Conflicted Page 2

  “Where is he, really?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Working.”

  “Lucy, it’s me.”

  I glanced up from the soapy water to meet my sister’s concerned eyes. She was my opposite with her blonde hair and big blue eyes. She was a replica of my mom, and Madi was her mini-me. I’d been graced with my dad’s dark brown hair and caramel-colored eyes.

  I handed her a plate to dry and refocused my attention on the dishes. “He said to say he’s working. I don’t know what he’s doing. Sitting at home playing video games.”

  “Why didn’t he come?”

  “I have no idea.”

  She paused and looked up at me. “Do you think he’s…never mind.”

  “What?” I scrubbed the dish in my hands a little harder.

  “Do you think he’s cheating?”

  “John?” I shook my head. I hadn’t thought he might have been until she brought it up. “No. He wouldn’t.”

  “Okay. If you say so.”

  “I do,” I said, trying to convince myself more than her.

  “But it is a bit of a red flag.”

  “What is?”

  “Not showing up for family events. Working all the time.”

  I nodded, not wanting to get into it with my sister—especially not at a family party.

  “Are you still happy with him?”

  My sister always knew how to ask the hard questions. She’d been one of the few people to ask me if marrying John was what I’d really wanted back before the wedding.

  I rinsed the last dish and washed my hands before answering. “I don’t know if I’ve ever really been happy with him. Not since before the wedding, anyway.”

  She nodded once, as if she’d known that all along. She stepped toward me, pulling me into a hug. “Thank God you finally admitted it.”

  “You knew?”

  “Lucy, I know you better than anyone. Don’t you think I could tell?”

  I sighed and looked out the window above her sink. “So now what?”

  “You either fix it or you move on.”

  Her words replayed in my mind for the rest of the day. I was never one to just give up, and our conversation gave me a boost of determination.

  I was going to fix my marriage. I was going to be happy with John again. I just had to figure out how to battle against the first love in his life…his job.

  CHAPTER THREE

  After two weeks under the tyrannical rule of Cole Benson, I missed feeling appreciated.

  Saying goodbye to the boss I actually liked played in my mind often, but never so often as when Cole was acting like an asshole.

  “Ms. Cleary, I need the Hinkley presentation by three o’clock.”

  “Yes, sir.” I sighed heavily, thinking that his father never would’ve treated me like that.

  I needed to stop thinking that way. Jack had retired. He wasn’t coming back. Cole was my new reality.

  The Hinkley presentation wasn’t anywhere near finished, but if I didn’t finalize it by three, my ass would be handed to me.

  I’d managed to earn his trust in just a few days. I hadn’t been a minute late since that first day. In fact, I was usually a half an hour early and stayed late because he seemed to need me even more than his father had.

  But I was pretty sure the real reason he gave me his trust so quickly was that he didn’t want to do the work. It was easier for him to dictate numbers to me—or better yet, forward me an email—than it was for him to open the contract and find the right spot to place them.

  I dropped what I was doing and opened the PowerPoint, thinking how much I wanted to quit my job and do something—anything—else. Cole Benson was a slave driver, and I was slave to whatever he needed.

  So why didn’t I quit?

  I liked the company, and I cared about the clients.

  I needed the money. I had rent and credit card bills.

  Plus, I was in the running for Assistant of the Year. It was a competition Jack had started before he left. If I won, it meant a ten thousand dollar bonus check. I was up against two other women—Mary, assistant to the head of marketing, and Jasmine, assistant to the director of human resources.

  All three of us were deserving of the award, although Jack had often told me that I handled the biggest workload as the assistant to the CEO of the entire company.

  But more than all that, I stayed at my job because I really didn’t think Cole could get by without me.

  It was crazy to admit it, but even though I hated him pretty much all the time, I wanted to work hard to impress him. The meaner he was to me, the more I saw it as a challenge to do something—anything—right just to hear a single word of praise pass from his gorgeous lips.

  And so there I was, setting aside the mounds of paperwork that had somehow stacked up on my desk. I didn’t have a choice. I had to appease the asshole in the large corner office with the big walnut desk I had the distinct displeasure of sitting beside every weekday.

  I huffed my way through my work, thankful at least for my creative skills and PowerPoint knowhow. I was pissed once again at Mr. Benson, who I called “Cole” in my head simply because I could, but there was little I could do about it.

  My cell phone started buzzing. “Hey,” I answered when I saw it was my sister calling.

  “Did you talk to John yet?”

  I loved her bluntness. No greeting, no pleasantries. Just right down to business.

  I cradled my phone against my shoulder as I multi-tasked, setting transitions to each slide while chatting. “Not yet.”

  “It’s been over two weeks! What are you waiting for?”

  “A time when I don’t feel like I’m interrupting him just by talking to him.”

  “Bullshit. Do it over dinner. Get it done.”

  “Kaylee, it’s not that easy. Every time I try—”

  “Ms. Cleary,” Cole’s voice interrupted me mid-sentence. “I’m not paying you for personal calls. I’ll expect your phone to be stored away during business hours.”

