Doing my household chores—another day, another bucket of soapy water—I was surprised to see Mark coming into the bathroom where I was using a toothbrush on the faucets. We hadn’t spoken much since he brought his mistress home and placed her above me in the household. He spent most of his nights with her, only coming to me when they argued and he wanted to make her jealous.
At least, I assumed that was his motivation. Maybe he just needed someone who couldn’t say no. But I didn’t have time to think about it any longer. Not with everything I had to do to get ready for the party that night.
“Did you tell the caterers the specifications? It is critical that everything be just exactly as I told you.”
“Yes, Mark. Precisely as you requested.” It wasn’t the first time we’d entertained, and I knew the drill. At first, he’d been gracious, kind, even admiring about my decorating and preparations, even had me make some of the food because he claimed it was better than the catering. But over time, compliments turned to criticism, and for anything but small intimate dinner parties, we hired chefs.
Less work for me, and if he’d put it that way, it would have been cool, but of course he did not. Most people of our class and especially who lived in homes our size had staff. Often live-in but at least day workers. But not us. Any hired help was either very temporary or something convenient for Mark. Landscaping—professional. Decorating as well. Anything that “showed.” We had to make a good impression, which was why when the other family came to call, we had caterers, uniformed servers, of course the usual bodyguards, and more. Nobody needed to knowthat the house looked clean because I’d scrubbed it all on my hands and knees. Wearing gloves, of course, because it wouldn’t do for the house omega to have rough, red skin on her hands. How would that look?
Like all the rest.
“Will they be here on time? And the others?”
“Yes.” I inhaled before beginning my recitation. He dumped all the work on me but made it clear I was not a trustworthy person to handle it on my own. Only an omega after all. “The caterers will be here at noon to begin their preparations. Bringing no food of their own. They will be doing all their cooking in your kitchen to allow your assistants”—for some reason he called his bodyguards assistants—“to supervise.” In my husband’s family’s line of work, as well as those coming to the party, security held a high priority.
There were those who might take the opportunity to harm them. So the ingredients for the gourmet feast would be shopped for and provided by us. One more safety measure.
“The waitstaff comes from the usual agency, and each of them has been background checked again and passed with flying colors. Each of them has been here before as well, and you said you were pleased with their service. The bartender is new to us but comes background checked, of course, and well recommended. She’s won awards and here”—I fished my phone out of my apron pocket and flipped through the texts from the agency—“this is her.”
He took the phone from my hand and grinned. “Nice. But she’s wearing too many clothes here.”
“The agency is aware of theuniformsyou prefer.” Sleazy, slutty, preferably butt cheeks hanging out of tiny shorts. High heels. All the cleavage. “And she has agreed to dress appropriately.” I continued on, listing the details about the staff,showing him more pictures to remind him who they were and what they would be wearing.
He got hard. Why not? It was soft porn.
My husband grabbed my hand and dragged me down the hall to a walk-in linen closet where he had me on the floor, was in the process of pulling my apron off, when his mistress’s voice cut through his lustful moves.
“Mark? Where are you? I have nothing to wear to the party tonight. Tell one of these buffoons you employ to drive me to the boutiques immediately.”
Breathing hard, he hesitated, giving me a chance to scoot out from under him. “He’s coming,” I called. “You’d better go. I’m sure she’s nervous meeting all your friends.”
“Right.” He pushed to his feet. Once, he’d have offered me a hand up, but not for a long time. That stopped shortly after our wedding. “Just make sure you don’t look like crap, watch your words and manners, and respect our guests. Be on your best behavior. We don’t want another…incident.”
Ominous.
“Yes, sir. I’ll do that.”
“Mark?”
I gave him a timid smile. “She just wants to look her best.”
He grumbled but left and I lay there on the tile floor, trembling. Something had to change, but right now, that meant finding a perfect dress in my closet. Since the mistress moved in, he wasn’t wasting any money on my wardrobe.
I stopped by the bathroom to make sure it was immaculate then gathered my supplies and put them away then off to my closet.
Truthfully, it was full. Stuffed full of clothes a couple of seasons or more out of date. I didn’t see anything wrong with them, but Mark would. And his mistress would have comments that made him see me in an even worse light. I laid half a dozenon the bed, looking them over, wondering which would get me the least flack.
A no-win situation. Surrounded by luxury, I in fact lived in hell.
Chapter Four
Cashel
I’d never thought we might get to the point where one of us would have to go back to his previous job. We’d agreed that those were not optimal for us in any way. While they made use of our skills and we were generously compensated, what it asked from us was not a price we should have been willing to pay.
Trapped in a warren of offices, breathing air pushed through a system that did anything but make it fresh, the flickering of fluorescent lights was not something a bear shifter thrived under. Our animals had been quietly protesting for years. The only shocking part was the fact that they were so quiet about it.
Although we were all alphas, my friends looked to me to lead in many cases, and I’d been instrumental in the arrangements we’d made for our current life. Part of the reason they’d agreed was their trust in me, and this morning when Lyon said he’d return to the office, it broke me. I would have done the same, but the opportunity was not there for instant rehiring. So, I’d sworn to myself that I’d find a way to get him out of there.
