by Kat T. Masen
The Marriage Rival
Kat T. Masen
Contents
Note to reader
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Next to read
Other books by Kat T.Masen
Connect with the author
About the Author
The Marriage Rival
Kat. T. Masen
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organisations or places is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the Author. All songs, song titles and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
Disclaimer: The material in this book contains graphic language and sexual content and is intended for mature audiences, ages 18 and older.
Editing by Swish Design & Editing Formatting by Swish Design & Editing
Cover design by Sarah from OPIUM HOUSE Creatives Cover image Copyright 2021
Second Edition Copyright © 2021 Kat T. Masen All Rights Reserved.
Note to reader
Once upon a time, there was a #Jerk. Haden, as he is best known, who was bored and enjoyed antagonizing his co-worker—Presley.
They fought and fought.
And fought some more.
Some called them office rivals.
Until one night, they fought so hard they
‘accidentally’ screwed each other in an alley outside a club.
Alcohol was blamed, poor judgment on both parts, and nine months later—along came baby.
This is the story of The Office Rival formerly known as #JERK.
It is strongly recommended you read this book first to get a true feel of just how much of a jerk Haden Cooper truly is. How a work-place rendezvous is never a good idea unless, of course, you plan to fall in love and live happily ever after.
Haden and Presley lived happily ever. Kind of.
Um... okay sort of.
Trigger Warning
This book deals with pregnancy loss. While I understand that this may not be a trigger for many of you, for me, it certainly is. Perhaps, you could say, I experienced everything Presley went through. And because of that, I want to warn everyone gently, knowing pregnancy loss affects many women in varying ways.
Grief is something we all process differently, and for me, writing this book helped me heal through what was a difficult time.
I’m not sure we mothers genuinely recover, but I sure count my blessings every day. Grateful to be supported by family, friends, and of course, you—my beautiful reader.
Prologue
Haden
Five Years Ago…
“I need you to listen to me.”
David removed his reading glasses, rubbing both his eyes while trying his best to diffuse the heated argument, which had erupted between us due to my so-called work ethic.
“I love your mother, and I promised her you would somehow get your act together. But I also have a business to run, you understand?” Clearing his throat, the weight of his stern gaze laid firmly on my uninterested face across the table until he slammed his fist on the wood with frustration. “Pull your goddamn head out of the sand, Haden!”
I could see right through him. Mom could have done so much better. David treated her okay, but I was over this bullshit. I was twenty-six. It was a bit too late for the pep talk, dear stepfather.
“You’ve got talent, why you’re wasting away on frivolous activities like partying in Ibiza is beyond me. At your age…”
It was time to tune out. Got to love the whole at-your-age speech. I stared at him, blankly, nodding my head occasionally but sitting in complete and utter boredom. My expensive Rolex, a recent gift to myself, sat nicely on my wrist. My eyes darted over the time on my watch. Gee, it was almost lunchtime.
Eat from the Japanese place next block over, the girl working there is sexy as fuck.
It felt like an eternity, and David was still lecturing me, including his classic tale of how he worked hard and got to his position as Publisher at Lantern Publishing. How his father never lent him a dime. All the hours he spent churning away to be the greatest he could be without a lending hand.
He wasn’t my fucking dad, and kudos to him for trying to replace him, but Dad was fucking gone. No man could replace him.
And David needed to stop trying.
Ibiza was the perfect getaway. Hot women at my beck and call, begging to be fucked hard to escape some sort of mid-life crisis. Young and old but the same old bullshit—drink all day, party all night, get laid by some hussy claiming she’s never had a pierced dick in her.
It got old… real fast.
“We have a few projects you can work on. The Henderson Group is planning a sci-fi series. You enjoy sci-fi, don’t you?" David stared directly at me again, waiting for some sort of response.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
“Or maybe you want to work with our romance authors? It’s our biggest financial investment and paying off quite nicely.”
Romance? The guy had lost his fucking old-person marbles. I couldn’t think of anything more mind-numbing than reading a romance novel. Woman meets rich billionaire. Man treats her like trash then fucks her with his big dick. Then man realizes he’s in love with said woman. Drum roll for the predictable ending—woman gets knocked up, and they live happily ever after.
Another hour passed by and more repetitive mundane you’ve-got-potential-son talk.
The moment he finished, I hightailed my ass out of there, not to get caught any longer, back to the sanctity of my cubicle, so I could finish watching this moto Grand Prix race I was in the middle of before he called me over.
