Overnight Wife

When I get to the office, it’s empty. Which suits me just fine. I swipe into the work room and get down to business, putting together the display we’d talked about on the way to John’s disastrous family party yesterday. If nothing else, at least his creative ideas are good. Talking to him about work always inspires me. Pushes my ideas to new limits, and makes me come up with newer, more creative suggestions than I ever would have thought of on my own.

If only working together were our only concern.

I bend over the power tools, letting the drilling sound drown out any other thoughts. I try to force regret and fear from my mind. I try not to think about those stupid gossip articles, and what it’s going to mean for my life now that I’m married to the most eligible bachelor in LA, and especially in my industry.

For some reason, it doesn’t help as much as I think it will, this burying myself in work thing. But it at least distracts me for a minute.

Then the hour is up, and the rest of my coworkers start flooding into the office, and any illusion of distraction or safety I might have built up for myself falls away.

Daniel’s the first one through the doors. The look he shoots me tells me immediately that he knows. His brow is furrowed, and when I call out a hello, he just nods, not saying anything, barely even really acknowledging me. He looks embarrassed, but he slides past me and heads to his own machine.

My stomach clenches. If even Daniel is going to judge me for this…

It’s a slow processing of that. One by one, my employees file in, and when I give them assignments or ask them about what they’re planning to work on today, they just mumble one word answers and avoid eye contact, whereas before they were all eager to talk to me and exchange ideas.

Only Bianca is different.

She flounces in with two cups of coffee, just like every morning, and brings me mine, prepared just the way I like it. Before I can say a word, she reaches out to squeeze my shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she says. “People will get used to this in time. Just give them a minute to adjust.”

It feels like a stone dropped into the pit of my stomach. “You heard,” I say. It’s not a question.

She grimaces in sympathy. “I’m pretty sure everyone has google alerts set to the boss’s name, so yeah. We’ve all heard.” Her gaze drifts toward the ring on my finger.

I’d forgotten I was still wearing it, until just this moment. It had become so second nature, an extension of my hand, but now my finger itches, and I fight the urge to tear it off me. I swallow hard and settle for twisting it around so the diamond faces my palm instead. Less obvious, or at least so it feels. “It’s not what it looks like,” I say. But how can I explain? I didn’t know who he was when I eloped with him? That makes it sound even worse than marrying your boss, sleeping your way into a job.

“I don’t blame you if it is,” Bianca says softly, her voice low enough that none of the rest of our coworkers will be able to hear her. “This industry is near impossible to get a leg up in. It’s smart to use every advantage you can to get ahead. I’d never blame a woman for using every weapon at her disposal.”

Advantage. Weapon. Like this is all some kind of war or game that I’m fighting. Not just a drunken night out, a stupid mistake that I should have corrected a long time ago. “I didn’t marry him for the job,” I say, truthfully. “He hired me long before there was anything between us. Honestly, if I’d known how all this looked, I never would have married him in the first place,” I add in a lower voice.

Bianca’s forehead puckers with concern. “You regret it?”

“I regret how it looks,” I respond. “Everyone thinks I slept my way into this job, don’t they? They’ll never respect me. Not the way they used to. Or were starting to, anyway.”

“Well…” Bianca bites her lower lip, looking thoughtful. “You could fix that.”

“How?” I ask, shaking my head. “The damage is done.”

“Not necessarily…” Bianca studies me. Then she shakes her head. “But I shouldn’t interfere—”

“Please,” I interrupt. “Any tips are appreciated.”

“Well.” She surveys the room again. I follow her gaze and know exactly what she’s seeing. All our coworkers—people who up until yesterday respected me. Viewed me as a leader, someone whose ideas and orders they respected. “You could always end the marriage. I mean, if you regret it, and if you’re already thinking about how much it’s changed…”