I'd already told Meredith how much it bothered me, but she just brushed me off, calling me narrow-minded. What was I supposed to do other than let it slide, or try to? Still, every time that damn ringtone played, it scraped at me like someone dragging nails across a chalkboard.
Just like that, a smile plastered on Meredith's face, and she just shoved me aside and glided back to the bedroom.
A little while later, I checked the company's group chat and found that Devon had sent a message a minute ago.
[Guess you knocked out before I could get my goodnight from you, President Webber!]
That bastard even threw in a bunch of cringey colorful hearts and shy emojis that made me flinch.
Then came a screenshot—my girlfriend, asleep on a video call, with the picture of Devon grinning. Proof of her cheating on me was right on my face, and I felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach.
To make matters worse, our idiot coworkers jumped in.
The group chat quickly blew up with replies like [Looks like someone found his sleeping beauty!] and other garbage.
Half a minute later, the asshole deleted his stupid message and that damn screenshot. [Sorry, folks. Wrong chat], he said. The coward went offline right after.
But the idiots of the company didn't stop teasing the 'genius' hire and the CEO.
I couldn't help but send a thumbs-up and mute the damn chat. Then I opened the contract Jude had sent over. I signed it without any hesitation.
The next morning, I couldn't believe it—Meredith was actually busy in the kitchen making breakfast.
I looked at the steaming clam chowder and some veggies on the dining table. I almost reached out for some, but my hand stopped halfway to the bowl.
I remember the doctor's advice; I gotta watch what I eat, and seafood's a trigger food, so it's off-limits right now.
But I couldn't just sit there and reject Meredith's efforts after she's been busting her ass in the kitchen, right? So I picked up a spoon, figuring I'd just take a little taste.
But before I could serve myself a small bowl, she came rushing over from the kitchen, snatching the spoon right out of my hand. And then she gestured to that bag sitting by the door.
"You love she-crab soup, right? I ordered takeout just for you."
Ah—the clam chowder wasn't meant for me at all but for her new damn hire.