The Marriage Rival

“Well, honey, I knocked you up. You kinda had no choice.”

Of course, he had come out with the most caveman thing to say only to throw my anger to another level. I refuse to entertain him during these moods, storming out of his office and slamming his door to prove a point.

I’ve been sitting in my office staring out the window for the last thirty minutes since that argument. I welcome the view of the city, and the afternoon sunshine eases a part of my escalating anger toward him. California is great in that way—constant sunshine, warm weather, and beaches within driving distance.

Not one part of me misses the hustle and bustle of Manhattan. Haden did, though, traveling there often taking my place so I can stay with Masen.

We talked about buying a small apartment, something he could stay in during his visits or on the rare occasion I traveled with Masen. Haden’s mom still lives just outside Manhattan, often begging us to come over for longer visits so she can spend time with her grandson. It isn’t a bad idea, just a lot of work, and right now we are struggling for time as it is.

I answer some emails before deciding to spend the afternoon reading over some pieces. Occasionally, I do this to unwind. All I need is my favorite Garfield mug with a steaming black coffee—a gag gift some co-workers bought me one year for Kris Kringle. It has a picture of Garfield on the front which said ‘I’m not always right but I’m never wrong.”

My desk—always impeccably clean—is missing my mug. I make a quick walk to the staff lunchroom to see if I left it in there during my morning coffee.

Our lunchroom isn’t huge but big enough to fit a rectangular table that sits ten. The kitchen facilities are usually clean except for today. Someone has annoyingly spilled sweetener on the countertop without cleaning it up.

Grabbing a cloth, I wipe the countertop clean, cursing at the laziness of some of our employees. Satisfied with the cleanliness, I open the cupboard on the hunt for my mug. It’s not inside, just a bunch of plain white mugs. Huh, this is odd. I’m not one to misplace things, and no one else would take that mug from me.

With much annoyance, I grab a communal mug, washing it twice as people here have the knack for not cleaning things properly, and make myself a coffee.

A double shot is needed especially after last night.

Walking back to my office, I stroll past our executive board room and notice my mug sitting on the table. It’s nestled into Haden’s hands as he talks to our advertising team. The nerve of him.

The door is closed, and there’s no way I can go in there and demand my mug without looking like an immature brat. Behind his black-rimmed reading glasses, his eyes narrow as he lifts the mug to his lips and runs the top of his tongue along the rim before taking a sip with a satisfied smirk.

Great, now I don’t know whether to be angry or turned on.

Back at my desk, I cross my legs to control the throbbing between them. Despite my anger toward him, Haden is still so unbelievably sexy, and he knows how to push my buttons. He often plays this game with himself—how quickly he can make me come. Stupid game, though I’m not complaining, openly.

He’s just greedy.

Haden is your typical give-me-a-blow-job type of guy and demands to fuck me any moment we are alone. Like I said, Masen going through this stage is hard on both of us. We found our lovemaking resulted in quickies wherever we could get it. It’s not like back in the day where we could lay in bed at night and fuck until all hours of the morning because we knew Masen couldn’t get out of his crib.

Masen transitioned to his big-boy bed meaning his legs can take him to our room—every night.

I throw myself into this manuscript for the next two hours. Silly me—it is erotic romance. By the time five o’clock rolls around, I’ve pretty much stopped myself from orgasming at my desk chair a dozen times. The manuscript is good. I don’t see why Haden has to put his foot down and want figures. This stuff sells. Women across the world get off on stories just like this one. The perfect billionaire targeting his heroine with some dirty sex just to thicken the plot.

With my laptop shutdown and purse in hand, I leave my office in search of Haden. We usually go home together unless one of us has an urgent deadline the next day, needing to stay back. A few staff remain, so I wave goodbye, though Haden is nowhere to be seen.

“Have you guys seen Haden?”

Clint, one of our editors who moved from our Manhattan office recently, points to the smaller boardroom. “He’s in there interviewing the new operations assistant because Noah has a meeting in San Francisco. Something urgent, not sure what.”

“I’m not surprised,” I mouth, well aware Noah is knee-deep in personal problems.

“Does it have something to do with that side hoochie he knocked up?”

Clint never holds back when it comes to office gossip. Sometimes, he knows things before they actually happen. He can predict an office affair before the clothes come off.

“You’re talking about Phil. She isn’t a side hoochie, more like a one-night stand gone wrong.”

Clint snickers. “You two would get along.”

“Hey,” I chastise. “At least I married the guy. Though, mind you, right now, divorce is looking rather sweet.”

“That’s what you always say, but then you go home having the best sex of your life.”

I nod with playful grin. “You know me well.”