The Wife Win

Harper

“Hello again, Miss Conrad.”

Vivian, the gorgeous assistant greets me as I enter the executive manager suite, cameraman Doug in tow.

I return her pleasant greeting. “Good morning. Nice to see you again, Vivian. And you can just call me Harper. Let me introduce you to Doug Lennon, my camera operator. He’ll be assisting me during my interviews.”

I gesture with a hand out toward Doug who stands sheepishly behind me and grunts out his hello. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Doug since meeting him a few weeks ago, it’s that he has clearly found his home behind the camera and is introverted as they come.

Regardless, he seems quite capable of doing his job, taking direction from me and staying fairly invisible and out of my way, which is convenient and makes my job much easier.

“Please have a seat,” Vivian offers, pointing out the grouping of leather chairs in the lobby. “Mr. Talbert is currently in an unscheduled meeting but should be available soon. May I offer you some coffee, tea, or water?”

I glance to Doug who just shrugs, so I respond for both of us. “Sure, coffee would be great.”

She nods and walks over to a table garnished with a plethora of complimentary drinks. I fiddle nervously with my hands in my lap, anxious for anything to hold on to so my shaking hands will have something to do.

I take the opportunity to glance around the open bank of offices, stopping on the window view inside Marek’s office. The blinds have been opened and there’s a woman with her back toward me so I can’t see her face, only her long, inky black hair, but I can tell from her graceful posture that she is elegant and sophisticated.

And then my gaze lands on Marek. His expression is tight, and there’s a flash of anger and irritation that sizzles in his irises. Then his face suddenly morphs into a reaction I can easily read and know far too well.

Pain. Dejection. Grief.

I try to avoid staring at him, but I’m transfixed by Marek’s volatile yet vulnerable expression. I notice the way a muscle tics in his jaw and his brows knit together forming a deep groove between his eyes.

He stands, turning his back on his guest as if resigned and not willing to finish the argument or conversation. I’m caught in a daze as I stare in rapt interest at the way he shoves his hands in his trouser pockets, the tension pulling the material snug over his butt.

My breath hitches and I give myself a mental shake at the marvel that is Marek Talbert’s ass.

Stop the presses. I cannot afford to think about Marek’s butt like that.Edit. Edit. Delete.

Vivian interrupts my lewd inner thoughts of me running my palm over the curve of Marek’s firm ass cheeks when she blocks my view by stepping in front of me and handing me a cup of coffee.

She gives me a fond smile, as if to acknowledge she knows what I was looking at and, worse yet, what I was thinking. I can feel my face redden with embarrassment over being caught admiring him like a perv.

Although, it’s not the first time I’ve given in to inappropriate and highly sexualized thoughts of Marek. I’m blaming it on the stress of Hannah’s surgery and recovery, and the beginning of her radiation treatment. But every night for a week after I returned from Seattle, I had very explicit dreams about Marek. Specifically, his hands, mouth, and tongue.

I’d wake up drenched in sweat, with my hand between my legs, unconsciously easing the ache that those dreams evoked. Then I’d lie awake for hours, angry at myself for getting turned on from the subject of my upcoming interviews.

Feeling a little aroused and piqued, I take a sip of the coffee and decide I should use the restroom before meeting with Marek. My nervous energy always has me needing to pee at the most inopportune times.

“May I use the washroom?” I ask politely, setting the coffee down on a coaster on the table.

Vivian nods and directs me down the hallway. “Of course, you can. You remember where it is?”

I nod, the rush of embarrassment returning full blast when I recall the condoms I stole the last time I was here. I wonder if she knew about that? Does she do a count every morning and evening? Oh, my God, what if she knew it was me who took them?

I give a soft nudge to Doug’s foot, his eyes glancing up from his phone.

“I’m off to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

He ignores me and returns to the game he’s playing. Boy, he should be fun to travel with. A great conversationalist. I snicker to myself as I head down to the washroom door.

After using the lavatory and washing my hands, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, checking on the make-up Jade applied for me. She got me all fixed up this morning with the make-up and hair brigade, ensuring I looked just right for my big day.

Using the new tube of lipstick she gave me, I add a bit more color to my lips, but then decide against it, wiping off the excess with a paper towel. I don’t want to change my looks or try to impress using my female assets. That’s not my style. If I’m going to impress, it’ll be with the use of the thousands of stats I’ve crammed in my head that I’ll incorporate into my interview questions.

I work to calm my nerves by doing some deep breathing exercises, closing my eyes and imagining my interview with Marek.