Page 2 of Filthy Business
With twenty offices in eight countries, I could always transfer her somewhere else. But then I thought of those perfect white lace cups beneath her top, and decided I didn’t like the idea of anyone else looking at them.
Perhaps Kate could remind her to keep her jacket on.
???
“Where’s Luke?” I asked my wife.
She shrugged without looking up.“He’s twenty-five. He does what he wants.”
She lifted her wineglass. Her food sat untouched.
Of course it did.
All those years ago, my grandfather had the foresight to protect the business with a prenuptial agreement. When she got pregnant with Luke, I did what I thought was right.
We both changed. Or maybe we just stopped pretending.
The sex died years ago. Scheduling a fuck became impossible between her spa treatments, social lunches, and charity committees. I poured that frustration into the business. Leona smiled on my arm at events, but her true love was spending money. Thanks to Botox, implants, and a surgeon’s careful hand, she looked incredible for her age.
I sliced into the duck. Perfect, as always.
But when I chewed the tender meat, Iris was all I could think about.
“I’m going to bed,” Leona said, picking up her wine and walking out without a glance.
I ate in silence. Grateful.
She was gone.
It was time to call a divorce lawyer.
Luke had graduated two years ago. I should’ve done it then.
???
The moment I saw it, I knew it wasn’t Kate’s ass.
Those ivory-clad buttocks could only belong to the woman from my nightmares.
The lawsuit waiting to happen.
“Where did you go?” she muttered, crawling back out from under the desk.
Her head popped up just long enough to grab her phone. She switched on the light and dropped back to her hands and knees.
What did I do?
I stood there.
Watched like a sick voyeur, sipping my coffee and enjoying the show.
I built this business with the hope that Luke would take it on.
He had no interest. Didn’t want to work with me. Or for me.
He was only happy wasting his trust fund on designer drugs and vapid women.
Fifty-hour weeks. Years of sacrifice.
