6

MARIAH

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‘Thank you so much to whoever bought me these!’ I say as I look up from the box of chocolates I have just unwrapped and at the faces of my employees. ‘They look delicious, and I can’t wait to tuck into them.’

I have no idea who had the great idea to buy these for me, which is the whole point of the game, but whoever it was, they have done a great job. Christmas is no time to be starting a diet, so I will open these chocolates and eat them guilt-free very shortly, maybe even as soon as I get back to my desk. But first, I want to see that the person who I bought a gift for likes their present too.

I watch my husband carefully as he unwraps his gift, but given the shape of it, there must be little mystery in his mind as to what it could be. There aren’t many things that are shaped like a wine bottle, and sure enough, as he sees it, he smiles to show he is pleased but not surprised. Then he looks at me because he has guessed who got it for him. But he’s sensible enough to keep up the pretence of the game in front of our colleagues.

‘This is brilliant. Thank you so much to whoever my Secret Santa was,’ he declares with a wide smile, and I know I’ll have to make do with him thanking me privately when we are back in the privacy of our office.

I look around then to see if everybody else has finished unwrapping their gifts, and it seems like they have. Then I make a quick check under the Christmas tree to ensure there are no unclaimed gifts still lying under there. But below the tree is bare, which means the game has gone off without a hitch, and now everybody is the proud owner of their present. But perhaps proud is not quite the right word for some people because I notice that a few of the presents are on the ‘jokey’ side. Like the pair of handcuffs that one of my male employees, Bobby, has opened, which must be an in-joke between him and whichever colleague got them for him. Or the Hawaiian shirt that Jose in Marketing has just unwrapped, which causes him to laugh and make reference to it being a reminder of a bad night out he had once.

Some of the gifts are useful, some are just cheesy, but all in all, it looks like everybody has had a good time here, so that’s the main thing.

Everybody except Brenda.

I notice she is looking at me with a very sullen expression, though she quickly averts her gaze when she catches me, before following a few of her colleagues to catch the next elevator. That’s not the first time I’ve caught her staring at me this week, though I still don’t know what might be causing her eyes to linger on me.

‘Chocolate and wine. It looks like we both did well,’ I hear Michael triumphantly say as he sidles up beside me. ‘I guess we can’t drink alcohol during working hours, but I do hope you are planning on opening those chocolates when we get back to our desks.’

He is eagerly eyeing up my sweet treats, so I guess I’ll be sharing them with him shortly.

‘Come on, let’s get back to work,’ I tell him, as I pick up a few stray pieces of wrapping paper that have fallen onto the reception floor, before we follow the last of our colleagues heading back to work.

When we return to our floor, I hear the office ablaze with excited chatter, and it makes me smile because it’s another strong sign that the game was a success. Rather than everybody quietly and methodically getting on with their work, they are talking about the gifts and showing their co-workers what they got, and that’s nice to see because it all builds team morale. I make a mental note to definitely play the same game with them all next year, and not just because somebody gave me chocolates. Then I re-enter my office, following behind my cheerful husband.

‘I guess a thank you is in order,’ he says to me as he opens the drinks fridge he tactically had installed in here when this office became ours.

‘A thank you?’ I reply as I watch him put his bottle of wine into the fridge.

‘There’s no need to keep up the charade,’ Michael says with a laugh. ‘It was you who bought me the wine, right? I mean, who else would know it’s my favourite kind?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I try, but the wry grin on my face ends the last bit of pretence I was holding on to, and Michael knows it.

‘Thank you. I look forward to drinking it,’ he says before taking a seat behind his desk. ‘Just like I look forward to trying one of those chocolates in a moment.’

I walk over to my desk, the chocolates still in my hand, and as I sit down, I’m preparing to open them and share them with my hungry husband. But just before I tear into the box, I notice an envelope sitting on my keyboard. It wasn’t there when I left to go downstairs, so somebody must have put it here.

‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you some bad news,’ Michael says suddenly, causing me to look up from the mysterious envelope. ‘But I’m hoping the chocolates will cheer you back up once I’ve told you.’

‘What is it?’

‘I’m going to have to work late tonight,’ Michael replies with a sorry shrug. ‘It’s that report. It needs to be done by Monday morning, but I still have quite a bit of work left to do on it. I either work late tonight or take it home for the weekend, but I’d rather just get it finished today and then I’m free to enjoy the weekend with you. Is that okay?’

It doesn’t sound ideal, but it is plausible. I know that report’s deadline is Monday morning, and I know how much Michael hates work taking over his Saturdays and Sundays, so I guess I have to agree.

‘That’s a shame. I was thinking we could have gone out for dinner tonight,’ I say, ruing the loss of the Italian food I was hoping we could have both shared this evening.

‘Maybe tomorrow night,’ Michael says as he types something on his laptop. ‘I’ll get my work done tonight, and then we have all weekend to eat great food and drink some wine together.’

That sounds better than nothing, and working late is unfortunately just a part of the process sometimes when we’re the boss.

‘How about I stay back with you, and we can work on it together?’ I suggest. ‘That should speed it up, right?’

‘No, it’s okay. No point both of us losing our Friday night. I’ll be fine by myself. You go home and relax. Watch a movie. You deserve a rest after this week.’

Michael gives me the same charming smile that he has flashed me multiple times since we first met, and it’s an expression that always makes me feel good, so I leave the conversation there and accept it for what it is.

That means my thoughts can return to the envelope on my desk, and I pick it up before opening it. Michael is busy typing away, so he doesn’t stop to ask me what it is that I’m looking at, which is good, because for a moment after opening it, I’m not even sure what it is that I’m looking at myself.

It’s a photo, but it takes me a few seconds to realise who is in it and what they are doing.

It’s Michael, and he’s with Nat. He has his arm around her shoulders, and she has her arm around his waist. They appear to be standing at a hotel reception desk. And they look very, very close.

I look up at my husband as if to ask him what the hell this is. But before the question can leave my mouth, the words catch in my throat and no words escape. That’s because I’m suddenly too shocked, and afraid, to ask him what is going on in the next photo.

It’s also because I don’t need to ask him.

It’s obvious to anybody who looks at this image what is going on here.

My husband is having an affair with one of our employees.

Is that why he seems so happy to stay back in the office tonight? Is she staying here with him? How long has this been going on behind my back? Under my nose? In this very office?

The questions flood my mind before another one rises up and takes hold at the top of the pile.

Who took these photos and left them on my desk for me to find?

Who wanted me to know about this affair?

Who in this office has just given me the gift of knowledge this Christmas?