Bent not Broken Read Online Free PDF Page A

late this morning. And it’s not going to happen again. I don’t want it to happen—”
    “Cathy, shut up and listen to the HBIC. Go have dinner with these people, get drunk, eat shrimp or something that’s supposedly an aphrodisiac, then go home and fuck your hubby. All your issues are because you are not getting enough at home. If Ben were my husband, I seriously would be hitting that as often as he felt like it which is apparently pretty often. By the way, I didn’t mean to pry into your business, but when you arrived late this morning you looked so flushed that I thought you had a fever. I only asked because I was concerned for my top employee.”
    Okay, that was funny.
    “That’s because I’m your favorite sales coordinator. And what in the world does HBIC mean?”
    “Head Bitch In Charge, luvah…”
    We both laugh at that. Amy, the red headed minx, is a spitfire of a woman with no shame. She is thirty-eight years old, twice divorced, and a force of nature. She has the balls that a lot of men lack, curses like a sailor, loves sex, younger men, and she uses her drop-dead gorgeous looks to her advantage...always. Seriously, that woman has perfected that swaying-your-hips-as-you-walk kind of thing.
    “Alright, HBIC, should I take them to the Ritz for dinner?” I ask, smiling into the phone.
    “Yes, darling. When you get there, let them know that you are Bruno’s party. They should take you right to the best table available. And please, Cathy, play nice and use those green eyes of yours with the wife. She’s probably the kind of woman who whines if her foie gras isn’t cooked properly.”
    “Amy, I’ve got this. Why do you think you pay me the big bucks except to do my job, and do it right. I’m sorry I complained before. Too much going on.”
    “I know, but this is a big deal, honey. Bruno just bought the chain, and I need you to be more than your usual perfectionist self. This could mean we both get promotions. And you know how I feel about your marriage. If you would just tell Ben how you feel, a lot of pain could be saved,” she says, sighing deeply.
    “Yeah, yeah. It’s easier said than done, but don’t worry. I will take care of Mrs. Stepford Wife and their child as if they were my own in-laws.”
    “Well, in that case we’re all good,” Amy answers, laughing.
    Hearing the loud noise of engines, I turn to look at the dark sky when I see the jet coming into view, “Amy, I’ve got to go. The jet is about to land. Wish me luck. Hopefully I won’t disappoint you.”
    “You would never disappoint me, girl. Go get them, hot stuff.”
    Ending the call, I laugh at myself. I don’t know why Amy insists on calling me hot stuff when I’m pretty average looking; straight blonde hair, green eyes, slightly too thick lips, and a skinny body. Petite to the tee.
    Robert, the driver, gets out of the limousine and comes to stand next to me. Yelling over the noise, he says, “Well, Mrs. Stanwood, let’s hope this new boss of ours is a good guy.”
    I look at Robert and smile. “I hope so, Robert. We don’t want to work more than we already do, right?”
    As the jet approaches us, I think back to what Amy said about not having enough sex with Ben being the root of our issues.
    I wish it were that simple.
    Sex is not a problem. Love isn’t either. I love Ben as much as the first time we said those three beautiful words to each other, but as each baby was taken away from my body by fate, by life, a part of me died and was buried with them in the cold-hard ground. The first miscarriage ripped a painful hole inside of me, the second one widened it, and the third just about broke me.
    Time has fed that hole with inevitable boredom, monotony, and resentment towards life, Ben, and myself for not being woman enough. Enter doubt, and what you thought was an already rocky ride becomes a turbulence-ridden journey with no relief in sight except for the end.
    The very end.
    Doubts. They seep into your bloodstream,