Dear Future Ex-wife

“Our legal team is looking into her background as we speak. As far as we know, she doesn’t own any QTK stock. So, it’s not like she had a financial motive.”

“But maybe someone she knows does. Have our team look into her family, exes, friends, and acquaintances. She wouldn’t do this for sport.”

Or would she? Alexa tortured Harley in high school for fun. There was no reasonable explanation for any of the shit she did to her.

“In the meantime,” Danika says, rising from the chair, “I need you to come with me.” She gives me a once over, her lips pursed. “You look like shit, Little King. Were you drinking this morning?”

My lack of response earns me an irritated sigh from Danika.

She reaches into her purse and throws a Halls cough drop at me. “It’s time to face the music.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m standing next to Danika in a press room on the tenth floor. Cameras and bright lights blind me. I blink a few times to clear my vision and consider my next words carefully. This is the problem with running a publicly-traded company. I’m obligated to do the right thing for our shareholders—our investors—because without them, we would be dead in the water right now.

A reporter takes the microphone from Danika, a middle-aged brunette wearing a brown pantsuit. “Are the rumors true? Did you lie about your marriage to Harley McQueen?”

“No, we’re legally married and have the witnesses to prove it. Harley is my wife.”

Danika stands at my side for support and touches my sleeve to comfort me, which doesn’t help with all of the nervous energy shaking through my body. My heart feels as though it’s about to climb its way out of my chest at any moment.

“But you married Harley to avoid a scandal, correct?”

I shake my head and lie. “No, our wedding was planned. I’ve known Harley since we were kids.”

To save Harley’s reputation, I have to make it look like I cheated on her with Alexa. I would rather look like an asshole than have both of us guilty of marriage fraud.

The reporter looks confused. “So, you admit to cheating on your wife with Alexa Daniels before your wedding?”

I look to Danika for confirmation, and she gives the nod of approval.

“Yes, I cheated on my wife before we were married. I wish I could take back that night and all of the pain I have caused Harley.”

“Where is your wife, Mr. King?”

“On her way back to the Queen Takes King office in Los Angeles.”

Another reporter grabs the microphone, a dark-haired man with severe frown lines. “Are you getting a divorce?”

Not if I man up and finish the damn game.

“No,” I say, unsure of my response.

Harley might divorce me, or worse, have the marriage annulled. Fuck, I can’t let that happen. Whatever it takes, I have to get her back. Harley yelled at me this morning, but her immediate reaction is what scares me most. I thought we would at least talk this through, but, no, she made the decision to go back to LA without a second thought.

Can I blame her?

I’m actually proud of her for putting her foot down, not just with me but with her dad as well. At least one good thing came from her sacrifice. My girl learned how to stand up for herself.

After I answer the same question with different wording a dozen times, I head back to my office. Terrence is playing with his cell phone when I fly past him and tries to hide it under his desk.

“Cancel all of my meetings for the next week,” I tell him. “No calls. No visitors. I don’t want to see a single person anywhere near my office. I don’t care if it’s the goddamn mayor or the President of the United States, do you understand?”

“Yes,” he chokes out.

I slam my door shut and lock it behind me. If I’m going to prove myself to Harley, I need to focus. Project X needs a name. I consider the symbolism behind the game as I sit behind my desk, clicking the mouse until all five computer monitors come to life. Python is already open with the last line of code I wrote staring back at me.

Harley has no idea how much work goes into coding a video game. It’s not like drawing a character on paper. Every command has to work in harmony, every sequence executed perfectly. For a player to perform even the most basic action, like jumping into the air, I have to give the computer several lines of instructions, so it knows what to do when the player at home hits the keys on the controller. Programming is just as much an art is it is a science.

And for Harley, I’ll create a fucking masterpiece.

I stare at the monitor and sigh when I see the green circle next to Harley’s name online. She’s in her office in Los Angeles, and from the looks of it, working on something in Adobe Illustrator. After we got married, I had hoped I would never have to resort to stalking her again. But desperate times…