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10
Mara
Called it, I think miserably, rolling over in bed, the article open on my phone screen. Lea texted it to me first thing this morning. It’s all over the gossip rags. Big splashy headlines about John Walloway’s mysterious new wife.
There’s even a photo. Grainy, taken at a distance, of me and John underneath the tree in his parents’ backyard. It’s far enough away that you can’t tell that we’re arguing with our heads bent together.
But you can tell it’s me, if you’ve met me. There’s no way everyone at work won’t see this and know who I’m married to now. Know about John and me, everything.
God damn it. I knew someone in that shady family of his would spill this secret.
I shut my eyes, and behind my eyelids, all I can see is his mother’s face again. That deceptively sweet smile on her face, as she says All that money and privilege doesn’t come free, dear. My stomach churns. He keeps you well, doesn’t he?
Fuck that. Fuck being a kept woman. Fuck whatever everyone at work will think too—probably that I slept my way into the job, or that John only hired me because he wanted to marry me.
I roll back over in bed with another groan. But sleep is going to be impossible now. So I roll out of bed and get dressed, even though it’s going to make me almost an hour early for work. But better that than just lying here staring at my ceiling. Better to get my hands dirty, to keep them occupied in something, anything, other than wallowing.
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…”
I wince. “Honestly? I’ve thought about it. I could annul it, if I act within the next week. There’s still time.”
“Well, John has experience there, he probably wouldn’t care.” Bianca purses her lips.
I blink in surprise. “What do you mean?”
She lifts an eyebrow at me, confused. “What, you never even googled your husband?”
Belatedly, I remember the article Lea showed me. His ex. But… “He got married before?” I ask. I thought that girl was only his fiancée.
“Does it count, if you annul it straight after?” Bianca shrugs, her gaze dropping to my ring finger again. “Just a thought.”
Just the same thought I’ve been wrestling with, ever since I woke up in John’s bed with this ring on my finger. And yet I still haven’t walked away. Why?
Because I’m too naïve. Just like John’s mother said. A little part of me, a part I’m embarrassed to even admit to, kept expecting this to turn into something more. To maybe become real, the way John claims to have wanted all along.
But it was never real. None of it. And to make matters worse, he’s done it before. That girl Lea showed me, his ex, she was more than just his fiancée, if Bianca is to be believed—and to be honest, I trust her information on my husband more than I trust my own. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should have obsessively googled him. Maybe it would have given me more of a warning what this marriage would be like. And what I was getting myself into.
Or at least a warning about the fact that I’m not the first girl he’s played this game with.
Fuck this.
I shove away from my desk without another word to Bianca. She watches me go, her eyebrows raised, worry and surprise warring on her face.
But she’s right. Lea was right too. Everyone sees this situation clearly. Everyone except me.
John is a player, and I’m done with his games.
I track through the office, and ignore the eyes trailing after me. All of my nosy colleagues are peering after me, probably trying to guess what’s going on with me, or wondering why I’m headed
toward John’s office. I don’t care. Our secret is out now, so let them whisper. Let them think I’m headed in there to hook up with him. I don’t give a damn about my reputation anymore.
Besides, for once, that’s not the truth. I’m on an entirely different mission this time.
I fling open his door, only to find him with the phone raised to one ear, clearly in the middle of a call. But he locks eyes with me, taking me in in one look, in that way only he can do, a way that pierces me to the core, makes me feel seen all the way through. It’s a lie, I tell myself. All of this has been a lie.
“I’ll call you back,” he says into the phone and hangs up without another word. “Mara.” His eyes on mine are almost enough to make me crack.
But I ball my fists and stand my ground. “This is a game to you, isn’t it?”
A crease appears between his eyebrows. “If you’re talking about the news articles, I assure you, I tried to stop them. You were right, someone at the party must have taken our photo—”
“Do you even care how this makes me look?”
