Chapter 2
They say Cancers are born worriers. Mix that with my mom’s perfectionist DNA, and you’ve got someone who sees a red flag in every tiny change to routine.
Normally when a guy shaves at night, he’s heading to a business dinner. But Nathan? He’s
–
got his routine down to a science dinner at one of his regular spots, then straight home. No cocktail hours, no networking events, nothing.
So what could possibly make Manhattan’s most powerful CEO break his golden rule? Was
there some crisis at Pierce & Associates he was shielding me from?
I had to see for myself. If everything was fine, great. If not, we’d face it together.
I called Sarah. We’d been roommates all through Harvard, and now she was CFO at Pierce & Associates. Back when her family lost everything in the 2008 crash, I’d helped her get
back on her feet and convinced Nathan to give her a shot at the firm.
She practically sprinted across the marble lobby when she saw me.
“Emma!” She pulled me into a hug before whisking me toward the private elevator. “You
* need to visit more often! The whole office lights up when you’re here. Even Nathan’s death
glare takes a vacation.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Everything okay around here lately?”
“Better than okay – huge news!”
“What?” My stomach dropped.
“We doubled our profits! Everyone’s getting massive bonuses!” Sarah’s whole face lit up.
That’s what I’ve always loved about her – life knocked her down hard, but she never lost
that sparkle.
Nathan was stuck in meetings, so Sarah walked me to his corner office. As we passed the executive floor, I noticed a cluster of unfamiliar faces – all young, female, and looking like
The Perfect Husband’s Secret
5.3%
Chapte
they’d stepped off a magazine cover.
Anasty little thought crept in: Was this why he’d suddenly started caring about evening
grooming?
I immediately felt sick at myself. This was Nathan Pierce, for God’s sake. The same man
who’d hosted the Miss Manhattan pageant at our venue and spent the whole evening
answering work emails in his office.
“You okay? You’ve got that look,” Sarah nudged me.
I bit my lip. “New assistants?”
“What? Oh – the PR team. Business is booming, so Nathan set up a dedicated external relations department. His idea, actually – said it was the only way to keep his promise about being home for dinner every night.”
She gave me that knowing look. “Emma Pierce, you were literally on Vanity Fair’s ’30 Under 30‘ list. Are you seriously worried about the PR girls?”
“I know, I know, I’m being ridiculous,” I laughed weakly.
Sarah squeezed my arm. “Your overthinking is going to give you premature wrinkles. Relax
they handle client events. Nathan barely knows their names.”
After she left, I sank into Nathan’s chair, staring at the gallery of our photos on his desk. Photos from our vineyard wedding, our Amalfi Coast anniversary, casual shots of me laughing in Central Park…
So the company was thriving. No other woman. Maybe he just got a fancy new electric razor from his Birchbox. Maybe he just felt like it.
Lucy and Sarah kept telling me if I hadn’t married someone as steady as Nathan, my anxiety would’ve landed me in therapy years ago.
Then came a soft knock.
A woman entered, head slightly bowed, setting down a cup of artisan tea with
Derfect Husband’s Secret
picture–perfect precision.
Mrs. Pierce, please don’t hesitate if you need anything else.”
My blood ran cold.
Claire Morrison. Nathan’s executive assistant.
I hadn’t expected to see her.
She was still here.
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