Mistaken Identity
by
Christopher Maddox
Copyright 2015 Christopher Maddox
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This work contains content including descriptive sexual acts. All characters in this work are eighteen years of age or older. This is a work of fiction intended for adults 18 and over only. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Acknowledgments
Editing and Proofreading by Gloria Thompson
I would like to thank Gloria for her tireless support in an effort to make my work as readable and error free as possible.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Free Excerpt
Additional Works
Chapter One
I should have been tired, exhausted actually. It had been a long but incredibly enjoyable day. It had started early because my lover had to attend a meeting that morning. Her meetings had decreased markedly since we met approximately two years prior. When I think back about how much my life had changed in the last two years, it was almost overwhelming.
The meeting had lasted longer than expected. She called me a little before noon and suggested that we meet in town for a quick bite to eat and then return home for some fun. I think she said something about needing to relax after a brutal morning of meetings. I had to chuckle because, although her meetings were occasionally long, they were never brutal. She wouldn’t have allowed it.
She was young and beautiful. And, well, I was lucky, very lucky, because I wasn’t young, and I sure as hell wasn’t beautiful.
After a late lunch, we spent the better part of the afternoon in bed. We had taken a little time out to have a light dinner at a small, water front bistro near her house. Then, we quickly returned home for dessert. After being together for two years and making love, for God only knows how many times, she was still virtually insatiable.
We made love one last time that evening. It was long and slow, mostly holding each other and cuddling with only an occasional deliciously-slow thrust deep within her. I remember her telling me that what she loved the most about our lovemaking was the closeness, the cuddling, and the long, sweet kisses.
Once we had finished, I snuggled up to her backside and draped my arm over her so I could hold her close. Apparently, she was as tired as I was because it wasn’t long before she was peacefully asleep and in her own special dreamland. Her breaths were slow and rhythmic, and she was at peace with the world.
I moved my hand to her lower tummy and rested it there. As I took a deep, relaxing breath and prepared myself to join her in her dreams, I softly squeezed the little pooch of skin that was just below her navel and rolled it gently between my thumb and forefinger. There wasn’t anything about her body that wasn’t sexy, and her little tummy was one of the sexiest, right behind the more obvious items. She stirred slightly, and I was afraid that I had disturbed her with my soft prodding and gentle rubbing. I still had a hard time keeping my hands off her. I held still in hopes that she would calm. She cooed quietly and nudged her bottom back into me.
That little coo and gentle nudge warmed my heart because it was involuntary and from her heart. I squeezed her ever so gently and kissed her shoulder. “I love you,” I whispered.
As I lay there, my mind wandered off, thinking about how lucky I was to have met her. I thought about the unusual set of circumstances that led up to her agreeing to go out with me in the first place. Hell, I was damned near old enough to be her father, I mused. So, instead of fading off to sleep, my mind drifted back to the first time we met.
I had flown to Seattle the night before and had just concluded a pleasant day of meetings with one of my oldest and largest clients. They were an internationally known, family-owned retailer of pet supplies. The old man wasn’t just a client; he was a friend, one that I had known for many years. They had outlets in every state of the country, and they were beginning to make inroads in Brazil and Europe.
I own a medium-size company in upstate New York, Albany actually, that had started out making doggie treats with one employee: me. Over the next twenty-five years, it has grown to the point where we now employ almost four hundred people including our own sales and distribution teams.
We now manufacture many kinds of dog food for all types and sizes of dogs. We also produce a specialized line of food that is dispensed directly from veterinary clinics for dogs with special dietary needs.
I don’t do much in the way of actual selling any longer. I have younger, more aggressive people for that. However, I still liked to visit a dozen or so clients that had stayed with me over the years. As I said, these people were more like friends than clients.
Actually, this particular trip had some real business attached to it. They wanted to discuss the possibility of my opening a manufacturing center, somewhere in Europe, to supply their growing market there. After spending the better part of the day with them, including a wonderful lunch on the waterfront, it had been decided to table that idea for a while.
I had assured them that if that’s what they needed, I would be happy to comply with their wishes. However, I felt I had to point out one thing, and it was that they would have to change their marketing strategy. It had always been their long-held claim that all of their products were made in America.
The founder of the company had stood up and pounded his fist on the table. “By God, Alex, that’s exactly what I have been telling everyone. These youngsters here seem to think that if we quietly switch our motto to ‘Made by American Manufacturers’, instead of ‘Made in America’, we would get away with it and save a fortune in transportation.”
I had smiled and nodded my head, knowing that someday my company would have to deal with those youngsters as he had called them. My only child Michael was not quite thirty, a Princeton graduate, and was second in command as vice president of operations.
