The Mistress Picked the Wrong Man

What’s it like secretly dating the boss behind his wife’s back? A link to an article popped up on my phone. The sender waited just long enough before unsending it. “Sorry, Mrs. Summers! Wrong person!” The apology came from our new receptionist. I frowned and was about to send my husband a screenshot, but he beat me to it. “Babe, look at this. That two-faced idiot thinks our driver is me!” After a long day, I was reaching for my bag to head home when my phone chimed. A new message flashed across the screen. The headline read: “What’s It Like Secretly Dating the Boss Behind His Wife’s Back?” Frowning, I opened the article as I walked toward the elevator. It was just some bitch documenting, in painstaking detail, how she’d seduced her boss. I had to admit, the story was pretty funny. The elevator came to a smooth stop on the first floor. I glanced at my phone. The sender suddenly unsent the message. Then came a follow-up that left plenty to the imagination. “Sorry, Mrs. Summers! Wrong person!” Chloe? She was our company’s new receptionist. Twenty-one, fresh out of college. I remembered her first day. Loose waves, soft makeup that was clearly meant to look both innocent and sexy, a tiny skirt, and a spaghetti-strap top. When I walked past reception that day, the HR director was giving her an earful. She’d told Chloe to dress appropriately and use some common sense. If I remembered correctly, Chloe was especially fond of black stockings. Those slim legs wrapped in sheer black nylon were lethal. Probably not many men could dodge that particular weapon. I snapped out of my thoughts and looked up to find my husband standing in front of me. I took a screenshot, about to send it to him. He shoved his phone into my other hand, looking utterly disgusted. “Babe, look. That two-faced idiot at reception thinks our driver is me!” My husband suggested we bring the whole thing out into the open at the annual company gala and see how she explained herself. I hummed in agreement. My husband had always been excellent at spotting a woman’s fake-innocent act. I trusted him completely. Besides, I was curious to see Chloe’s face when she found out the man wasn’t her boss, but his driver. The next morning, I’d barely sat down at my desk when another message arrived. “Boss, I’ll be waiting for you in room 3602 at the Hilton tonight.” She’d posted that suggestive little invitation in the company WhatsApp group. A few seconds later, she deleted it and left an even more ridiculous message. “Oops! Sorry, wrong chat.” Her terrible acting almost made me laugh. The same trick again? I didn’t consider her worth worrying about and went back to work. Before long, though, I noticed something was off. I’d only stepped out to use the restroom. Why was everyone sneaking looks at me? Did they actually think our receptionist was sleeping with my husband? Puzzled, I took the elevator straight down to the first floor. Several women were gathered around reception. I was too far away to hear what they were saying. But the smug look on Chloe’s face was unmistakable. Were they sucking up to her? Envious that she’d won the boss’s attention and affection? As I approached, the women lowered their heads, greeted me, and sheepishly headed back to their offices. Chloe still looked just as full of herself. Exactly like a mistress who thought she’d finally made it. “Not much work to do?” I deliberately asked the question as I looked at the pile of makeup spread across her desk. Chloe froze for a moment. The smile stiffened on her lips, and she casually played with her hair. As she did, I noticed the earrings she was making sure I could see. What a coincidence. They were identical to the pair my husband had given me a few days earlier.I took a deep breath and decided to play along. “Nice taste. Those earrings are pretty.” That was exactly what she’d been hoping to hear. She confidently tucked her hair behind her ears, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. “Thank you, Mrs. Summers. These...” “They were a gift.” A gift? She might as well have stamped YOUR HUSBAND across her forehead. Smiling, I took off my own earrings and placed them on the visitor log in front of her. “You like them? Here, have another pair.” With that, I turned away. I didn’t want to see her expression, much less wait for her reaction. She probably thought I’d taken the bait. She probably thought she’d made me jealous and furious with my husband. Back upstairs, I carried on with my work. Contracts still needed signing. Procedures still needed following. A little while later, my assistant, Olivia, came into my office. “Director, I overheard some employees talking in the elevator...” I raised an eyebrow at her, already knowing what she was about to say. “About my husband and the receptionist?” Olivia pressed her lips together. She seemed baffled by how calmly I was taking it. I accepted the documents she was holding and spoke evenly. “I know what kind of man my husband is. As for what kind of person that receptionist is, you’ll all find out at the annual gala.” “Olivia, focus on your work. Don’t sink to their level.” It was a reminder, but also a warning. I wouldn’t tolerate gossipmongers on my team. And I certainly wouldn’t keep someone at my company just because they had an impressive degree if their character didn’t measure up. Chloe Bennett and her little band of followers were in for a