Peel Your Own Damn Shrimp

Summary

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.