A Famous Affair

by K. B. Mallion

  A FAMOUS AFFAIR

  Published by K B Mallion

  Copyright 2014 K B Mallion

  All rights reserved

  Cover by Photografi

  First Edited by Hot Tree Editing

  Rewrite Edited by Karen at Barren Acres Editing

  Formatting by Integrity Formatting

  This book is for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be shared, resold or given away to other people. If you are reading a copy that has not been purchased or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting and supporting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and scenarios are products of the writers’ imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual event, locales or organisations is entirely coincidental.

  CONTENT WARNING

  For mature readers 18+

  Contains explicit sex scenes

  If you would like to use excerpts from this book. You can only do so with the consent of the author. Please email kbmallion@gmail.com

  Dedication

  Play List

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  For Rilette’s everywhere. . . . past, present and future

  Click on the song title to listen to the song on Spotify

  Can’t Get You Out of My Head - Kylie Minogue

  I’m No Angel - Dido

  Hurricane - MS MR

  If I Lose Myself - OneRepublic

  Gorilla - Bruno Mars

  Everywhere - Fleetwood Mac

  Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It - Will Smith

  Here With Me - Dido

  Adore U - Alisha’s Attic

  Unfaithful - Rihanna

  Numb - Portishead

  Moves Like Jagger - Maroon 5

  Everybody - Madonna

  Don’t Speak - No Doubt

  Don’t Say You Love Me - The Corrs

  Clouds - G K Thompson

  Explosions - Ellie Goulding

  Cry Me a River - Justin Timberlake

  Drunk - Ed Sheeran

  Paparazzi - Lady Gaga

  Feel Again - OneRepublic

  Fairytale of New York - The Pogues

  It’s The Most Wonderful Time of the Year - Andy Williams

  The Sea - Morcheeba

  Save Tonight - Eagle-Eye Cherry

  “Darling daughters of mine, do you think you could hurry up, please?” Damn it! Why is it that no matter how early I get up, I still find myself running around like a bloody lunatic?

  It is always a rush to get myself ready, get the kids ready, and be out the door on time for work. The time is already 8:00 a.m. I must be out the door, and soon, if I am to catch the train for 8:43 a.m. I cannot be late today!

  My husband, Shawn, and I have our life in the mornings down to a chaotic routine. I work three days a week while he works from home as a freelance sports writer. Sometimes my job as a purchasing manager for an online toy retailer, involves staying away overnight. My job entails a lot of going up and down the country to conventions, meetings with wholesalers, and many gift trade-shows; trying to get the most competitively priced toys, but I absolutely love it.

  The three days I work are hectic, challenging, and can be bloody stressful. But, I relish in it. It gives me a sense of purpose and helps me feel independent. I adore being a mum, but it can be monotonously mind numbing when it’s all you ever do: staying home, cooking, cleaning, and washing . . . day in and day out.

  Working allows me that all important me time; a little bit of Jessica Neel back. Of course, I still have to do all the cooking, cleaning, and washing, but it is no longer all I ever do.

  It was after having our second daughter; that I decided to give up work to concentrate on being there for our girls. I truly cherished those moments as a stay at home mum. However, as time went on, I knew I was nearly ready to get back into the work saddle. Yet, as most mums often do, when they take a career break, I had lost my confidence and my identity.

  So at the ages of nine and seven, when I knew the girls were at a more independent age, I began to put the feelers out for a job. Fortunately, an old friend of mine, Lydia Mason, had set up her own online toy shop. She asked me to work for her, so I did. I honestly haven’t looked back since. I love my job and now have a wonderful, healthy balance of home and work.

  Our gorgeous daughters, Lissy, who is fourteen, and Lottie, who is twelve, are growing into beautiful young ladies. However, as much as I love them, they are indeed a real pain in my motherly ass when getting ready for school; this morning is certainly no different.

  It is just as well that both Shawn and I are there to hurry up the girls, ensuring that they both get to school on time.

  I am busy readying myself, as well as checking that Shawn knows what he is cooking for tea tonight, all the while making cheese salad sandwiches for the girls to put into their lunch boxes. My hair is still wet and I am trying to find my briefcase that I always take to work with me. It is multi-tasking at its bloody finest.

  “Shawn, have you seen my briefcase? I was sure I left it in the living room, by the side of the chair, but now it’s gone,” I ask with a perplexed frown.

  He smiles as he puts a spoonful of cornflakes into his mouth. “I placed it by your overnight bag, so you don’t forget it.” Shawn has a fresh-faced look about him, having just showered. His dark brown hair almost looks a glossy black, his blue eyes are bright and warm, and his olive skin is dewily desirous. He still looks like the handsome young man I met eighteen years ago. We were best friends back then, and still are. He loves me and looks after me. We married at the age of twenty and when our daughters came along they completed our lives. Our love has grown almost routine; but it is safe, nurturing, and constant.

  “What would I do without you?” I affectionately ask.

  With his mouth full, I hear an amused muffle, “Probably forget your bloody briefcase.”

