Sleeping With My Husband's Boss

My boyfriend hired my husband.

For a long time, I was a master of compartmentalization, a fortress of carefully constructed walls.

Then came the disaster of Valentine's Day. Two bouquets on my desk, two gifts, and two hotel key cards.

When Grant found out I was married, the explosion was nuclear. He left for a month-long business trip, a punishment of pure, unadulterated silence. The day he came back, he refused to see me.

I found him after three too many glasses of wine. He held himself rigid, reining in a rage that vibrated in the air between us. Lena, he said, pushing me away with a devastating gentleness. I don't do leftovers.

His voice was low, each word a carefully placed stone. I want all of you. That includes your heart, your past, everything. It all has to be mine.

He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing me. Divorce him. And I'll still want you.

Do you understand?

1

I woke up in Grants bed to the insistent buzz of my phone.

The name flashing on the screenHusbandwas a cattle prod to my system. I shot upright, the silk sheets pooling around my waist.

Beside me, Grant shifted, a frown creasing his brow. His hand moved blindly, a possessive, sleepy gesture that found my hip. I lifted his arm, its dead weight a familiar anchor, and slipped out of bed as quietly as I could.

I padded out to the balcony, the cool morning air a shock against my skin, and answered the call.

Hello, Arthur?

I start at your company today, he said. Director of Strategic Planning.

His voice was steady, methodical. He delivered the news like a weather reportcalm, factual, devoid of any emotional inflection. But the words were a grenade detonating in the quiet of my mind.

You what?

Who hired you?

A slight pause. Someone in upper management, he said, as if considering the technical accuracy of his statement. Then he added, Your direct supervisor, I believe. Grant.

Arthur was the new head of my department.

And Grant was my boss. And Arthur's boss.

The biggest boss.

My boyfriend hired my husband. And parked him right under his own nose.

I raked a hand through my hair, my thoughts scattering like birds.

Lena, don't feel pressured, Arthur continued, his tone unreadable. I intend to keep things strictly professional.

Was that what he thought I was worried about?

You were doing just fine on the West Coast, I said, trying to keep the accusation out of my voice. Why did you suddenly come back?

There were a few things I needed to handle, he said simply. And coincidentally, there was something I needed to discuss with you.

What is it? I couldn't imagine what business he could possibly have with our company, let alone me.

We can talk about it tomorrow in person, he said. Do you need me to bring you breakfast?

No, I said, a little too quickly. I'm fine.

The line went dead.

I walked back into the bedroom and sank onto the edge of the bed. My bare feet sank into the plush gray carpet, but my insides were a tangled mess.

Grant was still mostly asleep, his arm searching the empty space where Id been. After a moment, his eyes fluttered open, locating me in the dim light. A long arm shot out, hooking around my waist and pulling me back down into the warmth of the sheets.

Heard you talking in your sleep, he murmured, his voice a gravelly remnant of the night. His breath was warm against my ear, laced with an attachment hed never admit to when he was fully awake. Kept saying 'husband'.

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. Getting sentimental on me, Lena?

I was about to fire back a retort, but he cut me off, pressing a fierce, possessive kiss to the side of my face. His hand tightened on my waist.

Say it again, he commanded, his voice dropping an octave. I want to hear it.

Grant! I yelped, squirming away. I don't want to go to work! It came out as a petulant wail, a last-ditch effort to postpone the inevitable.

A day at the office was not on my agenda.

He laughed, a genuine, startled sound, and propped himself up on an elbow to look at me. Lena, I asked you to be sweet, he said, an eyebrow arching in amusement. Not to challenge me.

2

I hid in the bathroom for thirty minutes, hoping the world might rearrange itself while I stalled.

It didn't. When I finally emerged, Grant was leaning against the kitchen doorway, a mug of coffee in one hand. Hed made me a plate with a single fried egg and a glass of warm milk.

Our eyes met in the vanity mirror.

Lena, he said, his voice deceptively casual. Don't even think about telling me you're calling in sick. Youve already burned through your next three months of PTO this week.

I wiped my face, feeling the heat of a blush, and sat down at the small dining table.

I told you I don't like cold milk.

It's warm, he replied without missing a beat.

Well, I like my eggs fully cooked. This part right here is still runny.

Fine, he said, his voice flat. Next time I'll char it for you.

Grant's comebacks were always swift and merciless.

I took a bite of the toast. I've told you a million times, I like peanut butter on my toast.

It's on there. You just haven't gotten to that part yet.

I searched for another flaw, my protest growing weaker. You didn't put peanut butter on it last week.

He finally looked up from his phone, his gaze sharp. Lena. Stop picking fights. Eat your breakfast. I'm driving you to work. He took a sip of his coffee. Of course, if you don't want to eat, there's a good chance breakfast will cease to be a service I provide.

