by Cheri Wood
I go through the fridge and cupboards and decide to make dinner for my husband one last time. I even bake a pie. When Tom’s car pulls up outside, the table is set. The manila envelope I brought is placed to the right of his plate of macaroni and cheese. I sit calmly with my hands folded in my lap and wait for him to enter.
He stops in the doorway, staring at me. “Callie? You’ve come home?”
If he hadn’t been screwing around on me, I might have felt sorry for him. But he has and I don’t. “Have a seat,” I say, and he’s too stunned to object. His gaze lands on the envelope almost immediately.
“What’s this?” he asks, his tone making it clear he’s pretty sure he already knows.
“Go ahead, take a look,” I say. I know what he’s going to find. Apart from the divorce papers granting me 50 percent of everything, there’s a second envelope.
“You’re fucking kidding me!” he exclaims, throwing the divorce papers at me. “In what world do you deserve 50 percent of what I own?”
“Go on and look inside the other envelope. I’m sure it’ll clear things up.” I watch as he rips it open and pours out the incriminating photos.
Amber stuck her neck out for me getting the surveillance footage of Tom, Rob and Sam having their way with Trish, and I can only hope I never have to use them. From the look on Tom’s face, I know I won’t.
“Where did you get these?” he asks, sounding downright terrified.
“That’s not important, is it? What is important is that your parents never see them – or anyone at the firm, for that matter. I think giving me what is rightfully mine without a fight is a small price to pay, don’t you? Take some time, think it over. You can file the papers at your convenience.” I leave the paperwork in a neat pile and head for the door. “Have a nice life, Tom. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
It may sound fake that I would wish him well, but I do actually mean it. Yes, I’m angry with him for the wasted years and the betrayal, but I could have left him sooner. I can’t pretend to be innocent in all this. I made my choices, Tom made his, and it brought us to different places in life. You never know what direction life will take you. You just have to roll with the waves and duck the punches as best you can. If I hadn’t joined Gold Club Staffing, I might never have gotten to know Nick the way I eventually did – he might just have been another of Tom’s business contacts that I had a pleasant conversation with once upon a time.
Life is too short to be lived with regrets. Did I make the best choices that led me to where I am today? Probably not. In some cases, definitely not. But I learned a great deal about myself and about relationships. For the first time, I truly get the importance of honesty. Nick knows my darkest secrets, and I know his. If we can accept each other for our flaws, then maybe we’ve got something to build on. I choose to believe that, anyway.
EPILOGUE
Three years later
“So, what do you think?” Nick asks me, sliding over the blueprints he’s been poring over for hours.
“Babe, you know I suck at this sort of thing,” I yawn and stretch on the couch. “That’s why you have a whole department of engineers.”
“Come on, you know I trust you more than anyone on my staff.”
“Is that so?” I roll onto my side, facing him. He’s looking delicious as always, and scruffy, too. Late nights work for him. I, on the other hand, need my beauty sleep. “Then why am I so horribly underpaid, huh?”
“Well, even I can’t afford to pay what you’re really worth. Besides, that book deal of yours is going to make you stinking rich all on your own.”
“Yeah, baby,” I tease him, “maybe I’ll be your sugar mama. If you’re good.”
“I’m always good. Now, Mrs. Astor, if you’d be so kind as to glance at these blueprints and give your honest opinion, I’d really appreciate it.”
“So demanding,” I click my tongue at him but heave myself into a sitting position nonetheless, reaching for the schematics. “Okay, what am I looking at?”
“You tell me.”
I frown, trying to make out what the lines and boxes and numbers mean. “It’s a house.”
“Very perceptive.”
“Shut up. Okay, it’s a big house with a lot of rooms. Bedroom, guest room, kitchen, bathrooms, office, living room, library, another guest room? But what’s that?” I ask, pointing at a hand drawn rectangular form in the second guest room.
“It’s the crib. What do you think? Should we place it somewhere else?”
“Crib?” I look up at him and find him smiling. “Are you serious?”
“I got the call this morning,” he grins. “I tried to find the perfect way to tell you.”
“So you did it in blueprints,” I shake my head, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re such a nerd.”
“You still haven’t told me what you think.”
“I love it. When?”
“The house should be finished just in time. Our baby girl is going to love it. I’m thinking pink. What do you say?”
“It’s a girl?” I feel my eyes tear up. To think the idea of adopting never entered my mind while I was with Tom, and marrying Nick made all the difference. Maybe it’s because I feel like we’re a team in a way that Tom and I never were.