  I seductively approach him, placing my arms across his damp shoulders, and kissing his full lips. He tastes of sugar and milk, and smells zestfully fragrant.

  “What’s that for?” Shawn asks with a raised brow.

  “Can’t I kiss my lovely husband, especially as I won’t see him tonight?”

  “Well, if you put it like that, come here.” Shawn pulls me closer, passionately kissing me. His sweet lips feel cold from the milk, but his mouth is hot and welcoming.

  “Ewww gross . . . get a room, you two.” Lissy’s face is screwed up in disgust but
quickly softens into a teasing smile.

  “They weren’t snogging were they, Liss?” Lottie asks.

  “Yup.”

  “Glad I was upstairs, then.” she mumbles.

  I busily zip up their lunch boxes with a smile. “Now girls, remember I am not back until tomorrow. Make sure you do your homework first before any telly or if you go out, okay?”

  My comment is met with a bored but choral. “Yes, Mum.”

  “Right, I have to quickly dry my hair; my train leaves soon. I will see you gorgeous girls tomorrow.” I hurriedly kiss them both. I then rush upstairs to my bedroom, to frantically blow-dry my hair. My make-up is, thankfully, already done so I just need to style my hair. I brush it, sleek and glossy, with just a flirty little flick at the ends. I then rush back downstairs to give Shawn a quick, but loving cuddle. Jeez, thank fuck for deodorant! “I will call you later when I get to the hotel, okay?” I breathlessly tell him, wrapping my arm around his shoulder.

  Shawn returns my cuddle with a kiss and a sneaky pinch on my bum. “Okay, Babes,” he replies, with a playful wink and a cheeky smile.

  I am sitting here on the train, slightly bored. I can’t help but smirk to myself, thinking of Shawn, my loving and playful husband. I take out my mobile and tap out a message.

  Hey you

  Sat on the train, thinking about you ... do you want to do something tomorrow? We can either go out for a curry or we can just stay in? WINK WINK!

  Miss you already

  Jessica xxxx

  Almost instantaneously, I receive a reply.

  I’ll be staying in for the WINK WINK! Love from your very horny husband x

  Shawn still has that boyish, cheeky charm about him. Even after all these years, he never fails to make me laugh.

  Looking out of the window, I am almost hypnotized by the passing landscapes, mostly green foliage with trees and hedgerows upon the distant horizon. The gentle motion of the train carriage combined with the repetitive sound of the tracks begins to make me feel drowsy. I find train journeys so relaxing. They are a far cry from my life early this morning, before I left my house. To keep my, now dosey, self alert, I retrieve the briefcase by my side and quickly run through the list of clients whom Lydia and I will be meeting with later this afternoon.

  It would seem both meetings are merely to touch base with one another, a brief introduction of sorts. I am glad about that, I don’t want anything too challenging to crop up today. I am going to London and I want to sample some of its pleasures after the working part of the day is done.

  This is one of the biggest conventions being held in London on a yearly basis. Lydia is going to meet me at the swanky hotel it is being held in. This convention is a place where all the big companies from here and overseas, come to meet buyers and to network.

  This is the one time that Lydia gets to really push the boat out. Usually we stay in just your average three star hotel. But, as the conventions get bigger, year on year; so does the choice of venue. It is incredibly exciting and very indulgent to be staying at the five star, and very famous, Broadway Tower Hotel.

  I really do love London but only for a day or so; any longer and I crave home and its quieter pace of life. However for this trip, all the time that I am here, I very much intend to bask in all of its city glory. As they say, when in Rome!

  When in Rome, indeed! Lydia and I always like to treat ourselves, once we have the business side of things out of the way; it’s a great perk of the job having a friend for a boss. So I begin to daydream of maybe catching a show, a mini-spa, champers and a manicure . . . the list goes on!

  I don’t get long to indulge in my daydream because I soon notice that the train is nearing Paddington, so I quickly close my briefcase and grab my bags. Here I come, London!

  I hail a taxi. A friendly-faced man, who funnily looks a little like Eric Morecambe, is leaning towards the rolled down window on his passenger side to talk to me.

  “Where are you needing to go, Miss?”

  “The Broadway Tower please?” I ask with a broad smile.

  “No problem.”

  Placing my bags into the footwell, I carefully step into the black cab. I feel relieved to be leaving behind the hustle bustle of Paddington. I am so nervous, yet extremely, excited to be meeting Lydia.

  I feel around in my handbag for my small vanity mirror to quickly check on my appearance. My naturally light-brown, mid-length hair is straight, yet softly sexy with that little kick at the ends. My pale blue eyes are shining; and thankfully, bag-free and my cheeks look attractively flushed. I just need to reapply my plum lip-gloss, but all in all, I don’t look too bad after all that travelling. I carefully trace the lip-gloss around my peachy lips, rubbing my lips together, doing a little pout back at my reflection.

  “You’ll do, miss.” The taxi driver is smiling from his car mirror; as soon as our eyes make contact, he gives me a little wink.

  Embarrassed yet flattered, I smile back. “Why, thank you,” I coyly reply. After our friendly, but brief conversation, I sit quietly in the back, watching central London pass me by in a busy blur. To say I am just a little excited; is a bit of an understatement!

