“I didn’t realize Isabella was coming today,” she whispers.
“Neither did I,” I hiss, barely able to control my anger. I step past her, but her hand grips mine.
“What happened?”
“What didn’t?”
“That bad?” she asks.
“Worse.” I groan. I don’t even know where to start, and with Isabella in the office, I don’t have much time before she’s asking for something. “Let’s just say the nanny won’t work out and my wife is going away on a trip yet again.”
“Oh, shit. What can I do to help?”
“Are you completely against babysitting?” I ask with a wince.
“I can do that. You have a few important calls today. I’ll keep her occupied.”
All the tension in my body leaves at her words. I’ve seen the way she’s cared for Isabella in a time of need. She has this under control and for the first time today I feel relief. What have I done to deserve this woman in my life?
Nothing.
The truth of that stings. What I wouldn’t give to unabashedly pull her into my arms right now without a single care in the fucking world as to who sees us. My actions in the past make that impossible, now and perhaps forever. I get to live in hell while my wife tours the countryside with yet another fucking fling, leaving me to care for our daughter.
She touches her hand to my cheek and I melt into her.
“Go. Work. I’ve got this.” Bridget’s voice pulls me from my dark thoughts.
She has a way of making tough situations inconsequential. I have no worries that Isabella will be well taken care of and now I can focus on work. I’ve got a mountain of it sitting in front of me, so I push aside the events of the morning and get to work.
When the shadows change in my office, I realize hours have passed, along with several phone calls with investors. It’s been a productive day, thanks to Bridget. In fact, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of either Bridget or Isabella since I left them this morning.
I clean up my email, straighten some documents on my desk, and then go in search of the two best women in my life. Rounding the corner, I stop short when I hear giggles.
“Ready?” Bridget asks Isabella.
Bridget has Isabella sitting atop her desk Indian style with a plate of food in front of her. Pretending to have a tea party. A few of Isabella’s stuffed animals are sitting next to her on the desk and they are both feeding the dolls. After Bridget makes a big show of how much the panda bear is eating, she offers the fork to Isabella, who takes it and places it in her mouth. She chews and swallows, and Bridget rewards her with a large smile.
“Do you think Panda wants more?”
Isabella nods enthusiastically and the routine continues like that for some time. I stand watching how effortlessly Bridget keeps her happy. The two are quite a pair and it does funny things to me. The fact Bridget knows Isabella isn’t my biological daughter but treats her as though she’s the most important little girl in the world means everything to me.
Isabella spies me gawking and calls me out. “Daddy, look!”
“Hi, princess. Did you eat all your lunch?”
“She did,” Bridget says proudly. “We’ve been having a great time.”
“Do you want to come sit in Daddy’s office for a bit?” I throw the offer out, hoping to give Bridget a few minutes break to do whatever she may need.
“Nope. I’ll stay here,” she says, beaming at Bridget.
“We have plans, Mr. Lancaster. Go do your work and leave us ladies be,” Bridget teases.
“Yes. We’ve got plans, Daddy.”
I smile one last time before nodding my understanding and heading back to my office. I’ll start the second part of the day knowing full well my daughter is in good hands. Isabella loves Bridget and I can’t blame her. Bridget is everything.
Seeing Bridget with Isabella yesterday was almost too much. I wasn’t expecting to feel such strong emotions watching them together. It made me want her more and that’s not something I can want without complication.
My door opens slowly and Bridget creeps in and then closes the door. Something is wrong. She won’t look at me as she walks over to place something on my desk, but I notice that her chin quivers.
“Bridget.” Her head lifts up and I can see unshed tears in her eyes. “What’s going on?”
“It’s always about Chelsea,” she whispers.
“Where is this even coming from?” I ask, not understanding what’s going on.
“All everyone can talk about is her. No matter where I am. It’s always how smart she is, how beautiful. She’s like a saint”—a tear drips down her cheek—“and she has you. Does she have to have everything?”
“I don’t know where this came from. Can you calm down.” I stand from my desk and walk over until I’m standing in front of her.
“How could you even want me? I’m not nearly as beautiful or as smart—”
“Okay. Stop. Stop right there.” I take a step closer. So close I can feel her breast heave against my chest. I bend my knees to be eye level with her.
“Don’t you dare compare yourself to her.”
“But—”
“No buts. How could you even think she could be better than you? A woman—no, a mother who can’t even find it in her to love her own daughter! No, Bridget. You’re everything and she’s nothing.”
I let my words sink in. I have a sudden need to brand her as mine. What is it about being with Bridget in the office that ignites me? Is it because it’s forbidden, dangerous?
“On my desk.”
She sits on my desk and peers up at me.
“Elbows,” I demand. “Spread your legs.”
She’s spread out before me like a feast.
I lick my lips and step toward her. Hungry. Desperate to sink into her. To savor and possess every inch of her. It’s been too long. Too many days have passed since I’ve been able to lose myself in her.
“You have a thing about me on your desk. We really need to get a new place for foreplay,” Bridget teases.
“You like to torture me.” A statement. Not a question. Not that I mind particularly. I’d take everything she is willing to give me, torture included.
Her chest heaves. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, but she’s not fooling anyone. She’s been torturing me. Swaying her hips, bending over. Pure torture. All so I’d fuck her. I know the game she’s playing and I’m happy to oblige. I pump in and out of her but stop short when my office door flies open to reveal Chelsea.
“Oh, what a tangled web we weave,” she says as her lip snakes up, showcasing her pearly whites. The smile is wicked. Plotting.
I almost want to smile back at her. Ask if her black heart is crushed even slightly, but I’d have to care to ask that and I don’t. If not for wanting to protect Bridget, I’d laugh in Chelsea’s face.
“So this is how you spend your nights, dear husband?”