Betrayal at the Office

The betting pool sat on the breakroom counter, a glass jar filled with crumpled twenties. Lisa watched as her boss Marcus dropped in another hundred, his expensive cologne mixing with the smell of papaya someone had left warming on the table. Everyone knew Marcus's marriage was crumbling, but nobody dared mention it. He was the sphinx of the office—enigmatic, dangerous, and prone to eating subordinates who got too close.

Lisa had been working late again, drowning in quarterly reports while her own relationship withered at home. Her husband Tom had stopped asking when she'd be home months ago. Now he just left dinner in the fridge, like payment for her absence. The office goldfish stared blankly from its bowl on Marcus's desk, its three-second memory a blessing Lisa envied.

"You in this time?" Marcus asked, appearing behind her. His hand lingered on her shoulder, thumb pressing into the knot of muscle between her neck and shoulder blade.

She should have moved away. Instead, she leaned into the touch. "For what?"

"The pool. Jennifer's leaving. Friday." His breath was hot against her ear. "Fifty says she files for divorce before the month ends."

Lisa turned, and something shifted between them—acknowledgment of all the late nights, the celebratory drinks that went too far, the way his eyes followed her across conference tables. She thought of Tom's silent dinners, the papaya rotting on the counter at home, her goldfish memory that forgot everything but the feeling of being wanted.

"I'll take that bet," she said, and Marcus smiled like he'd already won.