Page 107 of Becoming His Mistress

“That’s fine.” I smile. “I wasn’t sure if you knew the drill. Keep the twenty anyway, put it towards your lunch. My way of saying thank you for being so quick.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He grins and backs away.

“You’re very clever, treat them well and they’ll always prioritize your needs.”

“Exactly.”

I hand her one of the lattes and tip the container of cake out of the paper bag.

“So, tell me what Maria has been up to,” I say to break the silence, offering her a plastic fork for the cake. I’m surprised when she tucks in, humming happily with each bite. I’ve never seen her eat carbs before.

We chat for a while, drinking coffee, sharing jokes, and passing time. She sits while I work, keeping me entertained in a way she never has.

I can’t tell if this is some kind of trick because I’ve never seen her so nice. Ezra told me that she was always fun and good to him in many ways, perhaps this is the side of her that he sees.

It’s making me feel guarded and wary. But then I’m always guarded and wary.

Half an hour later, the elevator doors open, and Ezra exits, laughing at something Miranda said. She steps out after him, laughing too, and both of their eyes drift our way. I ignore the pang of jealousy I feel at him laughing at something Miranda did, what with her being so sexy and open to sexual encounters in the workplace.

Miranda greets us with a happy hello and Ezra looks like he wants to run. His eyes jump between his wife and me. Concern is etched in his features.

“Ladies,” he comments, sounding charismatic and charming as always despite the strained look on his face.

Elizabeth stands and waits for him to get closer. “I’ve been trying to call you.”

“I’ve been in a meeting.”

“I know.” She looks so lost and forlorn. I feel like I’m kicking a puppy. “Can we talk?”

“I don’t really have time,” he admits, looking at the watch on his wrist.

“Please,” she begs, her voice a whisper.

He keeps his distance and nods for her to follow. When the door shuts, my heart aches. Every time they must interact, I panic that this will be the time she convinces him to go back.

Then the blinds twitch and open fully and Ezra winks at me through the slightly tinted glass.

I blow out a relieved breath and look at my list for the day. I took too long of a break and now I’ve got to catch up.

I get on with it, trying to take my mind off the fact they’re beyond the glass, talking about things unknown.

My eyes glance over every so often but they remain seated like businessman and client, not like wife and husband.

But then it changes after fifteen minutes, she stands and moves around the desk.

With a rapid heart I lean forward to get a clearer view.

She grabs his tie, but it comes unclipped and falls between them. Then she reaches for him, clasping his face with both hands, but he backs away as he stands, putting the chair between them.

“JUST LET ME TOUCH YOU!” she shrieks suddenly, so loudly I hear her through the glass and door. I see the pain in his eyes.

She buries her face in her hands and her shoulders shake with her sobs. He holds her, pulling her into his chest and I look away. I can’t watch. I give them this. This is personal and I shouldn’t be looking.

She leaves ten minutes later, her eyes swollen, her cheeks shiny with tears.

She doesn’t look at me, too embarrassed by the state she’s in.

I stand when the elevator doors close behind her, and pad to his office.

“You okay?” I ask when I open the door.

“Not now,” he replies, his voice low, his head bowed over his arms on the desk.

“Ez—”

“I said not now!” he yells, his eyes coming to mine, blazing with anger and grief.

Startled, I jump. He hasn’t spoken to me like this in a really long time.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he admits, looking at me with a broken gaze, torn into two by his wife and his mistress. “I don’t think I can do this to her.”

Pain lances through me and I fight back tears. Is this it? Is he going to end it with me now and return to her?

I don’t say anything, I just stand stiff as a board, fighting my pain and fears one breath at a time.

“Get back to work,” he orders, his tone final, my sweet Ezra gone.

“What?”

“I said get back to work. I need space.”

“But—”

“You are still under my employ, sleeping together or not. GET BACK TO WORK!” He stands, his hands on the desk, his eyes still angry.

“DON’T SHOUT AT ME!” I yell back, feeling anger take the place of uncertainty and sadness.

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