THE BILLIONAIRE'S HOUSEWIFE

WHITMO

ightly to the glass dish of funeral potatoes. Sister Jensen's voice was st

e way it bubbled and curled at the corners. Maybe if I stared long enough, she'd take it back. And say it was a s

e came out thinner

ne to say anything but I happened to see the statements. My son, the one who works in the bank, h

oint account. After marriage he forbade us having separate accoun

one or two deposits. It's already reading in m

I've really been a fool for the past five years. How did I not suspect? "You're sure it's him?" I find myself ask

mine in the window above the

de, my kitchen smelled of butter and cloves and the pine-scented cleaner I always used before Sun

n. Now sounding apologetic

No. Thank you. I j

ne, but eventually she left. The door closed with

erything inside it had been picked and placed

r entire foundation cracked wide open. But all I felt was this low,

hich is unusual. He sa

blurted out as he stepp

my movements? M

Maybe, I'll pick you up.

want to stress you." I didn't ask further. I just let him go inside

rehead. I saw it, a lipstick stain. And a feminine perfume fragrance mixed with his. "Since when did you star

, I sprayed a pint to be sure you like the fragrance." Seeing how bold he stood lying broke me the more. Looks like sister Jensen was right. Mark must have take

as standing outside my sister's house, shivering in a

living room, surrounded by Lego bricks and goldfish crackers. Her toddle

when the cup landed near my feet. "It's part-time. Remote. I

our life, Eliza." She stated

ed in the school library

n years ago. Volunteering doesn't

and pulled out a stapl

ed 'Primary President' under leadership experience?" She

en and ran monthly me

d more than she knew. She flipped to t

flutter thing it had started doing ever

ll?" she asked in shoc

d. "You

k of Manhattan, except hotter and probably

e coordinator.

e th

m into color-coded piles. "The listing said remote. Fl

hen looked down at the resume. "Well. I ha

led. "

her phone. "Ch

ared. There it was. Blackwell Enterprises. Subj

irport, I had talked myself ou

g down to the driver picking me up from the terminal. I was a housewife from Utah with five

Or maybe I just wanted to sit across from someone who ha

e an office. It looked like an art museum. White walls. Sle

tton undone. His jaw looked like it had been carved from anger and old money. His eyes were unr

deep and smooth, and I hated t

id trying my best

nd. "I appreciat

pletely in control. I wore a smile. Maybe,

t," he said, sitting across from me in a chair

nds in my lap. Trying best to

raised his brow. I'm struggli

es

a ward Christmas progra

nty-five toddlers with no budget and thirty overbearing mothers

witched. "F

I don't hire people like you." I flinched. I had been optimis

fly me out?" I asked, tryi

imes, I make exceptions." That was a hope

ing to make one now?" I asked c

"The job isn't remote. Not anymore. My last coordinator left abruptly. I need someone I can trust in-

e." I asked, my mind thinking of how I'll mo

ring your children later if it works out. You'll be paid well. Very well."

o. "And if

a plane and we part wa

turned to face me, hi

ur life

ed. He glanced at the screen, frowned,

ned. "

nod

confused, and pr

one. I was literally finding a better life. At least one quiet and free from a liar and cheat. One who uses me for himself. One who ta