“Yeah. The referral describes her as healthy and curious. The agency sent us a picture,” he says and reaches behind him to grab a folder. He comes over to sit down beside me as he hands it over. I gasp as I see our baby girl for the first time.
“Nick, she’s beautiful,” I whisper. He hugs me and apparently I’m sniffling. “When can we go and get her?”
“Next month. I’ve already booked the tickets.”
“I love you.”
“And I you,” he kisses me and I snuggle close. A few minutes later, he pulls away. “I’m going to make some tea. Do you want a cup?”
“Sure. I’ll just lounge here while you get to work,” I feign a yawn and lie back on the couch. Nick just shakes his head and heads for the kitchen.
I’m so tired, my eyes are closing. A buzzing sound makes me open them again to check my phone. I bite my bottom lip as I read the display, suddenly feeling much more alert.
Are you alone?
My husband is making tea, I type back.
Sounds like a great guy
I laugh. He is. Very modest, too.
Any chance you can get away for a few minutes?
A few minutes? I’m not sure that’ll be worth it.
“Callie?” Nick calls out.
“Yes?” I call back. It’s a good thing his office is deserted given how much shouting we do in these hallways. The receptionist only works part time, and I make up the rest of the hours – and the overtime. The rest of my days I spend writing.
“We’re out of herbal. I’m just going to run out and pick some up, all right?”
“Okay, babe,” I call back, grinning. Such a lame excuse. My phone buzzes as a door closes in the distance.
I’ll make it worth your while
Well, well, someone’s cocky. Where do you want me?
Everywhere. But let’s start with the office.
I feel a pang of arousal hit me right where it counts. Mine or my husband’s?
Already picturing your naked butt on the boss’ desk
I chuckle as I type my response. He only thinks he’s the boss.
Coming…
Thank you so much for reading this little novella, and I hope you enjoyed it. The Gold Club Staffing series is set to include five novellas and a few short stories along the way.
Read on for an excerpt from Trish’s story, “Tricky Business”, coming this summer.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. It’s about as clear a breach of contract as it can get. No meeting clients outside of conference rooms. No scheduling your own meetings. And definitely no pro-bono work. Despite all the warnings, here I am. In a little Italian restaurant on a dark side street in the heart of Manhattan, heading for the bathroom.
I pass Dex’s table without acknowledging him and hope that I’m inconspicuous enough. My ribbed dress is formfitting and with the air conditioning, I’d say it’s pretty obvious I’m not wearing any underwear. As someone who carries a fair bit of weight up top, that would be a definite faux-pas if I was here on any other kind of business.
As I shut the bathroom door behind me, I survey the small space. First order of business is to close the lid on the toilet. Second is to check my makeup in the stained mirror. Deciding I could be glossier, I dig out a little tube from my bag and apply. While I have my bag open, I fold up my Ray-Bans and slip them into their case.
I’m in the process of zipping up my bag when the door knob turns. For a split second I worry it’s one of the staff coming to check on me, but when I see Dex’s dark, curly hair, I relax. He steps inside and quickly locks the door behind him, looking paranoid and skittish.
“Hey,” I smile and reach out to put my hands on his chest. “You made it.”
“Yeah.” He swallows. “But I’m in a hurry. I can’t be gone long.”
“Sweetie, if we stay in here for more than five minutes, they’ll probably call the cops. So let’s get to it, shall we?”
I reach for his zipper and drag it down, then lower myself so that I’m squatting in front of him, at eyelevel with his crotch. There’s no way I’m getting down on my knees on this floor
He’s growing fast in my hand, and I wrap my glossy lips around him. He groans and digs his fingers into my hair. I bob my head up and down his shaft while massaging his balls.
“Your tits,” he groans. “I want to see them.”
I pull away and slide the straps off my shoulders, pulling down the dress so that my breasts are in plain view. I’d like to say they are all me, but there was a bit of Dr. Benji involved, too. Dex curses at the sight and I grab on to his cock again, this time squeezing the length between my breasts before I take the head back into my mouth. He comes hard and loud. So loud I’m grateful someone just dropped a set of dishes outside.
I rise, feeling the burn in my thighs – my personal trainer would be so proud – and pull my dress back into place. Dex is panting hard and I guide him to sit on the closed toilet lid.
“If we had more time,” I tell him, taking his hand and guiding it to my bare mound, “I’d ride you into oblivion. Give me a call if you’re interested in something like that.” I give him a smile and a wink and head out of the bathroom, discretely wiping my lips and making sure my gloss is in place.