  “I have to go. I’ll call you later.” I hung up on my sister and raised my eyes timidly to look at my boss. “I didn’t, um…your dad allowed it.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “I’m not my father.”

  “No shit,” is what I wanted to say, but instead, I actually said, “I’m sorry, sir.”

  I finished the PowerPoint with about twenty seconds to spare, saving the file where Cole could access it. I dialed into his office.

  “Yes?” he answered. It was better than the “What?” he snapped at me most days.

  “I finished the Hinkley presentation, Mr. Benson. It’s in the shared folder.”

  “Cutting it close, Ms. Cleary. I’ll check it and get back to you.”

  He ended the call, and I dug back into the contracts I’d set aside to work on the Hinkley presentation.

  I nearly jumped out of my skin when his voice cut into my thoughts as he stood in front of my desk a few minutes later. “Ms. Cleary, the presentation is missing a transition between slides seven and eight, and you need to double check the final numbers on the last slide. Perhaps if you hadn’t been so busy on your personal call, you might’ve paid better attention to detail.”

  I couldn’t decide if I wanted to smack his condescending mouth or feel it dragging along the skin on my neck.

  I bit my lip to keep myself from responding with something snarky and silently counted to three. It was a technique I’d learned when researching how to deal with an awful boss.

  “Yes, sir,” I said, looking up at him and conjuring my sweetest smile.

  He towered over my desk, all clean, hard lines in a navy suit as his milk chocolate eyes pinned me to my seat. He ran a hand over his wavy, black hair and then scrubbed a hand down the scruff on his cheek.

  I couldn’t help but wonder what that scruff would feel like under my fingertips.

  Okay, fine. I had to admit it.

  I hated my boss’s guts, but I also had a tiny crush on h
im.

  And by tiny, I meant massive.

  It was a good thing he was such a dick, because if he was a likable guy, he’d tempt me every single day. This way was better, though. I could admire the outside of the package without getting into any real trouble.

  And speaking of package, my eyes drifted down to his pants for a split second before I caught myself. “I’m sorry it wasn’t up to your standard.”

  “Just fix it,” he said thickly, and then he disappeared into his office. He hated when I apologized.

  I watched his firm ass retreat back into his office, and then I finalized the file before calling to notify him that I was finished.

  “What?” he snapped.

  I wondered if he ever had a good day. Ever.

  “The Hinkley file is done. Let me know what else I can do.”

  “Finally,” he said, and then he ended the call. I sighed. It would be nice to hear a “thanks” once in a while, but Cole just wasn’t that kind of boss.

  I didn’t dare leave a moment before five as I didn’t want to endure his wrath, but once my day ended twenty minutes after everyone else had left the office—except Cole—I headed home.

  The dread I felt as I headed into the office each morning sort of matched the dread I felt as I headed home each evening.

  I walked into an empty apartment as usual. I went to the bedroom to change as I contemplated what happened between John and me. When we first got together, we used to have long talks that lasted well into the night. But now our talks consisted of conversational civilities rather than meaningful discussions.

  I slipped off my shoes in my walk-in closet and pulled my dress over my head. I stopped and stared at the girl in the full-length mirror in my closet.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if it was me that was driving my husband to work so much. I didn’t look much different than I had when we’d gotten married. My straight, dark hair that tumbled over my shoulders just to the top of my breasts was maybe a bit longer than it had been three years ago. As I gazed into my own caramel brown eyes, I didn’t see anything different. I studied the light smattering of freckles across my nose that deepened in the summer months. They were exactly the same as they’d always been.

  I unhooked my bra and slid my panties down my legs.

  My body was essentially the same, too. I’d worked out a little harder closer to the wedding, so I’d been in better shape at the time. I hadn’t put on weight in the years since we’d gotten married, though—I’d just lost some muscle tone. I pinched the skin around my belly. I was blessed with good genes that allowed me to stay fit as long as I watched my diet and exercised a few times a week. I used to consider marathon nights with John exercise, but it had been a long time since we’d had one of those.

  As I stared at my naked reflection, my hands began to wander. I might not have been getting physical with my husband, but a girl still had needs. The stress of my job and my lackluster marriage left me with pent-up anxiety that needed a release.

  I cupped my breasts in my hands. It felt good, and I knew it was because they’d gone untouched by my husband for so long. My fingers found my nipples and I squeezed them. My stomach clenched as the familiar strains of anticipation raced through me.

  If John wasn’t going to take care of my sexual needs, I was going to have to take care of myself.

  I slowed my movements, allowing the tantalizing pleasure of my own touch to cultivate the ache between my legs. Eventually I allowed my fingers to trail down my body until I inserted one and then two into my wet heat.

  I pushed them in as far as they would go and held them there for a few beats. I worked them out slowly, almost agonizingly so, until the need for friction compelled me to plunge them back in.

  I moved leisurely, knowing I had all the time in the world since I was home alone—and probably would be for at least a few more hours.

  I opened my eyes and watched the girl in the mirror. I watched as my fingers moved in and out of me. I watched as my breasts bounced with my movements. I watched as my lips contorted in pleasure.

