The Next Wife by Kaira Rouda (speld decodable readers txt) 📕

be the best for the company, that the stress of having Kate and me at the office was bad for morale. But how am I going to keep track of things if I’ve been pushed out the door? Unacceptable, really.

I won’t be forced out, not when there’s so much, let’s call it abundance, right here. These employees need bosses. They need Nelsons to lead them. I’m the newest Nelson, but I’m the cutest. Take that, Kate.

I lean against the wall and watch the other Mrs. Nelson work the crowd. I grab a drink from a waiter passing by with a silver tray, the glass cool to the touch. I’m not going anywhere. Well, except on a quickie vacation with John.

Then I’ll be back, whether she likes it or not.

CHAPTER 4

JOHN

Light pours through a crack in the curtains, and even with my eyes closed, the brightness pokes through and hurts my head. There’s one thing I know for sure: I don’t want to be here. Telluride is beautiful—don’t get me wrong—but the last thing I needed after the week I had was to get on the plane and fly to the middle of nowhere for a “relaxing, romantic weekend.”

No, what I wanted was to be at dinner with my daughter last night. And this weekend, I wanted to hang out with my friends, guys who can understand what it’s like to sign over your life’s work to the whims of the “public” and the stock exchange. Play some golf, some cards. Hell, I had to leave my own party early last night just so we wouldn’t miss the flight on my own plane.

And Kate. I wanted to spend time with her, too, celebrating what we accomplished.

I’ll never forget the look on Ashlyn’s face when Tish told me it was time to go.

“You’re leaving your own party? Now?” Ashlyn asked. “Why would you do that? We have dinner plans, Dad. You don’t want to go, do you?”

I swear my daughter sees right through me.

Tish shoved her arm through mine and addressed Ashlyn. “The party was over half an hour ago. You should leave, too, so maybe all these people will get the message. Someone should cut off the bar. It’s almost nine.”

I know I should have stood up to her, but I was tired. Drained. I felt Kate watching us as we made our way out of the office. I wanted to say something to her, share a final IPO toast, but I had no choice. I had to leave with my wife. Tish and I need to talk. And we will. But I fell asleep on the plane only to wake up when we landed. Next thing I knew, we were at the house in Telluride, and I was climbing into my bed.

It’s my fault, I know. I haven’t dealt with things with Tish. I have plenty of excuses. I’ve been busy working on the IPO, for one, and avoidance has been my tactic. I’ve allowed myself to be put in this position. But it can’t last.

My phone lights up with a text. Where are you? Are you coming into the office?

I look around, guilty, which is ridiculous. I text, No. I’m in Telluride.

The little dots tell me she’s typing. Why? There’s so much to do here. And what about your heart? Do you have your meds? Did you want to go?

Before I can answer, the bedroom door pops open, and my lovely bride stands in the doorway. She’s wearing tight-fitting yoga clothes, although I doubt she’s been to a yoga class. She’s in all white. She looks good. Young and, dare I say, virginal. She’s not, of course, but she is young. She could be my daughter. I know what everyone says. I’m not deaf. I slip the phone under the covers.

“You’re finally awake, sleepyhead!” She bounds to the bed and plants a big kiss on my cheek. “It’s gorgeous outside! I thought we could go for a hike and soak up some of this fresh mountain air and sunshine. Columbus is so hot and stifling, and here it’s just crisp and wide open and blue. I’ve never seen a sky this blue.”

“And dizzying.” I roll out of bed, and as my feet hit the floor, I feel it. Altitude sickness worsened, no doubt, by dehydration. I drank more than I planned at the party.

“I turned on the oxygen in the bedroom. Thought that would help. Take it easy.” Tish is so concerned that she helps me into the bathroom. I have a history of terrible altitude sickness. When we were here three years ago, on the day I proposed in fact, I fell sideways into a wall walking down the hall to our bedroom. It hits at the strangest times.

“Thanks, I’ll be fine. I can handle a day or so. We’re just here for the weekend, right?” The nice thing about having my own home to travel to is that everything is where I left it even though I haven’t been here in a year. Each of my homes is stocked with the same clothes, books, and creature comforts. You name it. I grab my medicine and toothbrush—or in this case Tish must have grabbed them—and move from home to home effortlessly with everything I need waiting for me upon arrival. Kate made it happen first, and now Tish does her best to imitate.

Ah, Kate. I see her smile, her flash of wit as we cut the ribbon on our tiny first headquarters for EventCo all those years ago. It was just the two of us, a programmer, and a big idea. We’d fallen in love at UCLA, and she’d followed me to grad school in the Midwest. She was a California girl who gave up everything to build a company, and a life, with me.

“We can do this, John. I’ve researched it. There’s a market. People want an easy way, a new way, to invite friends to parties. If we add in tickets to local