The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Yvette tried to stop Hawthorne, but Hans stepped in to block her path.

"Miss Yvette, please, let's be reasonable."

Her heels clicked to a halt. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Hans couldn't exactly spill the truth—that Mr. Everhart and Gwyneth were already

married. The couple hadn't made any public announcement, and as an assistant,

he'd sooner lose his job ten times over than leak something like that.

"Use your head," he said, tapping his temple. While Yvette stood there, stunned

and speechless, Hans hurried after Hawthorne.

It took Yvette a few minutes to process what just happened. Then it hit her—

Gwyneth must have seduced Hawthorne. That had to be it. Why else would a

man like Hawthorne keep someone as troublesome as Gwyneth around the

company?

Back at her desk, Gwyneth had barely settled in when Hans came looking for her.

"Ma'am, Mr. Everhart is waiting in the lounge," he murmured, voice so low it was

almost a whisper.

Curious coworkers pricked up their ears, but Hans was too discreet. Gwynethnoveldrama

stood and followed him out.

Inside the lounge, Hawthorne sat fidgeting with an unlit cigarette, his usual

composure replaced by anxious energy. As soon as he saw Gwyneth, he pulled

her into his arms.

"Are you hurt? Did anyone threaten or trouble you?"

He fired off questions so quickly that Gwyneth finally realized—he must have

heard about the accident.

"Leonie told you, didn't she?"

Who else could it be?

"If she hadn't, what were you planning to do? She made it sound like someone

tried to kidnap you. Did anything happen?"

Gwyneth smiled reassuringly. "Do I look like something happened to me? The guy

said he was just messing around. He had me drive the car to the office, then

caught a cab and left."

"He just left?" Hawthorne's

expression darkened. It couldn't be

that simple. Word was, the guy was

a young kid with a flashy sports car,

wouldn't pay for damages, and now

this? What was he really after?

"From now on, if you want to come to the office, you either come with me or let

Hans drive you," he said.

In other words, her own driving days were over. Gwyneth's face fell immediately.

Wasn't that a bit much? It's not like she couldn't afford to fix the car.

Hawthorne saw her reluctance and reached out, his sternness softened by a hint

of affection.

"Come on, sweetheart. Sports cars aren't meant for girls, especially not ones like

you. I just can't relax."

Gwyneth wanted to argue. After all, she was a two-time relay world champion—

what was there to worry about?

"If you really want a car, I'll get you something electric, and it can't go over sixty

miles an hour."

Gwyneth could already picture it: a cartoonish electric car, huge and clunky,

probably with some ridiculous antenna on top.

Just kill her now. She'd rather walk than drive something that childish.

"No, thanks. Hans can drive me," she said, choosing the lesser evil.

"Deal."

With that settled, Hawthorne ruffled her hair and pressed a quick, feather-light kiss

to her lips.

"Go on, get some work done. Don't

overdo it. If you get bored, play on

the computer for a bit, but don't butt

heads with your coworkers. Drink

plenty of water. Don't let them dump

extra work on you. Do your job, but if

it's too much, just remind them

you're the boss's wife and let them

pull their own weight."

Gwyneth pinched her brows together, silently protesting. Hawthorne glanced at

Hans, who stepped in smoothly.

"Ma'am, I've stocked the right-hand

desk drawer with snacks. If there's

anything else you want, just let me

know and I'll get it."