  I drove my fingers in and out until I felt everything down low tighten deliciously, and then I pulled them out and rubbed my clit furiously, the ache spurring me on toward my climax.

  As the wave of bliss finally washed over me, it wasn’t my husband whose face flashed through my mind. It wasn’t Bradley Cooper, or Tom Brady, or Adam Levine.

  It wasn’t any of my favorite fantasies.

  It was my dick of a boss.

  I saw Cole.

  It stopped me short for a fleeting second, but then it drove me to an even harder climax, my body clenching everywhere as pleasure pulsed erratically through me.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I’ll be at work until at least eight. Go ahead and eat without me.

  I stared at the text on my phone, not sure how to respond. What was there to say? I’d be going home to an empty house and eating dinner alone. Again. I thought having a husband meant that I’d no longer feel lonely.

  Wrong.

  I’d never felt more lonely than I had since John and I had drifted apart.

  “Ms. Cleary, I’ll need you back at your desk in five minutes.” Cole’s voice broke into my silent seething as I stared at my phone.

  I glanced up at him, and I felt uncomfortable as I thought about my closet climax the day before. Why had I come so damn hard when he popped into my head? I wondered if he was as dominating in the bedroom as he was in the office. I wondered what kind of kisser he was. What kind of lover he was.

  He was rocking another suit, and my eyes drifted to his broad shoulders before I snapped myself out of my fantasies.

  It was ridiculous. Cole was an asshole. I saw the kinds of ladies he took to work functions when I’d Facebook stalked him. They were leggy, blonde, and scorching hot. Even if I was single, he would never want me.

  Even if there was some small chance in hell he had any interest, he’d never cross the line with his married assistant—especially not when he’d just taken over as CEO.

  And I’d never cheat on John even if the offer was on the table.

  “Yes, sir,” I said, setting my phone down and focusing on shoveling the rest of my lunch into my mouth. His cap on my lunch break gave me a total of fourteen minutes, but arguing the point was futile. I didn’t want to be accused of talking back to the boss, so I shut my mouth and did what he said.

  I wouldn’t win Assistant of the Year if I spent my time arguing with him, and he and the other company bigwigs were finalizing their decision within the next month or two.

  I headed back to my desk. Mr. Benson sat in one of the chairs across from my desk. His elbows rested on his knees, and his hands were folded in front of him as he stared down at a spot on the floor. I took a moment to enjoy the view.

  When his dark eyes met mine, a surge of anticipation bounced up my spine. I couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it, too.

  “I need you to book me a trip to New York. Flight and hotel.” He stood. “I emailed you the details. I’m taking a last-minute opening for a presentation spot at a conference, and I’ll need an assistant. It’s partially over a weekend, so check your calendar.” He headed back into his office without waiting for my reply.

  Was that his way of inviting me on a trip to New York? Or was that his way of demanding I attend the conference with him?

  Either way, with Assistant of the Year on the line and the strong desire to get away from John for a few days, I was in.

  And I was just a little bit interested in what Cole might be like outside of the office.

  I opened his email, a forward of the conference details. It was less than two weeks away, which meant that we had a lot of work to do in a short amount of time.

  I supposed I had an obligation to check a five night trip with my husband, so I finally responded to the text he’d sent me earlier.

  My boss asked if I can accompany him on a trip to New York a week from Wednesday through the following Monday. Do you
have any reasons why I shouldn’t go?

  I could’ve been a little nicer, I supposed. But it took two to tango, and he hadn’t exactly been full of pleasantries lately.

  As I glanced at the calendar, I realized that the trip would take place over the last weekend of the month—over our monthly date night. I wondered if he’d even notice, let alone tell me not to go.

  In the old days, he would’ve responded with something sweet—something to let me know that he didn’t want me to go because he was going to miss me, or that he didn’t want us to miss out on our important date night.

  But it wasn’t the old days anymore, and I wasn’t sure he actually would miss me. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t miss him, either. Maybe this trip was exactly what the two of us needed. Maybe it would help us get back on track and feel something for each other aside from irritation.

  A reply came quickly. Go ahead.

  I dialed into Cole’s office.

  “Yes?”

  “I checked my calendar and I’ll be able to accompany you on the trip.”

  “Fine. Start the travel arrangements.”

  His fine echoed around my head.

  What was worse? Being buried in indifference at home? Or traveling with my son of a bitch boss for six days?

  It wasn’t like I had someone eagerly waiting for me to come home, anyway. John was always working late, and I would be, too, as I prepared for the conference.

  The conference ran Thursday through Sunday, and Cole wanted to get there the day before it started. He chose to leave Monday in case he had additional business while we were in New York. I hoped we’d have time to sightsee—or, rather, I hoped that I would have time to sightsee as I didn’t really picture myself tooling around town with Cole.

  I wanted to see the Empire State Building and the 911 Memorial and take in a show on Broadway. I wanted to eat a hot dog from a street vendor and walk into one of those teeny-tiny restaurants where you could order your slice of New York style pizza and get it at the end of the counter.

  I pictured myself doing all of that alone while Cole did whatever he did.