Page 22 of Sending Nudes to My Boss

“Like you said,” I say. “Everyone has a story. This one is yours.”

“It is.”

I just have to absorb this information. My uptight, control freak, perfectionist boss was once a rough and tumble kid who went to jail for getting into a fight. And here I thought he was judging me for ending up in a jail cell after defending myself against a bully.

“I think that I really like you,” I tell him accidentally. That sentence was supposed to be an inside thought only, but William doesn’t seem to mind my confession at all.

“Good,” he says. Then he gives me another urgent, hot kiss before releasing me. I back up against the kitchen counter in a makeout-induced haze as I watch William get his car keys. He looks at me from the door.

“I’ve gotta go,” he says. “Lots of work to do.”

I shake my head. He’s always working. Maybe it’s the one flaw I’ll find in this man. With the important work he does, I can’t really be mad about it.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“Wait, what?”

Tonight? Where? When?

He doesn’t explain. Just waves goodbye and rushes out the door.

CHAPTER 10

WILLIAM

“Are you serious?Sheattackedme!”

Heather’s outburst is so loud that several diners at nearby tables turn to look.

There’s no such thing as discretion in a small town. Especially not in a place like Dolly’s Diner, where every busybody retiree likes to congregate in the early evenings, taking advantage of Dolly’s java happy hour deal.

I picked this place intentionally, knowing that Heather would gladly accept. She wouldn’t mind an audience, another stage to tell her story.

Until I turn it around on her, of course.

“My client defended herself after you instigated a physical altercation,” I say calmly. “And we have the footage to prove it.”

Heather’s eyes widen.

I just told a lie. Sometimes it’s necessary in my line of work.

I don’t actually have the footage from the bar. Not yet. But I know what it will show. I trust Dot’s recollection of events, and by Heather’s reaction, she remembers the events of that night well, too.

She clears her throat uncomfortably, straightening in the black-and-white checkered vinyl booth and looking around.

“Shouldn’t you be talking to the prosecutor about this or something?” Heather asks. “I don’t know why I have to be further traumatized by th -”

I laugh aloud when she saystraumatized.

Bullies like Heather always like to weaponize therapy language. If anyone is traumatized, it’s Dot from Heather’s years of cruelty.

But still, Dot doesn’t play the victim. She stood up for herself the night she went to jail, and she’s always stood up for herself. Even to me, in some cases, in the years she worked as my assistant.

Now I’m standing up forher. From now on, I’ll be the one to defend her.

For life.

That’s what husbands do, right? And whether she knows it or not, the title of Dot’s Husband is already mine. It’s not official yet, but that's just paperwork.

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