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She’s already mentioned that men don’t leave their wives and she was worried about me making her promises I didn’t intend to keep. How can I tell her that I have to wait a year for us to be together? “I’m not firing her, Holly, and I swear to God if you so much as breathe in her direction, I will find a way to destroy you.”
She grits her teeth and bites out a bitter, “Fine.” She picks up her purse that she’d dropped on a chair when she entered my office. “I’ll leave her alone, for now.”
“Forever, Holly. She hasn’t done anything wrong.” I’m not even sure if I’m on board with these new terms, but I’m not agreeing to shit if she can’t adhere to my only term which is to leave Marissa out of this.
“Except knowingly screw a married man?” She scoffs in disgust. “I’d be willing to give her the benefit of the doubt if she didn’t know, but she works here, so she fucking knows.”
“She didn’t. I didn’t tell her,” I argue, and a part of me wishes I had told her when we first met. I wish she’d somehow known I was married and then she wouldn’t have gotten mixed up with me. I’d made my bed but I asked Marissa to join me and now she could get hurt when I’ve convinced her that this isn’t a problem.
“And it hasn’t come up since? Bullshit. You think no one here has mentioned it in passing?”
“Most people that work for Beckham Securities do their best to forget you exist at all. So, it’s possible you haven’t come up.” I make my way to my office door.
“So, she’s not just a whore but she’s dumb as well because how is it possible that she hasn’t figured it out? Is she just not asking questions?”
“Watch your mouth, Holly. I know it’s your jealousy talking but lay the fuck off. Green really isn’t your color.” It’s a bit below the belt given the color of her eyes, but I’m fucking enraged and it’s taking everything in me not to explode.
I open the door, annoyed that I haven’t succeeded in getting her out of my life, but I can at least send her out of my office. “This is not over, Holly. I just don’t want to get into this any further while I’m at work.”
“I’ll start looking into a marriage counselor.” She gives me a saccharine grin and rubs a hand down my arm.
“You need to start looking into a lawyer,” I tell her, low under my breath. I’m grateful Christine isn’t at her desk, but I don’t know who else may be within earshot.
She rolls her eyes in that placating way as if she’s saying, yes, dear. “So, I should expect you home tonight? I was thinking of making your favorite.” She leans forward to press a kiss to my cheek and pats it in that way she does when she’s trying to patronize me. “Goodbye, honey,” she says, and then she’s moving down the hallway toward the elevator without another look back at me.
Fuck. FUCK. I take a deep breath as I try to calm my racing heart wondering what the hell I’m going to do and more importantly how I’m going to explain all of this to Marissa. I’m about to move back into my office when I notice movement in my periphery, only to find Marissa staring at me with an expression that shatters me.
I knew what Chris’ wife looked like. As much as I wanted to live under the veil of ignorance, my curiosity got the better of me and I looked her up. It’s pretty easy to find pictures of them together from events or galas and there were even a few from their wedding that I stumbled on because her Instagram is public. It takes all of the restraint I have not to stalk her social media more often, but I’ve looked at a few pictures and scrolled long enough to know that she and Chris rarely spent much time together.
I knew the second he sent that text what he meant and I should have listened, but I was stubborn, and the morbid curiosity over what this visit possibly entailed had me moving towards his office. I stay out of sight when she walks out of the office so there is no chance of her seeing me but I can still see her. Polished, beautiful and put together and exactly what she looked like in her pictures. I know designer clothing and she is decked out in it, making me jealous of her for yet another reason.
I know he asked me to stay away from his office, and I mostly believe that he said it for my sake, but a part of me, albeit a small part, wonders if maybe Chris has fed me a bunch of bullshit. That he doesn’t want me to witness them behaving like a perfect couple. That maybe he’s led her to believe that they are blissfully happy and all those nights he spends with me she believes is really him ‘working late.’ Maybe she’s here to surprise him with lunch and an afternoon delight. Maybe there aren’t even divorce papers. Just words to keep me happy that will in turn keep his dick happy. I only know what Chris tells me, after all.
There are an infinite number of maybes.
I wince as I watch their interaction like a car crash in slow motion that I can’t pull my eyes from. A hand on his arm, a kiss on his cheek. Witnessing another woman’s familiarity with him makes me feel like shit. Although it doesn’t necessarily seem like Chris is too excited to see her, it certainly doesn’t seem like behavior from a woman who was just told her husband wants a divorce.
Once I see that she’s out of sight, I take a few steps from where I’d been watching so that he’ll see me if he looks my way, and after only a few seconds, he meets my gaze. His shoulders deflate almost instantly and I can see the apology all over his face. I tilt my head to the side and he takes a few steps toward me before looking behind him. When he doesn’t see anyone, he holds out his hand and I shake my head before taking a step back. I feel the tears building in my throat. Not just because I saw his wife in the flesh but because it’s a painful reminder of the choices I’ve made that have led to this. That I’ve made a fucking mess of my life and I don’t know how to see my way out of the storm. That ultimately, I chose to be in a relationship with someone who is already in a relationship with someone else and now there is a very good chance I’m about to have my heart broken.
“Please, Marissa.” The two words are quiet but I hear them clearly.
“Not here,” I tell him. This isn’t the place for this conversation. This past weekend was the first time I had really learned anything about his wife, and I assume I will be learning quite a bit more. “Later.”
I feel like he wants to say something but he just nods once before sliding his hands into his pockets. I turn on my heel and move back to my desk without another word.
I don’t know how I make it through the rest of the day. I feel like a bomb is about to go off and I’m not prepared for my entire life to go up in flames. I’m walking towards my car in the garage that evening when I spot his car next to mine. He has his own spot with Wes and the other members of senior leadership so I’m surprised to see it there, but as I get closer, I realize he’s actually in the car. He rolls his window down just as I step between our cars and I hear his voice. “Can you follow me?”
No greeting or term of endearment. No sign that this conversation is going to be pleasant. I feel the guards around my heart that I was slowly letting down to let him in move back up.
Men never leave their wives. We knew this.
After only a few miles of driving, he pulls into a shopping center with a pretty crowded parking lot. I’m just about to get out of the car when I see his door open and then he’s sliding into my passenger side. It had started raining earlier this afternoon and hasn’t stopped. It has actually picked up. The sky is dark and ugly and the air has a chill that can only be brought on by October precipitation.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says and the tenderness in his words makes my heart ache.
“Did you know she was coming?” I ask quietly.
“No.” He’s not looking at me; his gaze is trained out my front window. “She knows about you,” he says in a way that feels like he’s ripping off a Band-Aid.
