Page 81 of Never Been Worse

“You’ve worked for him for five years. How many of them have you been in love with him?” She glares at me. “And not once has he even tried anything? Shown any interest?”

“He keeps things professional,” she says, and I smile wider, remembering telling Wesweshould keep things professional.

“Except when Wes andItried to keep things professional since, as you pointed out, this was a fake marriage, he still couldn’t keep his hands off me because he’s crazy for me, same as I am for him. And babe, I’m going to warn you, eventually, he’s going to catch onto your little power trip, and hereallydoesn’t like people treating his wife poorly.”

The color leaves her face now, and she stutters before speaking. “What are you going to do about it? Tattle on me?”

I shake my head because I won’t be doing anything of the sort because the trashalwaystakes itself out, and I’m happy to let her fuck herself over, but before I can, Wes’s voice echoes through the kitchen.

“You’re fired, Laurel,” he says. Both of our heads swivel to the entrance of the kitchen, my husband prowling in with a look of total anger on his face. “Get your things and get out ofourhome.”

“I—what?” she asks and even though I am a melting pot of emotions right now, I can’t fight the smile pulling at my lips as he moves closer to me, putting an arm around my waist.

“You’re fired, effective immediately.”

She takes us in, a united front in a way I didn’t know I always wanted, then her face goes from shock to disbelief. “Wes, you’re joking, right? I’ve been your right hand for five years, and this chick comes in and?—”

“She’s my wife,” he says, the words coming out in a growl. Laurel must have a death wish or something, because now she rolls her eyes.

“Your wife? Wes, be real. She’s only here to social climb because her little business is failing.”

Oops, definitely the wrong thing to say.

“Out,” Wes says, letting go and grabbing her bag before moving toward the front door. We both follow as he opens the door and throws the bag on the grass.

“You can’t be serious, Wes,” she says, walking up to him, her face transformed once again to some version of sincerity and friendship. “This is...this is all a miscommunication, a misunderstanding. I didn’t?—“

“You do not come into my house and disrespectmy wife.You can come back another time to grab your things from your office. Contact Jaime, and he’ll set up a time when Harper and I won’t be in the house, and he will be here to walk you through. You can keep the car until then, but that is not your property, and I’ll need it returned at your walk-through.”

Her face goes pale, realizing how serious he is.

“Wes, we can—” Laurel starts, but he points out the door, jaw firm.

“If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the police. I’ll still give you a recommendation due to our long-standing partnership, but if you don’t leave cordially, that will change. You should be happy I’m doing even that, Laurel.”

Her chin quivers, and she opens her mouth to speak once more, but she must see how serious Wes is being because she rolls her lips into her mouth and turns on her heel and leaves, grabbing her bag from the grass as she does before Wes slams and locks the door behind her.

The house is silent as he walks to the kitchen and picks up his phone, sending off a few texts in angry silence before finally, he sets it down and turns to me.

My stomach hurts from the anxiety of knowingI did this. Wes had a long-term employee he really enjoyed working with, and I ruined that. Maybe if I had just kept my mouth shut, he wouldn’t look as angry and hurt as he does right now. That’s the least I could have done, considering all he’s done for me.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “Wes, you didn’t have to do that. I could have?—”

“Excuse me?” he asks, and I can feel his ire turn to me.

“You didn’t have to fire her. You should call her, tell her you need some time, but she’s not fired. I’m fine. She’s been working for you for a while and?—”

“And you said from the beginning she was a red flag.”

I did say that.

“Maybe it was just because I thought she was into you, and I was jealous. She’s a friend of yours.”

“No, she’s not,” he says, voice low and firm. “And you’re my wife.” He pulls me in close, and I realize his anger and disappointment is in no way directed at me. “I told you no one talks to you that way, no matter what my relationship is to them. You do not apologize because you were right about someone. I apologize to you for not believing you the second you said it.”

I bit my lip, wanting to argue, but he shakes his head before pressing his lips to mine. I bask in the sweet moment, my mind trying to recenter and catch up.

“So, we need groceries?” he asks when he pulls back, and I smile.

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