The Marriage Rival: An Office Romance

by Kat T. Masen

  While juggling being first-time parents, getting settled and trying to renovate, we also had a small, intimate wedding. Just our close family and friends in my hometown in Virginia. It was the second most perfect day after Masen was born, a day that seemed like many moons ago.

  Career-wise, things have picked up rapidly. I didn’t have much of an opportunity to be a full-time stay-at-home mom. The publishing industry changed significantly, and we found ourselves in a position to take on more work. I love my job as Editor-in-Chief. I’m certain I am born to do this, but I guess, if I’m being honest, one of the things I miss is actually editing.

  I run the editorial department, making sure I have the right staff working for our company and mentor them with my years of knowledge. We have a vast range in our team, seniors and juniors, all bringing something to the table which makes our publishing group an industry leader.

  I should be on top of the world, right?

  It’s difficult to explain the constant battle within myself when it comes to being a working mother. Motherhood isn’t what I expected it to be. I have spent years watching loved ones and friends have babies. I've never considered myself broody like some women I know, but I wouldn’t change Masen for the world. It definitely brought on a new set of challenges. I’m not going to throw the word ‘easy’ around, but I never expected it to be this difficult.

  On top of that—Mommy-guilt killed me every day.

  Masen turned four and decided he wants to act like jerk junior. He’s a big boy now, according to him. Therefore, he refuses to wear certain clothes because they’re for babies. He no longer wants to nap in the day, and God forbid he drink milk. Only babies drink milk. Long gone are the days of wanting to watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. His new favorite channel is ESPN.

  And he follows Haden like a shadow. It doesn’t help that he looks like his dad and has no features of mine. His mousy brown hair falls over his eyes unless it is combed back and styled. His ears—cute and small—even stick out slightly just like Haden’s. Small things, I know. But his face, the way his eyes shape when he smiles to the dimple which appears on his right cheek, is exactly the same. It’s actually surreal.

  It is two against one in our household.

  If Mommy says do this, it isn’t good enough because Daddy says don’t worry.

  I’m constantly butting my head against the wall because I married the most frustrating man in the entire world. A man who always has a way of bringing out the beast within me since day one.

  The tight grip on my arm startled me, and on first instinct, I wrestled my arm out of his grip.

  “Hey. Jesus, Malone, would you just stop for a second?”

  I turned to face him, and surprisingly, he looks concerned.

  “What, Haden? You want to point out how funny that picture was? Or how I mustn’t be any good at sex which is why he strayed?”

  “Calm down, will you?”

  “I’m sorry. Someone sent me a photo of my fiancé practically fucking another woman a week after we broke up. Excuse me for thinking that the word ‘calm’ does not belong in my vocabulary right now!”

  “Ex, Presley. Ex-fiancé. Plus, he wasn’t fucking her. Woman, you need a reality check. Men don’t huddle with their pals eating bowls of ice cream as they watch The Notebook. They go find some new pussy and fuck it like a jackrabbit.”

  He said what?

  A thousand shades of red flashed before me, and for a split second, I wondered what it was like to do time in jail for murdering someone with your bare hands. The nerve of the prick! The worst part is, I’m scared there is some truth to it, and the ass is me living in a world of denial. Stop telling yourself Jason is, was, the perfect guy.

  “Wouldn’t hurt you to follow in his footsteps,” the Jerk chided.

  I lifted my hand to strike him, but he caught me just in time, strengthening his grip on my wrist. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “I tell you what, you leave me the fuck alone, and I promise I won’t smash that pretty-boy face of yours,” I fired back.

  “Pretty? C’mon, Pres, you can do better than that.”

  “I’m not your friend, so cut the nickname bullshit. Honestly, Haden, let me go. Despite what Jason’s done, I need to go home.”

  He let me go, and defeated, I straightened my arm.

  “I’m not surprised he strayed. You need to pull that stick out of your ass and put something else in there instead, Ice Queen.”

  Shaking my head, and pulling myself out of the distant memory, it’s clear that some things never change. Haden Cooper has zero regard for my feelings.

  He doesn’t care that we have piles of washing sitting in our bedroom. His answer is just to put it away. ‘Why do we need to iron it now, it will just get creased in the drawer anyway. Iron it when you need it.’

  Haden also lectures me on doing any housework since we have a housekeeper. Poor Rosa, she isn’t a slave. I feel terrible leaving the house a mess, waking up early on the days when she works so I can do a pre-clean.

  Before we got married, a few male friends told me it would be the greatest time of my life. Taming the stallion will bring a sense of accomplishment, and landing Haden Cooper is one several couldn’t accomplish. According to the people who know him, I should have been handed a trophy for getting Mr. Playboy to settle down.

  On the flip-side, women told me to watch out for the three-year-rut. When it all becomes routine and suddenly, you’ve turned into their mother.

  I laughed it off naïvely and had my own beliefs on marriage. As long as you both love each other, the rest will work itself out. Mom and Dad were a good example of two people with opposite tastes and opinions, yet, have remained married for forty-odd years.

  The problem is Haden still carries the title of a class-act jerk.

