My Secretary, My Mistress

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Grant sneaked out of her bed like a thief-tip toeing and barely breathing, desperate to evade capture. She watched him with one eye partly open, wondering if he could truly be so callous after the night of frantic lovemaking in which they’d indulged. Surely he felt some remnants of the passion they’d shared. Her body ached pleasantly.

Once he was dressed, he approached the bed and gave her a soft kiss. She pretended to be sleeping, but couldn’t stop the half smile that curved her lips.

He’s mine now.

Monday morning at the office, Grant acted like nothing had happened.

“Isabelle, get me a cup of coffee and then dig out the files for the Peterman case,” he demanded without even looking up.

Isabelle, who’d worn a brand new pantsuit that showed off her curvy figure, bit her tongue. We’re at work, and I know how dedicated he is. You watch. He’ll probably take me to lunch or dinner.

That didn’t happen. Instead, her boss left the office on supposed business and didn’t return for the rest of the day, even though she lingered until well after five in case he came rushing back.

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