The chef was threatening a strike.

That was a non-starter. He could survive on black coffee and sheer willpower. I, a mere corporate drone, required actual sustenance. I would perish.

Grant, I said, changing tactics. I heard you hired someone new?

He was scrolling through emails. Your sources are surprisingly quick, he said, not looking up.

Hey, I've been with the company for five years. I have my ways.

Five years and you're still in the same position. I could have trained a monkey to do your job and it would have been promoted by now.

I bristled. He was the one who had personally mentored me for the last three years. If I hadn't progressed, wasn't that a reflection on him?

I took another bite of toast. This time, I hit the peanut butter. My mood instantly improved.

I don't need the money, so why kill myself climbing the corporate ladder?

To compensate for our arrangement, Arthur wired a substantial amount of money into my account every month. For the sake of appearances, hed also send transfers on holidays and buy me things. I had more money than I knew what to do with. The burden of the secretly wealthy.

I circled back to my original question.

Grant still didn't look up. He's the new director. Good temperament. If you screw up, he won't yell at you. He'll probably just lecture you like you're one of his students.

I nodded slowly. That sounded exactly like Arthur. He was the kind of man who could watch me attempt to cookan event not dissimilar to a controlled demolitionwithout so much as a frown.

I should mention, my culinary skills are legendary. A former colleague of mine, Rick, once managed to set his entire apartment building on fire because he couldn't get the gas stove to light and decided a Bic lighter was the next logical step. He ended up in a holding cell for the night. When he called Grant to explain why he needed a day off, Grant was stunned into silence before finally muttering, You're a special kind of talent, Rick. Rick thought it was a compliment. He was fired a week later.

I finished my breakfast. Grant glanced at what I was wearing and, without a word, grabbed a handbag from my closet that actually matched. His aesthetic sense was one of his few undeniable virtues. He was rarely wrong.

3

When we got to the office building, I had him pull over a block away. I jumped out of the car like a fugitive.

Grant leaned over the passenger seat, a smirk playing on his lips. Why so jumpy, Lena? It's not like I have a policy against office romance.

Please. The main issue was that I was about to be late.

I hurried to the elevator bank and jabbed the 'up' button. Grant followed at a leisurely pace, the crisp sound of his leather-soled shoes echoing on the marble floor. He wasn't in any rush. It was like he was deliberately trying to fray my last nerve.

I breathed deeply and stepped into the elevator first. Just as Grant reached the doors, I decisively hit the 'close' button.

Sorry, Mr. Crawford, I said sweetly. You'll have to catch the next one.

Grant's eyebrows shot up. He watched as I, clad in low-rise jeans that revealed a sliver of my waist, gave him a cheeky wave. The smile on my face was pure sugar, but my intentions were anything but.

The little rebel. She was getting more brazen by the day.

He'd deal with her later. For now, he waited for the next elevator. The new guy was starting today.

4

I spent the morning at my desk feeling like a spy in my own life, jumping at every shadow.

At ten o'clock, I saw him. Arthur stepped out of the elevator. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second before I snapped my head down, pretending to be utterly absorbed in my monitor.

From inside his glass-walled office, Grant watched the whole exchange. He saw Lena straighten up in her chair as if shed been zapped with a taser. It was almost comical. She didn't need eyes in the front of her head; she clearly had them in the back.

He was smiling to himself when he saw an elegant, scholarly-looking man walk past her desk.

Lenas body went rigid.

Grant's smile vanished. His brow furrowed.

The man was now at his office door. His voice was calm, his face handsome in a clean-cut, formal way. Mr. Crawford? I'm Arthur Thorne, the new Director of Strategic Planning.

Grant tore his gaze away from Lena.

Come in, he said coolly. Have a seat.

I couldn't sit still, my head swiveling back toward Grants office every few seconds. On one of these turns, my eyes locked with his. I quickly forced a smile and pretended to be fascinated by the contract in front of me.

At eleven-thirty, Grant emerged with Arthur, leading him over to our department.

This is your new boss, Grant announced to the team. I've done my research for you. The workload is manageable, the pay is good, and he's known for being generous. You work hard for him, and he'll take care of you.

A wave of cheers went through the department.

I was the only one who remained silent.

I looked up, and Arthur was looking directly at me. I quickly averted my gaze.

Grant stood off to the side, observing, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. But he quickly masked it, turning to leave and handing the floor over to Arthur.

Just before he walked away, Grant shot one last glance at me.

I was still staring at Arthur, damn it.

Grant decided then and there. They needed to talk. A long, thorough talk.

5

After Grant left, Arthur held a brief introductory meeting.

When it was over, just as everyone was getting up, he called out. Lena, could you stay behind for a moment? We need to sync up.