Back at my desk, I leaned on my elbows and covered my face, drowning out the sound of David’s voice. He’d hit a nerve. Sure, I had no fucking clue what I was doing with my life. Days go past like one giant blur. Drunken nights and getting high on weed my cousin, Marcus, brought over. The only thing that brought me an ounce, okay maybe more than an ounce, of joy was playing the stock market. I had some nice wins recently, and my bank account was looking fucking solid.
“Oy, Cooper.” Russ, an intern, wheeled his chair over, stopping right beside me. The dude needed some deodorant, stat. I scrunched my nose, not immune to the body odor lingering as he shoved a Butterfinger in his mouth in one bite. The guy was a goddamn grub—dirty fingernails, and scraggy blond hair which could use some sort of product. I prided myself on wearing an ironed shirt each day, but this fucker, his shirt looked as if it was purchased from a clearance rack in Walmart. And don’t get me started on his pants, they were way too short.
“I’m got some interesting news for you,” he whispered, scanning the area a
round us.
“You finally got laid by someone other than your sister?”
“My sister’s hot, you wish you could fuck her,” Russ raised his voice, his bad breath lingered. He looked around again as if he’s about to tell me a government-kept secret. “Word in the office is your Ice Queen is officially single.”
I stopped mid-bite, placing the pen I had been chewing down on the table. The fucker got my attention, all right. Evidently, Russ was not quiet enough. Sergio, another colleague, caught wind of the conversation.
“Nice.” Sergio nodded, a sleazy smile following. “Maybe she’ll give up that sweet pussy of hers now. I fucking nearly blew my load yesterday when she leaned over my desk to show me something, and I saw her tits in a white-lace bra. Fuck me. Pounded a hard one last night.”
These immature assholes were fucking me right off. My teeth bore down, grinding from the anger building up inside of me. The room became uncomfortably hot, and beneath my freshly dry-cleaned Armani shirt, sweat had built up all over my chest and under my arms.
I imagined what it felt like to sucker-punch Sergio in the face, feel the pressure of my knuckles against his big-ass nose.
Calm. The. Fuck. Down.
Who the fuck are you to judge?
You’ve jerked off to her more than you care to admit.
There was something about her. Something I refused to even admit to myself.
“You’ve got no chance,” I sneered, controlling my temper. “Your tiny Italian dick couldn’t even fuck a fag’s ass.”
“Slow on the comeback. Must be losing your game, Cooper.” Sergio pulled his wallet out, casually opened the flap, and counted his money. “You wish you had a dick as big as mine. Everyone knows Italians are better lovers. But hey, I’ll put my money where my mouth is. One hundred bucks and bets are my mouth will be on her sweet pussy within the month.”
I laughed unwillingly. “One hundred bucks? I blow that on lunch. Five hundred bucks, and I land there before the end of the week."
“You think you can fuck Ice Queen before the end of the week?” Sergio turned to Russ, they both laughed in unison. “Game on. Best five hundred bucks I’ll ever earn.”
Fuck. What had I done?
I may have been able to get any woman I wanted, but Presley Malone was in a different league. My forbidden fantasy since the day I stepped into this office. She hated me, that much was clear, flaunting her stupid engagement ring like it was some sort of prize.
But now I had free reign.
The ante had been upped, and no way in hell would Sergio get his dirty little hands on her.
The Ice Queen would soon be mine.
One
Haden
The dictionary defines a jerk as a contemptibly foolish person.
That’s being nice.
And nice isn’t something I do.
Give me something in return, and maybe I can play nice.
You see, guys like me, we don’t just exist because we play by the rules. I run Lantern Publishing, one of the largest publishing groups on the West Coast. Holding the position of Publisher means I have responsibilities. Shareholders invest their money into company stock, aiming for a return on their investment. It is my duty to ensure we perform, and our numbers have surpassed the previous year’s due to an organizational restructure and cost-cutting in a few departments.
Okay, so sometimes I play the nice boss, you know, just to get those fuckers to haul ass and meet deadlines. I throw in some perks, make it look like I care when, in reality, my ass is always on the line, and I have targets to meet. Come crying to me one more time about your personal shit, and you’re out the fucking door.
Where I clearly fail at being nice is at home, according to my wife, Presley. And all those times she promises me some sweet pussy, but what a disappointment that turns out to be.
I got what I wanted from life because I don’t give a damn.
About anyone or anything.
All right, I’ll admit that’s a bit harsh.
I’m not that jerk anymore.
I’m a father. A role model to my four-year-old son, Masen. This kid is my life. I wouldn’t exist without him. He’s a mini-me in every way—something that drives Presley ridiculously insane.
Oh, and I’m married to a bitch.
