Author's Note: I have heard from many sources that it is a bad idea for spouses to work in the same industry. This chapter draws on that a little.

Chapter 43 Global Insurance

Tristan Taylor snuck into his wife's cubicle and peeked over the top of her snowy white head of hair. She was checking over an insurance claim for $50,000 and deciding how much to pay the client. She opted to pay the full amount.

"You're doing it wrong," Tristan said playfully.

Kisara turned around to see her extremely tall brown-eyes, brown-haired husband standing behind her in a crisp black suit and a smirk on his lips. Something inside her snapped, and her electric blue eyes ignited with fire. "Taylor, I can do it however I damn well please. My second cousin owns this company, and makes billions from it. Every once in a while, we need to hold up our end of the bargain and pay deserving customers."

"Oh come on! Just because your second cousin owns this place doesn't mean you know what you're doing. My family has been working for International Insurance for years. I know how these things are supposed to go," he chided her.

"It's Global Insurance now," Kisara sneered.

"Yeah, but my family has been working for this place ever since it was International Insurance. Besides, International Insurance sounds better," Tristan said defensively.

Their voices were growing louder, and they were starting to attract attention from people in nearby cubicles.

"Don't be stupid. Nation's don't exist. They will never, ever exist again," Kisara spat bitterly.

"What the fuck does it matter? I like the way it sounds and I'm going to say it as much as I want," Tristan yelled.

Kisara saw several pairs of eyes peeking over the edge of her cubicle, but ignored them. "All right, Mr. Know-it-all. You can do my job for me. Then, when you get fired from both of our jobs, don't come crying to me," she huffed.

"What has gotten into you?" Tristan asked.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. That's the whole problem. There's nothing in me!" she screamed.

Tristan blinked and stared at her. Nothing? What was that supposed to mean? Something had to be bothering her.

Kisara's chin quivered, and Tristan reached out his right hand toward her instinctively. She turned her face away, her long white hair shrouding her face.

"Kisara, I…" Tristan began.

"No. Don't say another word." Kisara stood up abruptly and walked past him out of the cubicle. A dozen eyes followed her. Everyone noticed the bright red stain that soaked the back of her light blue pencil skirt.

As soon as she was out of sight, a chubby woman in a pastel pink suit said, "I'll bring her some Superprofen ®," and scurried after Kisara with her purse.

"Go buy her some wine. Don't go home empty-handed," a middle-aged man with a wedding ring advised.

"Um… thanks," Tristan said.

All of his other coworkers began to chime in with advice on how to deal with a hormonal woman. Even though some of their suggestions sounded totally ludicrous to him, Tristan listened carefully and made mental notes. After all, Kisara was his one and only wife. He had promised everything to her and this little spat was no reason to break that promise. He had just caught her at the wrong time.

Since he and his wife carpooled to work and she had taken the car home alone, Tristan bummed a ride off a coworker. On the way there, they stopped at a Flo*rMart store to pick up a few things. When he got home, he was standing on the doorstep with a bottle of Merlot, a bottle of Chianti, a bottle of Chardonnay, and two pounds of chocolate truffles in his arms. He rang the doorbell with his elbow.

Kisara gasped when she opened the door. "Tristan, I… How did you…"

Tristan stepped over the threshold and crushed his lips on top of hers. She tasted like she had already been drinking, but it didn't matter. She had a good reason to imbibe. She moaned as the waves of alcohol-intensified pleasure mixed with dull, throbbing pain coursed through her body.

When they both ran out of breath, Tristan set his peace offering on their fancy glass coffee table and sat down on the couch with her. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her head to his chest.

"Tristan?" Kisara asked tentatively.

"Yes, Beautiful?" he replied.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you at work. I was…"

"I know," he said softly.

"Yeah, well it's more than that. The thing is that I… I want a baby. I thought I would be pregnant by now, but I'm obviously not."

Tristan stroked her long white hair. "It's all right. We'll keep trying."

Kisara snuggled deeper into his chest and yawned. "Tristan, you're the best."

Tristan chuckled. "The best what?"

Kisara's head fell into his lap. "The bezest zermorze morzie zan zuy," she yawned as she drifted off to sleep.

Tristan looked down at his wife's pale, perfect face as she slept. He had no idea what she was trying to say in her drunken state, but she was still so cute. He picked her up and carried her to bed. He unhooked her bra and unzipped her pencil skirt before putting her to bed, but otherwise did not bother to remove her clothes for fear of waking her. Since her outfit was ruined anyway, it did not matter how wrinkled it became. Tristan then brushed his teeth, changed into his pajamas, and joined her in bed.