To the others, he said, The rest of you can head to lunch.

He didn't specify what we needed to discuss. I stood by his new desk, clutching my laptop. What's up, Arthur?

His serious face betrayed no emotion. His eyes, behind their gold-rimmed glasses, studied me with a quiet intensity.

I may need you to accompany me to a gala in the near future, he said, his tone formal.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

That's it?

Yes.

For a second, I thought it was going to be something much more complicated.

Oh. Okay, sure. I've got plenty of time.

As I turned to leave, Arthur closed his laptop and fell into step behind me. Would you like to have lunch together? We can discuss the details.

And so, I found myself heading upstairs with him to the executive dining room.

I only dared to do this because I knew for a fact that Grant never ate the company cafeteria food. He was too picky, surviving on a strict diet of kale salads and black Americanos.

Which is why my heart stopped when I walked in and saw him sitting at a table by the window, deep in conversation with another executive.

I immediately fell back, trying to put as much distance as possible between myself and Arthur.

From the moment they entered, Grant's eyes had been fixed on me.

He took in the form-fitting black top, the company ID hanging from a lanyard around my neck. The dark-wash, low-rise jeans. The sliver of pale, smooth skin at my waist. The way I trailed behind Arthur, my high heels clicking on the floor. My chestnut-brown waves bounced with every step, a sight that was starting to seriously irritate him.

The new director in Strategic Planning? the man across from him asked with a knowing smirk.

Grant just gave a cold Mm.

That Lena girl certainly has a way with people, doesn't she? The mans laugh was laced with insinuation.

Grant's gaze turned glacial. He looked like he wanted to strangle someone.

I felt the prickle of his stare from across the room and sat stiffly in my chair opposite Arthur, my appetite gone.

Arthur noticed my discomfort almost immediately. He followed my gaze and saw Grant. He gave a slight, formal nod in his direction.

Does this company have a policy against office relationships? Arthur asked me in a low voice.

Or should I inform management of our marital status?

My head snapped up.

Don't you dare! I whispered fiercely. I hadn't figured out how to explain any of this to Grant. A man with his pride if he found out Id played him for a fool, he would destroy me.

I grasped for an excuse. Just don't. I don't want people gossiping.

Arthur looked down, saying nothing. After a long moment, he pushed a small plate of sweet and sour pork ribs toward me.

Lena, he said, his voice even. If this marriage is making you uncomfortable, we can file for a separation.

I looked at him, really looked at him. His dark eyes were sincere, holding no trace of accusation. But I hope you'll give me a chance, he continued earnestly. I came back to make things right. A divorce isn't the best solution for us right now. If that's what you're thinking, please, just give me a little more time.

A lump formed in my throat. It took me a moment to find my voice. Okay, I said, my voice muffled. I understand.

Before my father passed away, his greatest wish was to see me settled. Around the same time, Arthur's parents were pressuring him to get married. So, through a mutual acquaintance, we were introduced and bound together in a loveless arrangement.

He had always been decent to me.

Before we signed the papers, he gave me a prenuptial agreement. It stipulated a generous monthly allowance for me to stay in the city and take care of his parents. It also stated that if I ever started a new relationship, I could terminate the marriage at any time.

I had tried. But he was always too busy, constantly traveling, unable to come back. He lived abroad for years. In five years, I could count the number of times we'd seen each other on one hand. But he had never mistreated me.

In the last two years, his parents' health had declined. Just recently, his mother was diagnosed with cancer. Filing for divorce now felt inhuman.

So I agreed. Have you been to see your mother yet? I asked.

I just got back yesterday. I haven't told them I'm here.

Okay, I said. I'll go with you to see her tonight.

And just like that, our dinner plans were set. I finished my food as quickly as possible and left.

6

That evening, as I was packing up my desk, a text from Grant came through.

Downstairs. Parking garage, B level.

I looked up and saw Arthur just stepping out of his office. Ready? My mom's already made dinner.

I just need to run to the restroom, I said, making a quick escape.

I ducked into the women's room, deliberately taking my time. Finally, I sent a reply to Grant: Sorry, have plans with Olivia tonight! You don't have to wait for me. xoxo

Grant sat in the darkness of his car and read the message.

He then calmly picked up his phone and sent a text to Olivia, a junior analyst on my team. Are you free right now? I need some adjustments made to this morning's contract.

Olivia replied almost instantly: Yes, Mr. Crawford! Im home now, but I can get on it right away.

Grant added two minor clauses. Thank you for your hard work.

He tossed his phone onto the passenger seat.

He sat there in the silence, his face a thundercloud.

A few minutes later, Arthur appeared at the elevator bank. The sound of high heels echoed in the empty garage. Then, Lenas silhouette emerged. A short, black puffer jacket was draped over her arm.

