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“My manager’s secretary. I should’ve been back by one-thirty.” I turn on the shower water and barely hear him say, “Don’t worry about that. I’ll cover for you.”
I shower and dress in record time while Bishop takes another one of his quick naps. I wake him.
“How are you going to cover for me?”
“Don’t worry about it. Trust me.”
I don’t have time to haggle over his meaning. I’ll just face the music. He sits up and we give each other a peck.
“I’ll call you later, Miss Winslow.”
“That’s fine.”
As I head toward the door, I see Bishop reaching for the phone. I pretend to take one last look in the mirrored closet door, but really, I’m curious to know whom he’s calling. He waves at me like a signal that everything is okay and to go ahead and le
ave. As I turn the door handle, I hear him say, “Hello, Ms. Matthew.” I gasp. He’s calling the secretary. Who is this guy that he can do that? Nonetheless, if it gets my ass off the hook, who cares? I leave the Westin Peachtree Hotel as one damn happy camper.
I open the front glass doors to the legal department with my head held high. “Hawk Eyes” sits at her desk like a bird on a perch.
“Ms. Winslow,” she begins, “Mr. Thomas called and informed me that your meeting ran over causing you to return late. He was very apologetic as he knows we run a tight ship around here.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Matthew. I should have called you.”
“No need. Bishop Thomas is a respectable man who stands in high regard here. I’m sure your meeting was productive.”
“Thank you, Ms. Matthew.”
Who the hell is this man to have pull like that? I return to my office and can’t help but to sit and daydream about my escapade with Bishop. My pussy is throbbing like mad. Every time I think he has fucked me hard, he fucks me even harder the next time. His wife doesn’t know what she’s missing. That bitch must be crazy not to want him. It’s a damn shame, too. Think about all these women out here trying to find a husband and her crazy ass has one, a well-endowed one at that, and she won’t give him any. He’s right. She’s got some serious issues. The phone rings and interrupts my thoughts.
“Clark and Howard. Connie Winslow speaking.”
“Hey, baby. Did everything go okay when you got back to the office?”
“Yes, Bishop. Thank you. How did you manage that?”
“Don’t worry your pretty head over that.”
“Don’t tell me. You had an affair with Ms. Matthew,” I joke lightheartedly.
“Hell no. Are you out of your mind?”
I laugh and he joins me. “Well, are you going to tell me or not how you managed this?” I ask again.
“Not this time. What matters is that you’re set, right?”
“Right. I’ll let you get away with it this time, Bishop Thomas. But sooner or later, you’re gonna tell me.”
“Okay, if you say so. I have a meeting at three so I have to go for now. I’ll see you at the car at five, right?”
“Yeah. How else would I get home?”
“True. See you then.”
“Ciao, Bishop.”
The rest of my day creeps by probably because I want five o’clock to hurry up and arrive. I review purchase contracts, one after another.
Finally, at five p.m., I exit the building, enter the lower-level parking garage, and head toward Bishop’s car. Behind me, I hear the scrawny man and Bishop.
