Peel Your Own Damn Shrimp
Language: en
I was scrolling through the monthly procurement approvals when a single line of text made my finger freeze on the mousepad. Premium white shrimp, 5 lbs. Weekly delivery, Fridays. The delivery address wasn’t the corporate office. It wasn’t our house, either. I stared at the unfamiliar street name for ten solid seconds. The Belvedere, Tower 3, Apt 1702. In the margins, the requisition note contained four simple words: CEO’s Private Order. I had been married to Brad Harrison for eight years, and I had never heard of The Belvedere. But I knew exactly who the CEO was. It was my husband.