Married to my Ex-wife's boss

Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Sandra threw her bag on the couch, heart boiling in Fahrenheit.

What had just happened? Why had Fiona acted that way, keeping her waiting? Her heart thumped with much heat.

Had Fiona grown wings? She wondered, hands trembling with the suppressed rage she had.

Fiona was not in her office—the office she had given to her as her secretary.

She wasn't in the office after she had promised to be available to receive her guest.

No, she had politely refused to take calls nor emails. She was to be in the office by 8 AM as she would only stay till 10 AM to receive “guests” as she had termed.

Sandra had not taken offence when she had been termed a guest. Maybe a little, but she shook it off.

The tables had turned. Power was no more in her hands. And she would grub, if she had to, for a way to sign the deal of her dreams.

So Fiona's outright wordy disrespect was overlooked. But what she couldn't overlook was being stood up.

She had waited the entire three hours, eyeing the gold chairs in the waiting room, wondering just what Fiona was playing at.

She had not arrived at the office, nor had she picked her calls.

She had tried speaking to Fiona's secretary, something she had never imagined she would do, but the rude lady had snobbed her.

Her throat had ached with the thought of screaming and her trembling fingers had itched for a way to tear off the receptionists’ spongy hair that had never seen a comb for years.

But she held herself, finding the self-control that she now had in abundance. She left peacefully, allowing Fiona to win again.

But the anger had not subsided as she had thought her self-control would succeed in. It still boiled hotter.

She wanted to bite her tongue and lower lip off as the fresh memory peppered her brain. Had she been used? She wondered, hands trembling as she stood staring at her white Versace bag.

Fiona had gotten it for her on her birthday. It was worth millions of dollars. An amount she had not stopped to think of its existence in Fiona's hands.

She was about to follow the trail of her thoughts to somewhere dangerous but she paused.

There must be a logical explanation to things. Fiona could never have played her without a reason.

Who knows, Fiona could be acting a spy for her. Or working in the background to secure the deal she had frequently shown interest in.

Delusion worked wonders at once. She had worked with Fiona for the past five years and there had been no cause for alarm.

So she would not believe the worst about her, at least, not yet.

Yes, Fiona could mean no harm. What would she stand to gain?

She fell tragically on her couch, allowing the coarse texture to scratch her sleeveless arm. It was annoying but probably for the better.

It would be perfect to pretend their acquaintance was over so that she could gain more benefits from the deal.

She let her delusion take over. It was the better option. Her pride wouldn't let her believe that Fiona had stood her up to spite and disrespect her.

It was better to think that she did what she did because she had other plans and benefits to fit into the deal hideously.

These benefits, in question, were non-existent in her mind. She couldn't put a hold on it nor its strong connection to Fiona's mad behavior.

But she still felt strongly about it. She was certain that Fiona wouldn't do that—well, that she wouldn't dump her that quickly.

It wasn't easy to switch sides. So she just couldn't run it out no matter who she was.

As her anger subsided she felt human.

Her head banged and her stomach rumbled. In her rush to meet with Fiona, she had skipped breakfast.

She pushed her thoughts aside and headed to the kitchen. The apartment didn't have a kitchen in another room.

It was just in quick view from the sitting room. But she was tired, the emotions of the past hour, although delusionally settled, still ate at her cognitive energy.

Did she have to make the meal herself? She wondered helplessly, slouching her shoulders and letting her back bear the brunt of her tiredness.

It was lunch time already. Did she have the energy and frame of mind to prepare any meal from scratch? She kept on wondering, eyeing the spick and span kitchen, the housekeeper had created.

She concluded otherwise, trying not to picture the usual answer to her tired, hungry self. She tried not to picture David playing that chef role that she had always taken for granted.

It wasn't like she couldn't cook. In fact, she was a better cook than him. But cooking took too much mental work that she had to rely on him for most of the cooking.

And he had done that without complaining, even with beaming smiles and cheerful eyes.

But now, what was to happen? Who was to cook for her? And who is he going to cook for, now, with those cute smiles of his?

She let her hungry self wallow in the thought. She tried not to focus on the pain, but the happiness, although hidden, that she had experienced with him.

The happiness that she relied on whenever she had a bad day. The happiness that would now be experienced by someone else.

She frowned. That was a wrong thought.

Then, it dawned on her; she didn't want someone else to experience that happiness.

She could still have David, couldn't she?

She would confront him about it; get him back and wrap around her finger again.

Roseline was no match for her. She was sure that in regards to David, that she could beat her hands down and feed her to the dogs.

With that sweet thought, she let her eyes close in sleep.