She paused her relentless second-guessing and checked the clock. Hubby was almost home.
She knew he’d march in, demand dinner and then disappear into his office for the rest of the evening.
But tonight, he’d be in for a surprise.
The settings on his expensive office chair had been adjusted slightly. There’d be light polish streaks on his antique mahogany desk and the faint odor of cigarette smoke lingering in the usually pristine air would be unmistakable.
It was an act of childish rebellion, but she was tired of being a maid.
For once she’d like to be a wife.
The Weekday One Hundred 