I still want to have fun. I mean, for fuck’s sake, I’m only in my early thirties. I’ve passed the twenties and still have a wild animal inside of me ready to be unleashed. This life is not for me. Dinner parties on Friday nights and yoga on a Saturday morning. I saw a brochure on our kitchen table the other morning to join some scrapbooking club. I have no fucking idea what scrapbooking is, but it sounds like the most annoying thing ever.
I’m bored, and I need a new challenge. Something to keep me occupied.
Our office is one giant playground. I dubbed myself the school bully, and the bitch is my target. It’s her own fault, though. Before her, I’d never met a woman so fucking uptight you would need a whole army to pull the giant stick out of her ass.
But what a fucking ass.
Perky, with that round bounce which makes a terrific sound when you slap it with your palm. Fuck, my dick is hard just thinking about it.
But that is beside the point. Way beside the point.
Actually, no—that is the point.
Our marriage has turned into one monotonous episode. It’s all about work. And granted, I love my job and am just as driven as she is, but I just want more of her.
We argue all the time. Careless words have been thrown around such as ‘sex maniac.’ Yeah, that’s what she calls me.
I never cared for her stubbornness, nor her obsessive need to have everything clean and orderly. Like who fucking cares if my socks are in rows of white and black? Socks are socks. I still remember our first argument over it. The night ended with me using one of the socks and shoving it in her mouth to shut her up. Fuck, she looked sexy, though, and even better when she was lying on her back, and I was fucking her, legs spread in the air.
Focus.
Stop. Thinking. About. Her. Naked.
Four years together, and she still hasn’t changed.
I loathe the way she answers every question like a pompous know-it-all bitch. She easily goes out of her way to prove me wrong. What irks me most is the way she parades around the office with her nose stuck up in the air. Miss I’m-Too-Good-For-All-You-Juveniles-So-I’m-Going-To-Act-Like-A-Fucking-Grandma. You would think she would leave that persona at the office. I wish. Last night she rejected my need to be inside her because the final episode of The Bachelor was on, and she wanted to know who won.
Excuse me, the show is about some dude trying to get copious amounts of pussy by pretending he’s really looking for the one. Never mind the fact that the ladies in the office are forever wasting precious company time by arguing who should have stayed or gone. Presley is the worst offender among them.
I still remember the days in the office when she would parade that ring on her finger like some damn accomplishment, and it drove me fucking crazy.
Then it happened—the day that ring no longer taunted me because I was the one who put it on her finger.
Women everywhere told me that this would be the best time of my life. That life doesn’t truly start until you say, ‘I do.’ But men had other things to say—get used to jerking off because you’re going to get less sex than you did when you were single. I thought it was a joke. Like seriously, I’m in bed every night with the most beautiful woman who happens to be my wife. I can have her whenever I want to.
Screw jerking off, right?
Wrong.
Presley Cooper is a cold, hard bitch.
She knows it, I know it, and I’m not afraid to tell her to her face. It’s one of the reasons she stormed out of my office only moments ago, red-faced.
And it left me as a hard as a fucking rock.
It’s exactly the challenge I need.
And I don’t intend to play nice.
It
isn’t payback, and it isn’t vindictive.
It will be clean, harmless fun.
Fuck that—it’ll be dirty fun.
There is only one way to get her attention, just one way for her to finally notice I exist. I have to make her life in the office a living hell, again. Push all the right fucking buttons.
According to her, if it walks like a jerk and talks like a jerk, then I am a jerk.
But I understand the meaning of ‘jerk’ a little differently. I’m going to be a selfish, manipulative, insensitive asshole luring her in by playing Mr. Nice Guy only to give her a false sense of hope and leave her cursing the day I was born.
Game on, honey.
Two
Presley
There are moments in your life when you try to have it all together. You keep pushing through the nagging feeling which slowly eats away at you each day. You ignore it, drink more coffee, and pray you’ll wake up with this new outlook on life with the stamina of a wild stallion.
Yet deep inside, you know it’s all pointing to that ugly moment when you fall apart. The moment you realize you’re failing everywhere.
That’s me.
It’s been almost four years since this journey began. The journey of motherhood and marriage. Life has taken this crazy turn after we had Masen. We moved to Los Angeles, California, a wise move since my sister lives only a few blocks away and helped us so much with Masen.
We bought a home—a modest-size California bungalow with three bedrooms, two baths, and a decent size backyard for Masen to run around in. When we purchased the place, it needed some work. Haden is quite the handyman. However, between his stubborn ways refusing for anyone to touch his house and the long hours in the office, it feels like we’ve been renovating forever.