It's freezing out here, she complained.

Arthur took her bag, freeing her hands to put on the jacket. He clicked the unlock button on his key fob. I have the heat on in the car.

Lena spotted his car and made a beeline for it, diving into the passenger seat.

Grant let out a cold, humorless laugh. Looked like she was pretty used to hopping into his car.

He reached over and shut off the heat hed had running just for her. Let her freeze to death. His temples were throbbing with a rage so hot he felt like he could breathe fire. If Lena were standing in front of him right now, shed be incinerated. Who needed a damn heater?

He slammed his hand on the horn. The blare ripped through the quiet garage, startling the occupants of the car ahead.

That's Mr. Crawford, Arthur said, glancing in the rearview mirror.

I immediately ducked my head down. Go, go, go! I urged. The company doesn't allow office romance. He's the strictest one about it.

The car sped out of the garage, a hasty retreat that felt suspiciously like a guilty escape.

Grant had seen her duck down to hide from him.

A knot of fury lodged itself in his chest, a heavy, unmovable weight.

He ended up at a bar on the corner. He took a seat by the window and waited.

He waited until eleven-thirty.

That's when he finally saw her, the damn woman, getting out of another man's car across the street. She was laughing, her whole body swaying with the motion.

And Arthur wasn't exactly a saint, either. He looked so prim and proper, but he was lingering, clearly reluctant to leave. What, was he hoping for an invitation to come inside?

Fine. Let's see if she had the guts to bring another man home.

With that thought, Grant downed the rest of his drink, grabbed his coat, and stormed out of the bar.

He stood a short distance away, watching them. His brow was knitted, his posture radiating an aggressive energy. He looked like a man on the edge, someone you didn't want to cross. He was impossible to miss.

Arthur saw him instantly. He looked at Lena. I see Mr. Crawford again.

I quickly turned my back to the street, not daring to look. It's late, I said, my voice rushed. You should get going.

My mom packed you some dumplings. Make sure you put them in the freezer.

I took the container from him. Arthur then pulled a case of cherries and a durian from his trunk. Go on inside, he said.

I didn't dare turn around yet. You go first.

Arthur nodded. His eyes met Grant's across the street. He could feel the murderous intent radiating from the other man, but he simply gave another polite, almost imperceptible nod. Then he got in his car and drove away.

7

Grants eyes were locked on me, predatory, like a hawk circling its prey.

My legs were starting to go numb from standing in one spot. The moment Grant looked down to light a cigarette, I made a dash for the entrance to my apartment building.

We were on the same street, just a few yards apart.

Well, well, Grant's voice cut through the night as he looked up and saw me. Look who decided to bring home groceries.

I turned, feigning surprise. Oh, you're still here? So late. I slowly walked over to him.

A faint smell of whiskey clung to him. I leaned in closer, sniffing.

Grant held his cigarette away from me, his other hand coming up to press against my shoulder, keeping me at a distance. Do I know you?

I frowned. What do you mean, 'do you know me?' Wasn't it me who woke up in your bed this morning?

Ha. Grant tapped the ash from his cigarette, his expression utterly frigid. So you do remember waking up in my bed, Lena. He emphasized the word 'bed', his dark eyes glinting with a cold light. You know what I'm like, Lena. Explain. Before I lose my temper.

Who is he?

I bit my lip, gathering the courage to speak. He... he is...

Just then, Grant's phone rang. His face was a mask of thunder as he answered it.

I sidled up to him, tugging gently on the sleeve of his coat.

He shot me a warning glance.

I took his hand. His knuckles were ice-cold, but his palm was burning hot. When he didn't pull away, I dared to lace my fingers through his.

The call ended. Grant stubbed out his cigarette. He looked down at our intertwined hands.

There's an issue with one of the new interns. I have to go.

Which intern? Why was he so concerned?

You've been drinking. I'll drive you. I reached for the car keys in his pocket. He didn't stop me.

But as I urged him toward the car, he stood his ground. You go home. I'll get a cab.

Oh.

I turned and walked toward my building.

The moment his taxi pulled away, I found his car parked down the street, got in, and followed him.

8

The main avenue was a river of light, lined with upscale restaurants where executives entertained clients.

When I arrived, I saw Grant emerging from one of them with someone. It was the new intern, a girl named Lauren. Id heard she was a nepotism hire, someone with connections. Grant had assigned her to me for training.

Lauren was wearing Grant's suit jacket. She was trembling, clearly distraught. She buried her face in Grant's chest, and he, with a deep frown, didn't push her away. He even patted her shoulder comfortingly.

Hugging another woman in the middle of the night. So this was his issue.

I hit the hazard lights and leaned against the side of my car, my arms crossed. I watched them like I was watching a movie.

I watched for a long time.

And then, Grant saw me.