Chapter 2

Well, if he missed indigestion and diarrhea that much, what could a wife do except oblige?

That afternoon, two men in the uniform of a large chain supermarket arrived to unload cups of super-spicy mac 'n' cheese in the front hall of the Grimm Co. building.

The poor receptionist kept protesting, her voice rising with panic, "I think there's been a mistake! We didn't order any of this!"

I stepped into the hall from behind the truck. When she saw me, she straightened at once and greeted me with forced politeness, "M-Mrs. Grimm! Good afternoon!"

"I ordered them," I said sweetly, gesturing toward the mountain of cups. "And I want you to have some of the errand boys deliver all 100 cups directly to your boss' office."

With that, I headed for the elevator, where my real target waited.

…

Chase scowled at the stacks of mac 'n' cheese, then shot me a glare.

"Enough of this hysteria, Greta!" he growled. "I just didn't want her to suffer from indigestion or heartburn, okay? That's all. There's nothing between us. We're just employer and employee!"

I snorted. "When does it finally count as cheating to you, honey? After you've finally creamed in her pants? Please. You know exactly what's going on between the two of you. You enjoy this. You enjoy how she worships and adores you. It feeds your ego, doesn't it?

"Think about it. Why haven't you ever offered your lunch to anyone else in the office? I'm sure there are plenty of people here with indigestion or heartburn."

My voice dripped with scorn. "We've been married for years, asshole. I know what goes on in your head better than you think. Oh, and remind me again. What did you tell your mom when she demanded to know why you were eating instant mac 'n' cheese for lunch? She came straight to me for an explanation."

The office door flew open.

Imogen walked in wearing a little white dress and white canvas shoes. She looked like the picture of innocence, a clueless student wandering onto the wrong floor.

I could never get away with wearing something like that.

"Ms. Cheese, here's your coffee."

I took the cup, smiled, and poured the coffee straight over her.

Imogen cried out. Instead of backing away, she stumbled forward and collapsed against Chase's chest.

He caught her, fury twisting his face. "How could you do this, Greta?! This isn't your private space! Spare the rest of the world your idiotic hysterics!"

I snickered. Look at her. She was on the verge of tears.

"Oh yes, squeeze her tighter, honey. That should bring you one step closer to divorcing me, so your little princess can finally become your queen."

They flushed and quickly pulled away from each other.

I pointed at Imogen. "So how are you going to claim you're not treating her differently? First, why did she call me Ms. Cheese instead of Mrs. Grimm? You didn't seem to find anything wrong with that. What was it? A trial run to see how it would sound if I went back to my maiden name?

"Second, what's with that outfit? Every woman in this company wears business slacks or professional dresses. Even I follow the dress code. So why does she look like a high schooler on summer break? Did I interrupt some kind of role-playing?"

Chase hesitated, nerves flashing across his face. "What the hell, Greta? She just hasn't had time to buy proper clothes yet! I gave her a grace period, that's all!"

"She's been here for almost a month," I said with a tired sigh. "How is that not enough time to buy something appropriate? God, I'm done."

I jabbed a finger toward the cups. "Starting tomorrow, I'm not making you lunch until you finish all 100 cups of your favorite super-spicy mac 'n' cheese. You'll love that, won't you? You like them better than the meals I make for you anyway."