  After a short journey, the jovial taxi driver turns to face me. “Okay miss, here we are.” I pay the fare and step out of the taxi, clutching my bags like some kind of comfort blanket.

  The Broadway Tower definitely has the wow factor . . . like really WOW!

  I have yet to go inside. I just need to take a moment to fully appreciate The Broadway’s beauty from the outside. With wide eyes and an open mouth, I soak in the 1930’s contemporary architecture; breathtaking in its grand design. After getting my fix of the magnificent view before me, I suck in a deep and calming breath before nervously walking through the main entrance. Once again, my breath is taken away. The main foyer is truly stunning with crisp white walls and ice white, marble floors. There are inviting seating areas with bold, black leather sofas and chairs, while the bar is softly lit, exuding a sultry hue. The main reception desk is a moulded oval, again in white, glossy marble.

  I stand in amongst the opulence and beauty, feeling small and unworthy to be in a place so devastatingly beautiful.

  I approach the reception desk with almost an air of arrogance but inside I am feeling like an inferior, scared little girl. The lady behind the desk is in her mid-thirties, impeccably dressed in her dark blue blouse and black pencil skirt. Her brassy blonde hair is tied into a low neat bun. She really wouldn’t look out of place at Heathrow; she looks just like an air hostess. I smooth down my posh red dress. Thank God, I wore this beauty!

  My beloved dress delicately shows off my curves, being 50’s style, it looks timelessly classic. The outfit is superbly finished off with to-die-for, three-inch stiletto heels in scarlet red. However, a pep talk to my feeling-very-out-of-her-depth-self is still very much needed.

  I can do this. I really can do this! Okay, Jessica. You may feel like a complete fish out of water right now, but you, Jessica Neel, are looking shit fucking hot!

  The receptionist greets me with a big courteous smile, “May I help you, madam?”

  “Hello, my name is Jessica Neel. I have come to check in. My boss booked the room, Lydia Mason?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Neel. Miss Mason has, indeed, checked in already,” The air-hostess look-a-like stares at the screen for a moment. “I will get your key for you, I will be just a moment.” I watch her disappear into a small room. She quickly returns with a key in her willowy hands. “There you are Mrs. Neel, room 17A is on the 2nd floor. Have you stayed at The Broadway before?”

  “No, I haven’t,” I answer. Oh, shit, am I really that obvious as someone who doesn’t frequent posh hotels very often?

  The helpful receptionist points with her long arm and statuesque finger. “Well, if you walk to the end of the foyer, you will see the lifts. If you prefer, you can take the stairs which are on the right side of the lifts.”

  “Thank you, very much.” I smile weakly.

/>   “Enjoy your stay, Mrs. Neel.”

  I hold the key tightly in my hand. I can’t help but feel relieved to have checked in. It will be nice to see Lydia, instead of the sea of strange faces I see everywhere I look.

  I press the button. Thankfully, the lift doors open straight away. Stepping in, the lift is wall-to-wall with mirrors. I am trying not to look too much at my reflection, but when I do, I see an almost smiling very relieved, but smug face looking back at me.

  I am once again thinking about what to do after the afternoon’s meetings are all done. There is just so much to do here at The Broadway Tower and in London itself. I could maybe go to a theatre or a nice little restaurant. Maybe use the hotel’s spa and have a wonderful back massage. So many important decisions! What is a girl to do?

  The lift doors open, I quickly step out. As I turn to see which way my room is, I walk straight into someone with such force, that I nearly lose my footing. I quickly try to regain my balance. I really don’t want to fall over in my to-die-for heels, all the while apologising profusely to the person that I have unfortunately just collided with.

  When I finally do look up, my stomach feels like I am on a ridiculously fast fairground ride. My mind is screaming at me. It’s Jonny Riley! Oh, shit! I have nearly knocked Jonny bloody Riley off his feet! SHIT!

  Jonny Riley is the nation’s sweetheart. Actor, presenter, and a UK celebrity A-lister . . . and I have only just gone and bloody bumped into him . . . hard!

  He looks even more handsome in the flesh than he does on the telly. I feel mortified, embarrassed, and need to apologise . . . again. All of a sudden this huge, muscular bit of testosterone of a bodyguard, grabs my arm, roughly pulling me to the side.

  “Stand back love, and don’t touch please.” He glares down at me.

  I stand for a second, feeling just like a naughty little girl. I look up at the massive bodyguard, who has just so rudely manhandled me, then back at Jonny Riley, who weakly smiles. The anger begins to take a hold of me. Before I am able to control it, the words have already left my furious mouth. “Now just you hang on a minute, who the hell do you think you are? I admit I wasn’t quite looking as to where I was going as I came out of the lift, but I can assure you, I am quite capable of keeping my bloody hands to myself. I am not some silly little teenager who will throw herself at any celebrity she just so happens to meet, you know? I am thirty-six-years-old and married with kids. How dare you speak to me like that?” I feel almost breathless after my feisty rant.