very public reality check. After work, I took the elevator downstairs as usual and waited for my husband by the facial-recognition gates. Chloe still had a group of women gathered around her. They were off the clock. What they did with their own time wasn’t my business. Then my husband came into view, and Chloe called out in a sugary voice. “Have a lovely weekend, boss.”I frowned. Something about the way she said it sounded wrong. A lovely weekend. How very familiar. When I looked up, my husband’s brow was furrowed even more deeply than mine. He ignored Chloe and came over to me, lowering his voice. “See? She’s at it again.” I murmured an acknowledgment and discreetly glanced at the group. Wonderful. All faces I wasn’t particularly fond of. Every one of them wearing the same sly expression. “Play along.” I spoke quietly. My husband froze, giving me a puzzled look. Play along with what? I flicked my eyes toward Chloe, and he immediately understood. He responded to her. “Uh... Chloe. Get home safely!” A few murmurs rose from the group. Probably more sucking up to Chloe. Or maybe they were impressed by my husband’s nerve. His wife was standing right there, and he still dared to flirt openly with his little mistress. I cleared my throat to signal that it was time to go. I slipped my arm through his, and he carried my bag. We must have looked like a very loving couple. We’d barely driven our Tesla out of the underground garage when Chloe stepped into our path. For safety’s sake, we stopped. Seizing her chance, she leaned against the side of our car like a sleazy model posing at an auto show. Outside the window, Chloe gave him a sultry smile. “Boss, could you give me a ride home tonight?” Well. She had some nerve. I was sitting right there, and she’d still chased us down to ask my husband for a ride. My husband looked at me without saying a word. Chloe was cautious, too. The earrings she’d deliberately shown me earlier had been replaced with tiny pearl studs. At some point, she’d also added three little rhinestones beside her eye. “Oh,” I said, looking at her face without feeling a thing. “Get in.” Chloe behaved reasonably well. She didn’t say anything inappropriate in the car. She just kept messaging someone on her phone. Then my husband parked outside a bakery and went in to pick up the cake we’d ordered a few days earlier. “Mrs. Summers, does he have his phone on silent?” Out of habit, I took my husband’s phone out of my bag. I unlocked it with practiced ease. “Oh, so you’re the one messaging him.” My finger paused over the screen. I almost laughed when I saw the name he’d saved her under. “Two-Faced Bitch Who Needs a Reality Check” Reading Chloe’s messages, I suddenly felt this little show was getting more entertaining by the minute. “Boss, you hurt me last time.” “Boss, why are you ignoring me?” “Boss...”I tossed the phone onto the driver’s seat, pretending to be angry. Chloe immediately spoke up. “What’s wrong, Mrs. Summers? Why are you so upset?” Oh? Playing dumb? I snorted and put on a convincing performance. “Some little tramp is messaging my husband, trying to seduce him.” “He saved her as ‘Sweetheart.’ I’ll be having a word with him when we get home.” My embellishment worked beautifully. Chloe took the bait. She grabbed my hand as if we were the closest of friends. “Oh, honey. Your husband’s so handsome and successful. I’m sure plenty of women want him. Just a friendly warning—you need to be careful.” She might as well have put on a name tag. I hummed and said nothing else. Just then, my husband returned with the cake. He put it in the back seat and hurried into the car. Out of nowhere, I said, “Babe, let’s take Chloe to room 3602 at the Hilton.” Chloe clearly hadn’t expected that. In the mirror, I watched her smile become increasingly strained. “What are you talking about, Mrs. Summers?” “I’m not going to the Hilton.” “Oh?” “Really? Didn’t you say you were going to the Hilton in the group chat?” As her face grew paler, I decided not to push any further. “Never mind. We’ll take you home.” I asked for her address, and my husband and I dropped her off at the entrance to her apartment complex. In the end, Chloe forced out a thank-you before scurrying away with her tail between her legs. On the way home, I read her messages aloud to my husband, word for word. After every line, he pretended to gag and called her a manipulative bitch. I clutched the phone, laughing so hard I could barely breathe. Sometimes I thought my husband was hilariously clueless. Who saved someone under such a brutally honest name without worrying they might see it? Other times, his ability to see through women like Chloe made me think he really did know a thing or two. We sat down at the dining table with a little blue-and-white cake in front of us. It was our ninth anniversary. We’d gotten together at twenty-two. Now we were both thirty-one. A full ten years older than Chloe. And yet we still had to play her little game, because she’d shamelessly staged another performance that only made her more obvious. I refreshed Instagram and found a pouty selfie from Chloe. The caption read: “Every day feels like summer when you’re loved.” My husband’s name was Ryan Summers. That Instagram post was clearly meant to give everyone on her friends list the wrong idea. As far as I was concerned, was that supposed to be a challenge? Impressed by her sheer nerve, I raised an eyebrow and liked it.