Chapter 3
My answer seemed to short-circuit Claire's brain. The look in her eyes was no longer just hostile. It was a swirling vortex of confusion and suspicion.
"Job?" she repeated, the word dripping with sarcasm. "You call this marriage a job?"
"What else would I call it?" I argued matter-of-factly. "Mr. Goodman provides the compensation, and I provide the agreed-upon deliverables, like emotional support and brand ambassadorship. Approaching it with a professional mindset is simply best practice, isn't it?"
My little speech left her utterly speechless.
It seemed all the sharp words she had intended for me were caught in her throat. As a deep red spread across her face, I couldn't help but feel a pang of pity.
So I decided to offer her an olive branch.
"Ms. Linwood, you're obviously the person closest to Mr. Goodman. You know his preferences and standards better than anyone. Looking at my strategic plan, do you think there are any areas for improvement you'd suggest to better align with the client's core needs?"
I nudged the laptop an inch closer. My expression looked as earnest as a summer intern presenting their first-ever deck to the board.
Claire's mouth twitched.
Her gaze fell to the "Client Needs Analysis" slide, which featured a detailed breakdown of Theo's astrological sign, blood type, and MBTI personality profile, complete with a character assessment and list of potential preferences extrapolated from public interviews.
The cascade of emotions on her face, from crimson rage to ashen disbelief, was quite the show.
"You... you put all this together?" she stammered.
"Of course," I replied and nodded. "Know thy client, know thyself. A comprehensive understanding of the primary stakeholder is fundamental to providing exceptional service. It's just basic professionalism."
That did it. Claire was officially out of words.
She shot to her feet, her heels clicking a frantic staccato on the marble floor as she made a beeline for the exit, as if escaping a place where reality had ceased to function.
"Vivian, you're certifiably insane," she spat over her shoulder.
With that, she made a hasty retreat. Even from behind, you could see the defeat in her posture.
I watched her flee, scratching my head in genuine confusion.
Was my proposal really that bad that I managed to scare off the most senior advisor on the project?
Clearly, I still had a long road ahead of me on my journey to becoming a top-performing trophy wife.
For the next week, I stuck to my PowerPoint with the discipline of a drill sergeant. My schedule was packed.
Mornings were for the gym and equestrian practice. Afternoons were dedicated to flower arranging and wine tasting. Evenings were for debriefing the day's progress and creating a meticulous minute-by-minute schedule for the following day.
The intensely structured self-improvement felt intoxicatingly familiar, like cramming for my SATs all over again. I felt productive, fulfilled, and completely in my element.
A week later, Theo returned from a business trip. He walked in to find me in the middle of a Pilates routine on the living room floor. The moment I saw him, I gracefully paused the video and rose to greet him.
"Welcome home, Mr. Goodman," I said, offering him a pair of slippers with a polite air.
His eyes scanned over me, landing on the faint blush on my cheeks from my workout. For a moment, a flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"The body is a temple and a high-performance asset," I replied, deadpan. "To fulfill my contractual obligations to the best of my ability, I must maintain peak physical and mental condition."
Theo just stared.
He seemed to have developed an immunity to my corporate-speak, simply pinching the bridge of his nose with a weary sigh.
"There's a company charity gala next week. You're coming with me."
My first official project was deliverable.
My heart did a little leap as I asked, "Excellent, Mr. Goodman. I'll add it to my calendar. Could you provide some details? What is the theme of the event?
"Is there a specific dress code or style you'd prefer? Any brand or color affinities I should be aware of? Also, if possible, could I get a copy of the guest list in advance to familiarize myself with the key attendees?"
My rapid-fire, professional inquiry was met with another wall of silence. He looked at me as if I were a complex algorithm he couldn't quite decipher.
Finally, he ground out a few words through his teeth.
"The butler will handle it."
And with that, he turned and headed upstairs, not sparing me a second glance.
I watched him go, making a mental note for my next performance review: [The client is introverted and prefers minimal communication. Must enhance proactive reporting and implement a closed-loop feedback system.]