“Well, by golly, Fred,” That was his name, Fred York. “They may very well be right, but it is a risk. I think that when your customers in London or Paris pick up a package of doggie treats and read ‘Made by American Manufacturers in Taiwan’, you are likely to get some pushback.”
“By God, Alex, I know you are right. It could be the biggest mistake in the history of this company.”
His grandson, the heir apparent to the company, raised his finger. “Grandfather, in deference to our marketing team, why don’t we hire an independent research firm and have them do a marketing study for us? It would have to be someone new, someone that doesn’t have a dog in this hunt, so to speak.”
Well, to make a long story short, a year and a quarter of a million dollars later, the independent study had determined that it would be a marketing disaster. As a result, they had decided not to change their founding concept of having everything made in America.
None of us knew it that evening, but because of the study, the grandson became a hero, I became a hero, and the old man
had been vindicated. About six months later, I was offered a permanent seat on their board of directors, which I had gladly accepted.
In any event, after the day’s meetings, I was tired and still full from lunch. I don’t normally go into a bar by myself, but it was still early. I thought I would stop by the hotel lounge, order a Scotch whisky, and nibble on whatever munchies they might have at the bar.
Like I said, it was early, only about six-thirty, and the bar only had a few people in it. It was dark inside the bar, so when I walked in, it took some time for my eyes to adjust. I made my way to the near end of the bar and sat down. I ordered a scotch, and by the time it arrived, I could see fairly well.
The room was large. It had a nice dance floor with an area to one side where a small band could set up. The bar itself was made of red granite with dark-brown wooden accents. The chairs were deep and comfortable, and they were covered with soft, rich, dark-brown leather.
There were only four patrons in the bar: two couples plus the bartender. One couple was sitting about halfway down the bar, and the other couple was sitting in a dark booth on the opposite side of the dance floor. The couple at the bar appeared to be Hispanic or perhaps African. I couldn’t really tell. What I could tell was she was drop-dead gorgeous, and he was handsome.
Soft music was playing in the background, and the subdued lighting created a warm, comfortable atmosphere. Since I was sitting at the end of the bar, it was easy for me to stare at the handsome couple but mainly at her. They couldn’t have been more than ten feet away, and the more I stared, the more intrigued I became with them. She was simply stunning. I mean, you just don’t normally run across women that were that good looking.
I remember thinking that something was wrong, as if something didn’t fit. I accidently caught her eye. Slightly embarrassed, I smiled, and she smiled warmly back at me. She was wearing a dark, navy-blue business suit, and he was wearing jeans and a pullover sweater. She was young, perhaps in her early thirties, but he didn’t appear to be much older than twenty-one at the most.
I caught her attention again, and just as we had done before, we exchanged smiles. Only this time, I stared at her until she looked away. I took the last sip of my scotch and decided that I wasn’t quite ready to go to my room, so I ordered another drink. They were drinking white wine, and on a whim, I decided to offer them a drink. At first, it appeared as though she was going to refuse my offer, but then she relented. She looked in my direction and thanked me with a generous smile.
“The two of you make a very handsome couple, probably the handsomest couple I have ever seen,” I said, holding my glass up to toast them. The younger man looked my way and nodded his thanks with a slight grin.
About halfway through her glass of wine, she got up and headed in my direction. I was hoping that she was going to invite me to join them for a drink or perhaps dinner. She stopped briefly and thanked me again. She smiled, hesitated for a moment, but then she continued walking toward the restrooms down an adjacent hall.
She was exquisite and smelled divine. The way she stopped for a moment and looked at me, directly in the eyes, was a bit unnerving, and I began to think that she might be a hooker, a damned good-looking hooker. I thought that she could easily be charging a thousand dollars a night, perhaps more. I tried to get the bartender’s attention to ask him if he knew anything about her, but he was busy talking to her uh … uh, whatever he was.
I didn’t have much time to think. I was incredibly interested in her, but I didn’t want to embarrass myself by making my intentions known in front of everyone in the bar. My only chance was to head for the men’s room with the hope that I would run into her. I hastily got up and headed for the hallway leading to the restrooms.
My timing couldn’t have been more perfect. As I approached the women’s room, the door opened, and she stepped out almost bumping into me.
She smiled warmly. “Excuse me. I should have been more careful.”
She was so close that I could smell her sweet, warm breath not to mention her intoxicating perfume. She was so beautiful that I was momentarily caught off guard, and I couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say. She excused herself and started to step around me.
I panicked for a moment and pathetically stammered something. I don’t even remember what I said or what I was trying to say. She laughed and held out her hand. “Shannen, Shannen Carter.”
