Unfaithful Overtime

The coffee machine was broken again. Third time this month. I stood in the break room watching brown water drip into a paper cup, wondering if this was a sign from a God who had a sense of humor about my life choices.

"You're staring at that thing like it owes you money."

I turned. Diane stood in the doorway, arms crossed, that half-smile she wore when she knew something I didn't. She was fifty-three, kept her hair in a tight bun, and had been running this office since before I was born. Nothing got past her.

"It's mocking me," I said.

"Everything mocks you, Ben. That's what happens when you're thirty-four and still renting."

I laughed because she wasn't wrong. I grabbed the cup, took a sip, and tried not to grimace. It tasted like burnt regret.

"Mrs. Chen wants the quarterly reports on her desk by noon," Diane said, already turning away. "And she asked for you specifically."

That got my attention. "For the reports?"

"For something. She didn't say what."

Diane disappeared down the hall. I dumped the coffee in the sink and checked my reflection in the microwave door. Same face as always. Tired eyes, jaw that needed a shave, a tie that was slightly crooked. I fixed the tie.

Vivian Chen. Forty-one years old. Married to Marcus Chen, the man who owned half the commercial real estate in the city. She'd taken over as CEO of this marketing firm eighteen months ago when her father retired, and in that time she'd fired three department heads, restructured the entire creative team, and doubled our revenue. She was sharp in a way that made you feel stupid just standing near her.

And she was beautiful. That was the thing nobody said out loud, but everyone thought it. The kind of beautiful that made you forget what you were supposed to be doing. Dark hair she wore loose past her shoulders. Eyes that looked through you instead of at you. A mouth that rarely smiled but when it did, you felt like you'd won something.

I'd worked here for four years. In all that time, I'd spoken to her maybe a dozen times. Mostly in meetings. Mostly about deliverables and timelines and client satisfaction scores. She knew my name. She knew my work. That was it.

Or so I thought.

Her office was on the top floor, corner suite, windows on two sides. The city sprawled out behind her like a backdrop in a movie. She was standing when I walked in, looking at something on her phone. She didn't look up.

"Close the door."

I did.

"Sit down."

I sat. The chair was leather, expensive, the kind that made a sound when you shifted your weight. I tried not to shift.

She put the phone down and finally looked at me. Up close, she was even more striking. Not in a soft way. In a way that made you aware of your own pulse.

"You've been here four years," she said.

"Yes."

"You're good at what you do. Your client retention rate is the highest in the department. You don't cause problems. You show up on time. You do the work."

I wasn't sure if this was a compliment or a preamble to firing me. I waited.

"I need someone I can trust," she said. "Someone discreet."

The word hung in the air between us. Discreet. I felt something shift in my chest, a small click like a lock turning.

"Discreet how?"

She walked around the desk and sat on the edge of it, close enough that I could smell her perfume. Something floral. Something expensive. She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap.

"My husband is having an affair."

I blinked. Whatever I'd expected, it wasn't that.

"I've known for six months," she continued. "He thinks I don't. He thinks he's clever. He's not."

"I'm sorry," I said, because it seemed like the right thing to say.

She tilted her head. "Are you?"

"I mean, that's a shitty situation. For you."

"It is." She stood up and walked to the window, her back to me. The light caught the curve of her neck. "I need you to do something for me, Ben. It's not in your job description. It's not something I can ask anyone else."

"Okay."

She turned. "You're agreeing without knowing what it is."

"I'm listening without knowing what it is. There's a difference."

That almost made her smile. Almost.

"I need you to follow him," she said. "After work. Document where he goes, who he sees. I need proof. Not for a divorce. For leverage. There's a difference."

I should have said no. Any sane person would have said no. This was a married woman asking me to spy on her husband, and nothing about it was clean or simple or safe. But I looked at her standing there in that expensive suit with that hard look in her eyes, and I understood something. She wasn't asking because she was weak. She was asking because she was done being underestimated.

"Why me?" I asked.

"Because you have no stake in this. No alliances. No ambition that would make you sloppy." She paused. "And because I've watched you, Ben. You notice things. You pay attention. Most people don't."

I felt heat rise up my neck. She'd been watching me. That was a thing she just said out loud.

"What's in it for me?"

"Ten thousand. Cash. And my gratitude."

"I don't need your gratitude."

"No," she said, and her voice dropped just slightly. "But you want it."

The room felt smaller. The air felt thicker. I was aware of my hands on the armrests, my feet flat on the floor, my heart doing something it had no business doing.

"When do I start?"

"Tonight. He leaves his office at seven. He tells me he's working late." She walked back to her desk and wrote something on a sticky note. "This is his routine. The places he goes. The woman's name."

She handed it to me. Our fingers brushed. Hers were cold.

"Don't get caught," she said.

"And if I do?"

"Then you're on your own. I'll deny everything."

She sat down and picked up her phone, already scrolling. The meeting was over. I stood up, folded the note into my pocket, and walked to the door.

"Ben."

I turned.

"Thank you."

I nodded. I didn't trust myself to speak.

The hallway was empty. The elevator took forever. When the doors finally closed, I leaned against the wall and let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. The note in my pocket felt like it weighed ten pounds.

I had no idea what I was doing. But I knew I wasn't going to say no.