The Scumbag CEO's Secret Genius Wife

Eleonora hit the pavement of the alley hard. The impact jarred her spine, shooting a bolt of pain up from her ankles to her skull. Muddy water splashed up, soaking the hem of her trench coat.

Chloe landed next to her, crashing into a stack of cardboard boxes. A stray cat hissed and bolted into the shadows.

Above them, the fourth-floor window was just a dark, empty square against the rainy sky.

"This way," Eleonora gasped. She grabbed Chloe's hand and pulled her toward the mouth of the alley.

The rain was a torrential sheet now. It blurred the streetlights into streaks of neon. Eleonora's lungs burned.

They burst out of the alley onto the main street. It was gridlock. Horns blared.

A sleek black SUV was idling at the curb, its hazard lights flashing.

"Is that our ride?" Chloe yelled. "Did you call a car?"

"Something like that," Eleonora said, not breaking stride. She yanked the back door open and shoved Chloe inside. She dove in after her, slamming the door shut.

The interior of the car was silent. It smelled of expensive leather and cedarwood. It was warm.

"Drive!" Eleonora yelled at the partition. "Just drive!"

The car didn't move.

Eleonora slapped the glass divider. "I'm on a schedule. Go!"

"Are you?"

The voice came from beside her. It was deep, baritone, and vibrated with a terrifying calmness.

Eleonora froze. She turned her head slowly.

Sitting in the shadows of the backseat, legs crossed, was a man.

The streetlamp outside cast a slice of light across his face.

It was the face from the photograph. The face she had just stamped with "SCUMBAG."

Kristopher Schaefer.

He was looking at her with an expression that was hard to read. It wasn't anger. It was curiosity mixed with disdain.

Eleonora's breath hitched. She pressed her back against the door, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

"You," she whispered.

Kristopher didn't answer. He looked out the window.

He pressed a button on the armrest. The tinted window rolled down three inches, revealing a second black SUV pulling up behind them, effectively blocking the alley's exit.

He didn't need to look for a non-existent pursuer. He was the one doing the hunting.

Kristopher rolled the window up.

"Drive," he said to the driver.

The car glided forward, smooth as silk.

Chloe, huddled on the other side of Eleonora, whispered, "This is a really nice car service."

Eleonora reached over and pinched Chloe's leg. Hard.

"Ouch!"

Kristopher pulled a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and held it out to Eleonora. She was dripping wet. Her hair was plastered to her skull.

"Take it," he said.

Eleonora stared at the white square of fabric. "You know who I am."

"You are the woman who just announced to the world that I am a parasite," Kristopher said. His tone was conversational, which made it worse. "And you are also my wife."

Chloe choked on her own spit. "Wife?"

Kristopher ignored Chloe. He kept his eyes on Eleonora. "An interesting career choice, Eleonora. I wasn't aware the trust fund was insufficient."

"It was a calculated market correction," Eleonora said. Her voice shook, but she lifted her chin. "Your stock was overvalued."

Kristopher leaned in. The scent of cedarwood intensified. He was too close. "A mistake? You called me a scumbag. To a million people."

"I was speaking about a pattern of corporate malfeasance."

"The court of public opinion doesn't care about context," Kristopher said. "And neither do my shareholders."

"I'll issue a retraction."

"A retraction won't fix the stock price." Kristopher sat back. "You are coming with me."

"I'm not going anywhere with you. I want a divorce."

Kristopher laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound. "A divorce? No. That would be too easy. You owe me, Eleonora. And I intend to collect."