In Bed With My Husband's Shithead Boss

I wish his dick would shrivel up and die.

I glared at the commercial playing on the tiny TV mounted above the diner's entrance, just as a group of customers walked through the door, their loud chatter mixing with the already chaotic noise of Wayne's Diner.

"Cynthia, are you glaring at the customers again?"

'No, Mrs. Wayne. I was glaring at the cockblocker on the TV above the door,' I wanted to explain.

"Pardon me, ma'am? I didn't quite catch that," I said instead, pretending to strain my ears over the noise of sizzling bacon and clinking plates.

Mrs. Wayne gave me one of her signature deadpan looks and urged me to stop slacking before shuffling back toward the kitchen, her orthopedic shoes squeaking against the checkered linoleum floor.

Despite the ache in my joints from standing for six hours straight, I mustered up what I hoped looked like a genuine smile and approached the group of customers. All I wanted to do was spare a few precious seconds to flip the bird at the man flashing his ridiculously perfect teeth on the screen above their heads.

To everyone else out there, Xander Romano is the city's golden boy, the hottest man to ever exist, depending on who you ask. The billionaire tycoon who supposedly built his empire from nothing and clawed his way to the top of the country's wealthiest men list through sheer determination and brilliance.

But not to me. Oh no, not to Cynthia Morrison.

In all the three years I'd known him, since my husband Alex started working as his personal secretary, the guy had been nothing but a complete and utter shit head.

Was, is, and always will be, at least in my dictionary.

I don't need to go into excruciating detail about exactly how much of a shit head he is. You'd probably agree with me when your husband, who was supposed to be home planning your third wedding anniversary with you, is stuck on yet another "urgent" business trip.

And no, it isn't just this year. Xander has made it his personal mission to somehow conveniently come up with a business emergency around this exact time every single year, making it absolutely impossible for Alex and me to celebrate our anniversary.

I've honestly forgotten the last time we even attempted to celebrate it. Or any special day in our lives, really. It's always late-night emergencies, impromptu meetings, mission-impossible deadlines.

And what does Mr. Perfect CEO do while his workers are out there jeopardizing their marriages and sanity?

Throwing lavish parties and holding fancy charity galas, just like the one being advertised on TV right now!

"Um, excuse me, miss? The sandwich is completely ruined."

I blinked rapidly, suddenly realizing I'd been so lost in my internal rant about Xander's existence that I'd somehow managed to completely destroy the club sandwich I was supposed to be serving. The poor customer was staring down at what looked like a deconstructed mess of bread, lettuce, and mayonnaise.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry!" I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment as I quickly whisked the disaster away. I could practically feel Mrs. Wayne's disapproving glare boring into the back of my skull from across the diner.

Great. There goes my lunch break snack privilege.

"Here you go," I said, presenting a fresh, properly assembled sandwich. "A little extra bacon for the mess-up. On the house."

There went my tip money too, but what else could I do?

Thankfully, that customer was the last in the queue. I was just about to retreat behind the counter when I heard someone snort loudly from a corner booth.

"Hey, Cynthia!" Jessie waved me over, her perfectly manicured nails catching the fluorescent light. "Get over here."

I approached her table reluctantly. "How can I help you, ma'am?" I asked formally, even though we both knew the formality was ridiculous.

Jessie snorted again and shoved her half-eaten sandwich across the table toward me. "It's soggy as hell, but you can have it if you want. Consider it charity."

I eyed the admittedly unappetizing sandwich but took it anyway. Free food was free food, and my stomach was already starting to growl.

"It's your lunch break anyway," Jessie continued, checking her expensive-looking watch. "Keep me company for a few minutes."

I glanced over toward the kitchen, but Mrs. Wayne had disappeared somewhere into the back. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind," she added, and I slide into the booth across from Jessie.

"Thanks, Jess." I immediately started demolishing the soggy sandwich like I hadn't eaten in days.

"You know, it's still hard for me to believe you were once the smartest girl in our graduating class," Jessie said, her voice carrying that familiar condescending tone I'd grown to expect.

I held back a groan. Here we go again.

"I mean, seriously, Cynthia. I wonder what all our old classmates would say if they could see you now." She gestured around the cramped diner with its peeling paint and mismatched furniture.

"I guess I'll just have to avoid them forever then," I shrugged, trying to keep my voice light.

"You can't avoid everyone forever, you know. Which reminds me, we're holding our five-year reunion next month. I heard the Peterson twins are flying in from California specifically for it."

"Good for them. You know I don't attend those kinds of things."

"Why?" Jessie mocked. "Don't like being reminded of how spectacularly you threw your entire life away for love? You got a full scholarship to Princeton University, Cynthia. Do you have any idea how impossible that is? Even with money, you need serious connections to get into that school. But you gave it all up for what? To become a waitress in a greasy spoon diner?"

"My parents couldn't afford the other expenses, Jessie. And I'm not just a waitress, I'm assistant manager. The pay really isn't that bad."

