My Husband’s Secretary
She does almost too good of a job, catering to my husband’s every whim.
I should have known there was trouble when my husband Derek hired the 25-year-old Cynthia Haven as his latest secretary.
When he introduced us, my eyes focused on the way his hand curved in its grasp on her shoulder. She was dressed smartly in a black pantsuit with white embellishments, and she was all smiles when she leaned forward to shake my hand.
“It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Ferris,” she said — and I hated her right that moment for her youthful exuberance. I could imagine the perkiness of her body beneath her professional attire. I was already in my mid-thirties, so of course my husband was looking for a fresher model in that ten-year itch of being with one woman too long.
“Likewise, Miss Haven,” I said, daintily shaking her offered hand.
A scatter of pink lighted up her cheeks. “Oh, please, call me Cynthia.”
My lips curved around her name, and it was sour to the taste. “Cynthia, I trust we’ll be good for each other.”
But maybe I had spoken too soon.
Three years into the business relationship between Derek and Cynthia, I tried not to fall into complacency. I wore designer lingerie every night when Derek was…
