Page 110 of David's Love

This is harder than I thought.

It’s not the job.

My job is easy.

He hired me as a business writer. Hooray to that. I’m finally making money with my writing. I have flexible hours and good pay, and I can work remotely.

I don’t know how he justifies my traveling with him–– something that not even Julie does––but he does it.

Not all the time, anyway.

It’s his business, and he can do whatever he wants.

The most difficult part is juggling school and this gig and then running into Eve and Dahlia. They work here, too.

Now they’re talking about a big party as we head into the holiday season, and everybody is invited.

Luckily, David and I are supposed to fly out next week.

Chloe is busy at work, although I think she’s reconsidering taking a gap year.

Terry is over the moon with this new development.

My job means a lot to her.

She thinks this type of work adds a layer of credibility to my dream of becoming a writer.

Forget about living an artist’s life with tall lattes and endless hours in my favorite coffee shop while crafting a spicy, memorable tale about love and human tribulations.

This is real.

There’s a paycheck, and no matter how meager it is next to the fees I collected while playing that game with him, it makes sense to her.

She still doesn’t know about my double life, in which I have a second car and a man who lives with me.

And I was lucky that no one had blown my cover yet.

I don’t know what stopped Chloe from showing up without notice at my house or my mother from dropping some groceries at my door on her way home.

It may be the snow, the wind, the fact that neither of them wants to get out of the house, or they think I’m settled.

I think it’s the latter.

David arrives like clockwork before midnight.

There are things he does in the evenings. Work. Business dinners. More work.

He crams everything he can in his schedule so we arenot burdened by these tasks when we head to Asia.

It feels so natural to make such grandiose plans, although I’ve hardly ever traveled.

I’ve never visited Nebraska, let alone Singapore.

Furtively, I check the time on my phone.

I should be out of his office in about ten minutes. Before I go, I just want to glance at him one more time. The need to be with him is real, burning through my soul, marring my skin, warming my blood.

We are two poor decisions away from having sex in his office.

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