“None of us have time for them,” I replied, tossing the crumpled towel in the trashcan under the sink, a smaller can replacing the one she dented a week earlier. “Someone will forward the meeting notes, I’m sure.”
“Yeah, but this is a personal leave he’s on, so I don’t know.”
I ignored her, not taking the bait. Someone should have thought twice before giving her access to HR records. It was like letting a wolf right in the pasture.
She looked side to side, scanning the bathroom. “Well, between you and me, he’s down in Florida to work things out with his wife,” she whispered. “So, he probably doesn’t care about anything up here right now.”
I felt each word like she kicked me in the stomach with one of her Manolos. Married? She was confused. She had to be. He was selling the house, taking care of last-minute paperwork. Ethan and Luke would have mentioned a wife.
She pouted. “Bummer, right? He’s such a hottie, too,” she whined. “He took the job here to give her space. Sounds sketchy if you ask me. Wanting space is the step before divorcing. I would know. Been there, done that. Twice.”
“Marty said he’s selling his house,” I replied, ready to crawl out of my skin to get away from her. “So, that’s great for him.”
“Well yeah, they’re moving to Chicago together next month,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “You know how that goes. People run from their problems and think starting fresh somewhere else fixes them.”
As much as I wanted to leave, I froze, suddenly feeling faint. I swallowed, unable, unwilling to say a thing.
“Oh, you poor thing...” she trailed, finally turning from the mirror to face me. “You really thought you were special, huh?”
I flicked my eyes to hers. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on!” she cackled. “Like everyone didn’t notice you two?”
I swore I was going to throw up all over her fugly fuchsia sweater. “What?”
“You were after him from the moment he stepped foot in the building!” she laughed. “I’m not sure what he saw in you, but you must have thrown yourself at him. I guess he’s like a shark; if you chum him enough, he’ll take a bite.”
Her words were daggers, slicing and dicing. My legs trembled, but I refused to give in. She had to be lying. It was another classic Monica stunt.
Did she see us somewhere? Maybe she overheard us that day in his office. She could have taken the information and ran with it. Now she would blackmail me or worse.
I held my ground despite my crumbling core. “Monica, not only are you petty, but you’re desperate.”
She giggled, swishing her hair from side to side. “Oh please! Everyone knows you two are fucking! It’s a wonder he didn’t throw raises your way!” Her eyes narrowed, tapping a finger to her chin. “Or did he?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Don’t take it out on me because he lied,” she shot back. “Aw, did he promise you the world? Did he make you think there might be some chance once he left for Chicago? Was he going to save Elena from big bad Ithaca and her pathetic life? That’s fucking hilarious! My friends will love to hear about this!” Her laughter danced through the air, lashing out with each crescendo.
I didn’t say a thing, perilously close to delivering a throat punch that would silence her for once. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t, as it would cost me my job: the job I needed more than air at that moment, though the competition was getting fierce between the two.
“Told ya,” she continued, smiling wider. “Such a pity! I always thought you had more class than that. Especially after, well, ya know...”
I turned away, disgusted. I left her laughing in the bathroom, flinging the door wide, desperate for air. I fled down the hall to the office, ready to get to work. I’d worry about what she said later.
There was no way she was telling the truth. His brothers were a lot of things: boisterous, raunchy, and promiscuous, but they weren't liars.
Had they meant that he had to tell me about her? They only asked that I give him time, assuring that he loved me. Did they mean that I needed to give him time with his wife?
The questions spun as I stormed down the hall. I had to talk to him after work to sort out the truth. In the meantime, I only had Monica’s word, a word as trustworthy as rest stop sushi.
As soon as I entered the room, all eyes flew to me, and my heart dropped. I put my head down and hurried to my desk, hoping it was my imagination. They weren’t staring at me. I was paranoid. Maybe they heard about my entire file vanishing into thin air.
When I sat down, I noticed a form to the left of my keyboard. I lifted it, seeing it was Jason’s W-4, the marital status clear as day thanks to a streak of bright yellow highlighter: married.
I scooted back as if it had spontaneously combusted, nearly falling out of my chair to get away from it. All his words whirled in my head. All the sweet nothings. All the affection. It was all a lie. An awful, terrible, rotten lie. The worst of the worst on the deception scale.
I looked up, and all eyes were still on me–the entire room knowing my most intimate secret. The people I had worked with for over half a decade knew that I was having sex with our director. Our married director.
All the while, the truth backhanded me, a terrible, disgusting truth that singed my being. There was a Mrs. Barrett, and I was screwing her husband for the last three months. Before that, we knew each other on Privately for months. How was he allowed to sign up as a married man? They wanted our credit history but didn’t bother to check