  As his significant other, I have no problem telling this to his face on a daily basis. It used to be fun, though, kind of like sexual banter which leads to some very hot sex. I mean, gosh, the man really knows how to get a woman off. He does this thing with his tongue, and I swear you feel like you’ve been possessed.

  But he’s a sex maniac. He wants it all the goddamn time.

  Never mind that I’m exhausted trying to hold down a full-time job—a role with responsibilities that follow me home almost every day. Then the task of running our household and parenting an energetic four-year-old who has this bad habit of climbing into our bed every night.

  Sex is the last thing on my mind, and Haden just doesn’t get it.

  I am utterly exhausted by the time my head hits that pillow each night. Equally cranky when he tries to wake me up in the middle of the night for a ‘quickie.’

  I’ve been with Haden long enough to know that his blue balls—at least that’s what he thinks he has after one day—is due to the lack of sex and explains why he is uptight, frustrated, and fueled our argument earlier.

  I entered his office asking about a new author we were about to offer a publishing deal, who wants to expand on their manuscript which would then move the book into another genre.

  “I don’t see what the problem is,” I point out, pushing the manuscript toward him. “Yes, it’s erotic romance, but we discussed this and how we would market it to the right audience.”

  His annoyingly chiseled jaw was resting in his palm, barely making eye contact with me, appearing completely uninterested. I know he’s paying me back because I ignored him during The Bachelor finale last night.

  “And I told you I don’t think erotic romance can generate the interest we need to make this year’s budget.”

  Haden’s patronizing tone does nothing to curb the debate between us. How can a man so sexy be equally as frustrating at the same time? You should be able to answer this in a heartbeat since you married him.

  “Is this about last night?”

  His eyebrow twitches, a trait he does when he’s about to lie. He thinks I can’t read him, but I’m his wife—I have studied this man every day, countless hours l
ying in bed, just staring at his face while he sleeps. A beautiful face attached to multiple personalities depending on how many times he got blown during the week.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about. You were busy watching some program.”

  “I’m sorry.” Apologizing, I lean forward and touch his hand only for him to retract—the stubborn ass wants to prove a point. Pulling back, I fold my arms to meet his stance. “I’m not having this argument again with you. So back to this author—”

  “Fine. You show me numbers first, and I mean it. Don’t offer a publishing deal until I see those figures on my desk. I don’t care that we’re married. I’m the boss here, and I make the final decision.”

  “Wow.” Laughing, while shaking my head, I cross my arms in disbelief, again. “I thought we were partners in this?”

  He raises his eyes to meet mine—a cold stare without a single blink and lips tight, no smile in sight. Be strong, ignore the hazel spell he puts you under even in his jerky moments. Don’t remember the words he whispered to you on your wedding day about being the air he needs to survive.

  “Yeah, well, partners also let them stick their dick inside them and get them off so…”

  I knew it.

  Fucking asshole.

  “You know what?” I point my finger right at him, the anger raising my body temperature and changing my tone. “You’re a fucking jerk, Haden Cooper. Nothing, and I mean nothing, has changed about you. Sometimes, I wonder why I even married you.”

  “Well, honey, I knocked you up. You kinda had no choice.”

  Of course, he had come out with the most caveman thing to say only to throw my anger to another level. I refuse to entertain him during these moods, storming out of his office and slamming his door to prove a point.

  I’ve been sitting in my office staring out the window for the last thirty minutes since that argument. I welcome the view of the city, and the afternoon sunshine eases a part of my escalating anger toward him. California is great in that way—constant sunshine, warm weather, and beaches within driving distance.

  Not one part of me misses the hustle and bustle of Manhattan. Haden did, though, traveling there often taking my place so I can stay with Masen.

  We talked about buying a small apartment, something he could stay in during his visits or on the rare occasion I traveled with Masen. Haden’s mom still lives just outside Manhattan, often begging us to come over for longer visits so she can spend time with her grandson. It isn’t a bad idea, just a lot of work, and right now we are struggling for time as it is.

  I answer some emails before deciding to spend the afternoon reading over some pieces. Occasionally, I do this to unwind. All I need is my favorite Garfield mug with a steaming black coffee—a gag gift some co-workers bought me one year for Kris Kringle. It has a picture of Garfield on the front which said ‘I’m not always right but I’m never wrong.”

  My desk—always impeccably clean—is missing my mug. I make a quick walk to the staff lunchroom to see if I left it in there during my morning coffee.

  Our lunchroom isn’t huge but big enough to fit a rectangular table that sits ten. The kitchen facilities are usually clean except for today. Someone has annoyingly spilled sweetener on the countertop without cleaning it up.

  Grabbing a cloth, I wipe the countertop clean, cursing at the laziness of some of our employees. Satisfied with the cleanliness, I open the cupboard on the hunt for my mug. It’s not inside, just a bunch of plain white mugs. Huh, this is odd. I’m not one to misplace things, and no one else would take that mug from me.

  With much annoyance, I grab a communal mug, washing it twice as people here have the knack for not cleaning things properly, and make myself a coffee.

  A double shot is needed especially after last night.