"It wouldn't be bad if you weren't using half of everything you earn to pay off Alex's family debts," Jessie shot back. "I honestly don't understand how someone can be so incredibly smart and so completely stupid at the same time. Maybe intelligence was just a high school phase for you."

Her words stung, but I was used to Jessie by now. She was the closest thing I had to a friend in this city, which said something pretty depressing about my social life.

"You helped Alex get to where he is now," she continued relentlessly. "Not everyone gets the privilege of working directly for Xander Romano. You literally sponsored his college tuition with your part-time jobs. You should be living comfortably by now, not scraping together tips to keep your heads above water."

"It's not Alex's fault his father left him drowning in medical bills," I said quietly. "Once we finish paying off his family's debts, we can finally start planning our real future together."

"By the time you're thirty and way out of his league, he'll dump you faster than yesterday's news and upgrade to someone more suited to his new social class," Jessie said brutally.

"Alex isn't like that," I protested weakly.

Jessie rolled her eyes so hard I was surprised they didn't fall out of her head. "Alex isn't like that," she repeated in a mocking sing-song voice. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, honey. You can worship the ground he walks on for all I care."

"You're being really mean right now."

"I'm the only friend you have left in this godforsaken city, so suck it up, buttercup."

Jessie launched into her usual weekly rant about her job at some mid-level marketing firm downtown. It wasn't exactly glamorous work, but it was definitely a step up from my situation, and she never let me forget it. She showed me pictures on her phone of some overpriced handbag she was considering buying, a vacation she was planning, a guy from her office she was maybe going to ask out.

When I failed to show the appropriate level of enthusiasm for her various accomplishments and purchases, she finally asked, "What's with the doom and gloom today? You look like someone kicked your puppy."

"It's nothing," I lied.

Jessie studied my face with the intensity of a detective analyzing evidence. "Let me guess, it's your anniversary, and Mr. Son-of-a-Gun has conveniently sent your husband on another mysterious business trip."

I sighed heavily. "Yes, but..."

"But nothing. That man has made ruining your married life his personal hobby."

"Alex has been gone all week, but he promised he'd make it back tonight," I said, feeling a spark of hope rekindle in my chest. "This year, I refuse to let Xander win. I'm going to make this night absolutely perfect."

Jessie snorted with laughter. "Good luck with that, babe. You're gonna need it."

She glanced at her watch again and slid out of the booth. "My lunch break's over. Try not to burn the place down while I'm gone."

I watched her click-clack her way out of the diner in her professional heels, then turned my attention back to finishing the soggy sandwich.

Yes, tonight was going to be different. I wasn't going to let Xander succeed in his evil plan of systematically destroying every romantic moment in my marriage.

Just because his cold, shriveled dick couldn't secure a lasting relationship didn't give him the right to ruin everyone else's happiness.

I managed to convince Mrs. Wayne to let me leave thirty minutes early, promising to make up the time tomorrow. I sent Alex about seventeen text messages on my way to the grocery store, letting him know I was planning something special for tonight and asking what time he'd be home.

He hadn't returned any of my texts or calls since yesterday, but I was getting used to that by now. When you're the personal secretary to a billionaire megalomaniac, communication with your wife apparently becomes optional.

I bought all the ingredients for his favorite chocolate cake, along with some ridiculously expensive wine that would probably taste like liquid gold. Then I hit the flower shop for red roses, the real ones, not the sad plastic ones from the grocery store.

By the time I got home to our tiny apartment, I was practically vibrating with excitement. I had exactly two hours to transform our humble living space into something worthy of a romance novel.

I lit what felt like a hundred candles, scattering rose petals across every available surface. The chocolate cake turned out better than I'd hoped, and I even managed to write "Happy Anniversary" in elegant script across the top without completely butchering it.

Then came the real preparation. I raced upstairs to our bedroom and dug through my dresser until I found it, the red lace lingerie set I'd bought online six months ago but never had the courage to actually wear. It was definitely outside my comfort zone, all sheer fabric and strategic cutouts, but tonight called for desperate measures.

I slipped it on then covered everything with my silky black robe. Red lipstick, a spritz of the perfume Alex had given me for Christmas, and I was ready for battle.

Alex always came home completely drained from work and immediately collapsed on our ancient couch like a deflated balloon. But tonight, I was going to pounce on him the moment he walked through that door. Even if it meant doing it in our entryway, a girl had needs, and mine had been severely neglected lately.

I positioned myself by the front door, waiting for Alex's return. Any moment from now.

I must have dozed off sitting there on the floor, because the next thing I knew, the doorbell was ringing.

I sprang to my feet like I'd been electrocuted, quickly checking my appearance one more time in the mirror. My hair had gotten a little mussed from leaning against the wall, but in a sexy, just-rolled-out-of-bed kind of way. The red lipstick was still perfectly intact, and the lingerie was doing absolutely sinful things to my silhouette.

I looked like a woman who was about to thoroughly ravish her husband, and I was completely here for it.

I sprayed one more quick puff of perfume, struck what I hoped was a seductive pose, and opened the door with my most sultry smile.