Page 6 of Until You're Breathless

“Lately, nothing, honey. Wait until you hear this recording. She and him have been fucking around for years. And if it checks out, she’s not the only one, either.”

I have to cover my mouth as I can feel the bile coming up my throat. “God, I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Well, you better buck up, Bowie. Because this is going to call for a thick skin. There’s no crying in hardball here. You want to lose your business, this is the ticket. Why that asshole risked everything for a whore like that is beyond me.”

“It’s classic, Jinny. That’s all. Classic neanderthal men. We’ve been together since fucking high school and this is the thanks that I get. Fine, our sex life has been humdrum at best, and our lives are consumed by this business, but this is what we both signed up for. If he couldn’t handle that, if he wanted out, then there are many mature ways of dealing with it. But he chose the juvenile way. The predictable way. I gave him the best years of my life, goddammit.”

“I know you did, Bowie. You don’t deserve this. But you also don’t deserve to throw away what you’ve worked so hard for, and if you don’t play your cards right, you will.”

“I can be strong about this. I don’t need to cry over this shit. I can handle it. Boston and I can work together, so long as I don’t have to look at his face night and day.”

“So, you’re leaving him.” She confirms.

“Of course I’m leaving him. What the fuck.”

She lifts a hand. “I know you’re not that stupid, Bowie. I was just doing a gut check. And you’re right. You’re the strongest woman I know. And if you want the honest truth, you’re smarter than that asshole. He didn’t think of the goddamn trail. If he had any brains, he would never have let that chick go on a trip unattended. Not only is he a notorious businessman, but he’s also got a really unique name, and he’s a fool for not thinking about that.”

“Don’t be silly, Jinny. She could have gone out to any bar in the states and done the exact same thing, you know.”

She gives me a look like she’s got all the answers. “But he approved that trip for me. If he paid any attention to detail, he should have known that we’d both be at the same damn location.”

“The only reason why he knew where you were going is because you work for him. If anybody else he knew had been there, it would have been the same thing. If he was smart about it, he would have paid her off to keep her mouth shut or threaten to sue her ass if she didn’t.”

“Hence why you’re smarter than him. And why you can outsmart him here, too. I say you make your demands or threaten to call fucking Forbes magazine and tell them how much of a fucking whore he is.” She rests her feet on the spare guest chair in front of her, satisfied. “Hell, you can make any fucking demand you want to, Bowie. The ball is in your court.”

Drawing in a deep breath and letting it out, I let that sink in. “I’ll give him a chance to confess. To tell me everything.”

“You sure you can handle that?”

“Of course I can handle it.” I say without hesitation. It’s like the moment my best friend told me that Boston cheated on me, a switch turned off. “I’m no simp, Jinny.”

She pats my hand. “I know you’re not. That’s why I knew I could tell you. Some women can’t fucking handle the truth. If you’d built your life on your relationship with Boston, then I’d see how much more difficult this would be on you, but you built your life on your business. That’s the difference. The only issue here is how you can keep it without losing anything because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.”

“I’m not about to lose anything.” I say with conviction. “He’s not worth it. I’ll give him a chance to confess, and if he doesn’t, I’ll let him hear the recording. If he does, I’ll remind him of the N.D.A. clause and how it will affect our future business together.”

She lifts a brow. “Do you think you’re going to use this for leverage?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

Chapter 3

Bowie

Idecideit’sbesttodo this at the office. That way the son of a bitch can’t make a scene. That way he can’t fucking scream and make himself look like ten times more of a dick for screaming at me, which he’s never done in the office. We’ve always maintained a strict code of respect within these walls. And we’re both one hundred percent committed to doing everything for this company, minus his unfortunate indiscretion. After I send him a meeting invite for a personal meeting, so that nobody else knows about it, he confirms it, and I grease my wheels, counting down the minutes.

Listening to the recording is enlightening to say the least. And I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he gets to listen to it, if it comes to that. Half of me hopes that he’s smart enough to just admit that he fucked up bad. Boston Kruger doesn’t fuck around when it comes to this company, and if he thinks ahead a little farther than the length of his dick, he might realize that I’m one step ahead of him. This was a foolish move on his part. We agreed years ago, as a personal vow to each other, instead of making vows under an altar, to be honest about everything. If one of us or both wants out of this relationship at any time, we say so, and we part ways amicably, not letting Kruger Manufacturing suffer, and not jeopardizing either of our stakes in it, either.

Boston has nothing to complain about. As far as I’m concerned, I’m the one that’s made all the personal sacrifices. From turning the other cheek at a lukewarm sex life, to the lack of personal time that we spend together, to giving him the largest office, and so on. I could be petty about it, sure. But none of those things made any difference to me. Until now. The minute that rat bastard decided to bastardize his loyalty to me, he made the mistake of his life, and he’ll pay for it dearly. Now I hold the reigns. Now he’s got to answer to me. Hell, I even let him name the fucking company, and I let him use his own fucking name, too. There was nothing stopping us from naming the company Ritter Manufacturing, after me, but Boston’s rationale behind that one was money. He had it. I didn’t. And his family name holds more water with the banks because of it.

As I step down the hall to our offices, and I approach his, I close the door behind me. “Hey.” He says, lifting his head from his laptop for a moment. “That meeting was bullshit, huh.”

Oh, so he thinks that this is a breakout session. Wrong. Try again. “It was, but that’s not why I’m here.”

He closes the lid on his laptop. Point for him. “What’s up, babe?”

His face changes, but then his phone rings, and we both know that he has to look to at least see who it is. “It’s Jefferson. I have to take it.” He says, referring to our lead consultant, who is conducting important research for us, so that we can tackle a hurdle that we’re dealing with.

As he picks up the call, I rise and walk to the window, which overlooks a man-made pond. Boston got the better office, too, the bastard. And as I look at the birds flying over the water, my minds drifts back in time...

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