I took her hand. It was warm and inviting. “I uh … uh,” I said and began laughing. She laughed along with me, and in a few seconds, I regained my composure. “I’m sorry; I’m not usually at such a loss for words. I’m Alex, Alexander Thompson. Are you visiting Seattle?”
She shook her head. “No, I live here. Are you from out of town?”
I nodded. “Yes,” I managed to answer, mesmerized by her captivating, emerald-green eyes.
“Listen, Alex, I’m sorry for staring at you in the bar, but with your gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses, you are a very handsome man.”
“Yes, the operative word is gray.”
She laughed. “You should be proud. It’s gorgeous, and it makes you look, well, very sexy.”
That was all I needed to hear. I was convinced that she was a very exclusive, high-priced escort. I was sold on her and was willing to pay whatever she wanted so she could be with me.
“Why, thank you, Shannen. It has been a long time since anyone called me sexy.”
She giggled. “I have to get back now. Perhaps, we’ll see each other here again sometime.” She turned and began to walk away.
“Shannen, wait a moment. I … uh.”
She turned and looked at me curiously. “Yes?”
I knew that my time was running out, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I just blurted it out. “I want to be with you.”
She looked at me half-smiling and half-frowning. “Alex, what do you mean, be with me?”
I took a deep breath. I had already stepped out of my box, so I figured I didn’t have anything to lose. “I, uh … I want to spend the night with you and will pay you whatever you want.”
She looked at me for what seemed to be forever, then she laughed, breaking the silence. “Is that what you think? You think that I’m an escort?” She smirked at me, reached into her purse, and handed me a business card.
I looked at it and mumbled. “Shannen Louise Carter, Chief Counsel, Babbitt and Malone, Marketing.” I didn’t know what to say, so I just stood there, wishing that I had never been born.
“Okay, Alex, I’ll admit that some people might think I’m a whore because I’m an attorney, but that doesn’t make me a hooker.”
I shook my head. “I am terribly sorry, Shannen. What a terrible mistake. If there were a hole somewhere around here I could crawl into, I would.”
She chuckled. “There is a toilet right on the other side of that door.”
“I would go inside and try if I thought it would get me off the hook. Please forgive me, Shannen. I should have been more careful.”
She smirked at me again. “I don’t know, Alex. I don’t know whether to be pissed or pleased. I will admit to one thing, though.”
I looked at her intently. “What’s that?”
“I am intrigued because I’ve never been offered whatever I wanted before, at least not for sex,” she admitted with a smile.
“Is there some way I can make it up to you? Perhaps, I could buy you and your, uh …”
“Brother,” she smiled. “That would be my younger brother, Clayton. My car is in the shop, and he volunteered to pick me up after work and take me home.”
“Oh, geez, all I can do now is ask you to forgive me because I’ll probably never see you again.”
“Oh, you never can tell. I am picking my car up on the way home tonight, and I might just stop in here tomorrow evening for a glass of wine, if the offer is still on the table by then.”
I smiled for the first time since I bumped into her. “I will be here at the same time tomorrow, and the offe
r will still be on the table.”
“You have my card. Call me tomorrow afternoon and let me know if you finish your business earlier than expected. I might be able to get away from the office a little early.”
I grinned widely. “I’m finished now.”
“You mean to tell me that you are willing to spend an extra day here just to have a glass of wine with me?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I am saying.”
She looked at me with some concern in her eyes. “No expectations?”
I shook my head. “None, whatsoever,” I assured her. “I promise to be a perfect gentleman this time around and not make any rash assumptions.”
“Just a glass of wine?” she teased.
“Just a glass of wine,” I repeated. “Maybe two, if I can talk you into it.”
She smiled. “Let’s take it one glass at a time, shall we?” She took two or three steps back toward the lounge but returned immediately. I thought she was going to give me a goodbye hug, but instead, she took my left hand and closely examined my ring finger. “You are not married, are you, Alex?”
I shook my head. “No, Shannen, I’m not married.” She let go of my hand and walked back into the lounge. I needed to wait a couple of minutes for appearances before returning to the bar. When I finally left the restroom, she was headed out of the bar with her brother just behind her. She smiled and waved to me, and then she was gone.
The remainder of the evening went fast because I was thrilled with the prospect of seeing her again.
******
The following day, however, seemed to drag on forever. I am an early riser, and that day was no exception. I got up around six o’clock and went for my usual forty-five minute workout on the treadmill before having a light breakfast. That routine just made the day seem even longer. I had seen most of the usual tourist attractions in town, but I had never been to the Space Needle. With that in mind and plenty of time to kill, I decided to go there for lunch.
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