, this is where I belong. I wonder how fast I can order new furniture. I have the catalog in my assistant desk. I sit down at John’s desk and wake up his desktop computer. I need a new one of these, too, don’t I? I want something sleek, new. I suddenly hate all of this masculine furniture, this desk, and this chair. It smells like John, like his car: like my nightmares every night. I want a fresh start. I’m entitled to have it the way I want it.

The screen saver on the computer lights up. It’s a photo of me, standing in the kitchen in Telluride. When was this taken? I wonder if John’s screen saver is filled with photos of me. How sweet. I wait for the photo to change, but there is no slideshow. And then I realize what I’m looking at. John must have taken the photo of me from out on the deck. It’s from our last night. I swallow. I’m mixing a batch of drinks. So what. That’s what everyone does on vacation. I push the power button and the computer shuts down, the screen dark and lifeless.

Someone is trying to scare me. It’s not going to work.

My hands shake as I pull open the desk drawer to find my notepad. Instead I find a sheet of paper folded in half. I open it. It’s a printed photo of John, on the last night, drinking my special margarita. Below the photo someone wrote:

I know what you did.

Get out. Leave town. Or else.

I look out to the hall, but it’s empty. Who did this?

And what exactly does this person think I’ve done?

It’s a bluff. It has to be. My heart is pounding. I am so sick and tired of people messing with me. Threatening me. Underestimating me. It’s exhausting sometimes, but it does make you stronger. And I am invincible.

CHAPTER 51

ASHLYN

On the way to my appointment, I make a call to Tish’s mom again. I need to ask her a few more questions. She doesn’t answer. I try texting, but it doesn’t go through. Tish must have gotten to her somehow. I lean back in the Uber, try to figure out another way to reach her besides driving to Pineville, Kentucky.

The driver pulls to a stop, and I hop out ready to focus on my task at hand. I was lucky my mom’s naturopath, Bonnie, agreed to squeeze me in this morning to take a look at my elbow. I wait for my appointment in the front room of her home office, taking a moment to quiet my thoughts.

The door opens. “Ashlyn, dear, it’s so good to see you. I haven’t seen you since you were a child. Please come in,” Bonnie says. Her calm presence is just what I need this morning. She wears a rainbow sweatshirt and jeans, and a large crystal hangs from her neck. “I’m so sorry about your dad. I wish I had met him.”

“He was a great guy. I thought he was your patient, too,” I say as I follow her inside.

“No, men can be very reluctant to take care of themselves. They often don’t go to a doctor until things are very serious. What can I do for you, honey?” she asks as I slide onto the exam table.

“I was in a car accident. My elbow is pretty messed up,” I say, and show her.

“Oh dear. OK, let me just take a look at this,” she says, gently examining my arm. The wall of the exam room is lined with shelves, and the shelves hold glass jars and