Page 76 of Hate You More

“Last week Troy was full of ‘We’ve got to keep our noses clean.’ Compliance. Data governance.” Hugh makes a yapping motion of his hand. “Regulatory quicksand, AI bullshit, blah fucking blah. But now he’s getting his end away with an heiress, and the future looks bright! Not only is the share price amazing, but it’s now far less likely we’ll be asked to bend over and grab our ankles. I dunno about you, but I don’t fancy a prostate exam conducted by a sausage-fingered SEC lawyer.”

Hannah turns to him, her mouth an unimpressed twist. “The longer I know you, the less I understand the things you say.”

“Allow me to elucidate. He is screwing someone.” He points my way, then circles his finger in the air. “While we were—potentially, according to Misery Guts over there—about to be screwed.”

“I’m not sure that’s exactly accurate,” I contend. “Especially on my end.”

Hannah turns over Hugh’s phone, then puts it to his face, which he stretches into some ridiculous expression.

“And I’m not the only one happy about the situation,” he says as he takes back his phone. “Because NiamLiSun says, We love a power couple #hardlaunch.”

“Liam who?” I demand. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Fifth Ave Files,” Hannah answers with a sigh.

“Oh, I am a sucker for those tense-jawed glares.” Hugo puts his fingers under his chin like the girliest of girls.

Max mutters something uncomplimentary under his breath.

“OMG,” Hugh continues in a comically camp voice. “I would sign his NDA without even reading it, says ImSoLinley. Not me suddenly believing in trickledown economics.” He glances my way. “Seems you have a bit of a fan club. I definitely need to find me an heiress to bone.”

“I’m not boning an heiress. Well, not outside of the bonds of matrimony. And I’ll thank you not to speak of my and my wife’s conjugal relations.”

“What?” Hugh does a comical double take.

“It means sex life, H.”

As planned, Max gives a groan. We agreed it was best not to draw him into this. For him to pretend this is his first time hearing the news.

“I know what it fucking means. I just dunno what you fucking mean,” Hugo demands, poking the air.

“I got married.”

He cants his head, then glances Hannah’s way. “Did he just say what I thought he said?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I married Clara,” I clarify. “The heiress in question.”

“When?” he splutters. “Fucking . . . why?”

“It’s like you said, first love second time around.”

The conference room falls quiet. But not for long.

“Yes!” Hugo jumps from his seat, punching the air like his sports team just scored.

“He means congratulations.” Hannah’s tone is . . . neutral.

“Yes, congratulations.” Hugh takes his seat again. “Fucking hell, mate, talk about dedication. Ow! What was that for?” he demands of Hannah, reaching under the table to rub his thigh.

“Idiot,” she mutters.

“Obviously, I love that journey for you. In fact, I think you should get out there and spread the news.”

“Around the office?”

“Why stop there? You should tell the world! Sell this touching and highly lucrative love story.”