  Walking back to my office, I stroll past our executive board room and notice my mug sitting on the table. It’s nestled into Haden’s hands as he talks to our advertising team. The nerve of him.

  The door is closed, and there’s no way I can go in there and demand my mug without looking like an immature brat. Behind his black-rimmed reading glasses, his eyes narrow as he lifts the mug to his lips and runs the top of his tongue along the rim before taking a sip with a satisfied smirk.

  Great, now I don’t know whether to be angry or turned on.

  Back at my desk, I cross my legs to control the throbbing between them. Despite my anger toward him, Haden is still so unbelievably sexy, and he knows how to push my buttons. He often plays this game with himself—how quickly he can make me come. Stupid game, though I’m not complaining, openly.

  He’s just greedy.

  Haden is your typical give-me-a-blow-job type of guy and demands to fuck me any moment we are alone. Like I said, Masen going through this stage is hard on both of us. We found our lovemaking resulted in quickies wherever we could get it. It’s not like back in the day where we could lay in bed at night and fuck until all hours of the morning because we knew Masen couldn’t get out of his crib.

  Masen transitioned to his big-boy bed meaning his legs can take him to our room—every night.

  I throw myself into this manuscript for the next two hours. Silly me—it is erotic romance. By the time five o’clock rolls around, I’ve pretty much stopped myself from orgasming at my desk chair a dozen times. The manuscript is good. I don’t see why Haden has to put his foot down and want figures. This stuff sells. Women across the world get off on stories just like this one. The perfect billionaire targeting his heroine with some dirty sex just to thicken the plot.

  With my laptop shutdown and purse in hand, I leave my office in search of Haden. We usually go home together unless one of us has an urgent deadline the next day, needing to stay back. A few staff remain, so I wave goodbye, though Haden is nowhere to be seen.

  “Have you guys seen Haden?”

  Clint, one of our editors who moved from our Manhattan office recently, points to the smaller boardroom. “He’s in there interviewing the new operations assistant because Noah has a meeting in San Francisco. Something urgent, not sure what.”

  “I’m not surprised,” I mouth, well aware Noah is knee-deep in personal problems.

  “Does it have something to do with that side hoochie he knocked up?”

  Clint never holds back when it comes to office gossip. Sometimes, he knows things before they actually happen. He can predict an office affair before the clothes come off.

  “You’re talking about Phil. She isn’t a side hoochie, more like a one-night stand gone wrong.”

  Clint snickers. “You two would get along.”

  “Hey,” I chastise. “At least I married the guy. Though, mind you, right now, divorce is looking rather sweet.”

  “That’s what you always say, but then you go home having the best sex of your life.”

  I nod with playful grin. “You know me well.”

  I say goodbye to Clint before walking past the small interview room. There’s only one glass panel which gives me visibility. Peeking my head down the side, I see only legs—long, lean, tanned legs—with high black pumps and a red skirt that sits so short I am this close to seeing whether she has a landing strip, bush, or is completely bare.

  Asshole.

  I can’t see Haden, but I know him well enough to know he’s probably sitting there hard as anything wishing he could stick his dick inside her, especially because he isn’t getting any from me.

  It’s enough for me to leave the office and go home without him.

  If he thought he was going through a dry spell, he needs to get ready for the drought.

  Haden Cooper isn’t the only one who knows how to play the game.

  Three

  Haden

  I park my car in front of our garage, turning the engine off and taking a moment to sit in silence.

  It has been the day from hell.

  Aside from my comical argument with Presley, one of our top IT managers decided to resign as his wife wants to move back to N
ew Zealand to be closer to her family. This guy, Carl, is a rare find. Works like a dog and never asks for a pay raise. He’s been employed with Lantern Publishing for over fifteen years. Now, we need to throw more money into looking for his replacement.

  The day quickly turned into one giant headache until the migraine hit at three o’clock on the dot. A call came through from Henderson Marshall, one of our key shareholders and beloved family friend of my stepfather, David, who retired and left me with the reins.

  Marshall has been in this industry for decades, and despite his enormous wealth, he is a risk-taker and quite often shakes up the market with his radical ideas. Today is one of those days. He wants our bestselling authors to team up and co-write. Nothing that hasn’t been done before, but then he upped the ante—cross-genre—two authors, two different genres, and one story.

  There are so many things I want to say to him, but my past experience with Marshall is to let him get it out, sit quietly, and if he is dead serious, he will be at me again in a week. I don’t need the additional workload. We are under-resourced and when it comes to hiring, the employment pool is short of talent.

  Like today, for instance. I don’t know what the fuck Noah was thinking by wanting to interview this girl. Noah knows better. He was our Operations Manager until he took on another role. To help me out, he still comes into the office now and then because replacing him has been difficult. His temporary replacement, Phil, is nowhere near as qualified as Noah. The guy has college degrees coming out of his fucking ass. His problem is that he has the most complicated personal life known to man. Separated from his wife to only knock up some air hostess on a one-night stand, to then come home to a wife wanting to get back together. That was a year ago. Now, he’s finally settled down with one of Presley’s best friends, Kate.