S. Simone Chavous
Copyright © 2015 S. Simone Chavous
Cover design by Lindee Robinson Photography
Editing by Lauren Schmelz of Write Divas LLC
eISBN: 978-0-9895701-7-6
ISBN: 978-0-9895701-8-3
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and events are either a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Without love, marriage is just business. At least that's what Claudia Mason tells the women who seek her firm's unique services. With wealthy husbands who see their wedding rings as meaningless pieces of jewelry, they trust Claudia to do whatever is necessary to gather the hard evidence needed to shatter an ironclad prenup.
She is the best in the business and has yet to meet a mark she couldn't get the goods on, solidifying her belief no man can be trusted. After landing a client who is her ticket to retirement, she is on top of the world. Until a chance encounter with Greyston Michaels turns her carefully controlled world upside down.
Greyston shows Claudia a part of herself she thinks she's lost, making her question everything she believes about men--and love. But in Claudia's world, following her heart is bad for business. And business is everything.
*Homewrecker Incorporated is an 85,000 word standalone novel best suited for mature readers*
For Mom, I miss you everyday.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Prologue
"What the hell, Claudia?"
I looked up from my theory of architecture textbook. Grace Dawson, my new roommate, glared at me from the doorway of our dorm room with her hand on her hip.
"You were supposed to get dressed while I was gone. The party started almost two hours ago!"
I glanced down. "What's wrong with yoga pants and a T-shirt?" I smirked with a wink.
"More than I have time to explain to you right now," she quipped back with a slight Southern accent.
I looked at the time on my phone. "It's late. I have practice early tomorrow."
"Oh, hell no! You swore if I gave you an hour to study you'd come with me, bitch. So let's go." She stomped into the closet. I sighed and closed my book to the sound of hangers scraping the rod as Grace continued to chastise me.
"We've lived together over a month, and you haven't done anything but go to volleyball practice and do your homework. I really don't know how I got stuck with such a nerd for a roommate."
She leaned out from the closet and flashed one of her bright smiles, letting me know she was teasing.
"All of us can't be freaks of nature who don't need to study to get straight As. Some of us have to, you know, try a little."
I studied more than I needed to because, as my mom put it, I was persnickety in my need to be the best. I smiled, thinking about her. Our family had been through some hard times the past couple years, especially my mom. So much so I'd wanted to stay home another year before going to Cornell, but she wouldn't let me put my life on hold. Coming to the University of Illinois was a reasonable compromise since home was about an hour away. Not to mention they'd offered me a full ride athletic scholarship.
"I don't want to hear it! I have three jobs and a full schedule. I just know how to relax and have a good time once in a while." She danced her way over to my chair. "I swear it's the secret to my success, so you have to give it a try. You know, for scientific purposes," she drawled with a grin in perfect mocking of my Midwestern accent.
If that was true, it explained how she scored As on tests without cracking a book. She hadn't missed an opportunity to socialize in between work and class since school started. I don't know how she managed to find the time.
"Yeah, well, you don't have to drag your ass out of bed at six in the morning just to have Coach ride it about your run time being too slow," I replied in one last-ditch effort to avoid fulfilling my promise.
"No, I have to get my ass up even earlier to cover the morning shift at the athletic center." She crossed her arms over her chest.
Shit, she had me. I scowled, glancing at the stack of study cards on my desk.
"Just come out for an hour. You'll be tucked into bed before midnight. I saw Lance coming in when I left." She wagged her eyebrows, no doubt hoping his presence would entice me.
As much as I was against relationships and hanging out socially with men in general, I had to admit Lance was ridiculously hot. I'd made the mistake of mentioning that to Grace after he started as the TA in my Intro to Architecture class. After watching what my mom went through with my dad, a boyfriend was out of the question, but the occasional hookup with a guy who was incredibly sexy and, based on the work I'd seen, extremely good with his hands sounded good. Meaningless sex seemed to be the only thing that kept my mind off of all of the other shit in my life, and it'd been a while since I'd had any.
"Fine, one hour."
The following squealing and hand clapping made Grace look a bit like a seal before she darted back to the closet.
"I have the perfect dress for you!" she said, rummaging through the packed space.
When she pulled out the cute little designer knit dress I'd admired on the first day of school, I felt genuinely excited to go out. She loved to tell the story of how she picked it up for ten dollars at a secondhand store, like most of her rather stylish wardrobe. She liked to say, "You don't have to spend a million to look like a million."
Having grown up with money, I wouldn't have batted an eye at paying full price for designer brands, but when my father left, all of that left with him as far as I was concerned.
I'd just pulled the dress over my head when my phone vibrated on the desk. Grace frowned at me.
Jess's cell number flashed across the screen and I smiled. "It's just Jessica. I'll make it quick." I crossed my fingers over my heart as I picked up the phone.
"Hey, Jess," I answered, my tone cheerful.
My little sister calling meant she was at home with Mom since Dad banned her from having a cell phone at his house, which always made me feel better about being gone. Mom hated being alone, and she'd been crushed when Jess chose Dad in the divorce. I understood. She'd always been a daddy's girl, and Mom could be intense when
she got into one of her moods.
Instead of hearing Jess's sweet, happy voice, all I heard were her wailing sobs and indecipherable rambling. The only words I could make out were Mom and wake. I looked at Grace. Her face mirrored what I was sure was panic in mine.
"Jess, what is it?" My voice rose with fear. "I can't understand you. Where's Mom?"
I pressed the phone hard against my ear as if it would help me to understand her better. Somehow Jess managed to calm down enough to say four words that changed my life forever.
"Mom won't wake up."
Chapter 1
Fourteen years later
"Oh fuck yes! That's it!" I screamed as Ty Harris pounded into me.
My screams were 85 percent faked and 15 percent ecstatic anticipation from my imagining the new pair of red-soled heels I was going to buy with my commission.
As I lay on my back, staring up at the reflection of this hulking linebacker's impressive physique in the mirror on the ceiling, I thought idly of a funny video I'd seen featuring an enthusiastic Pomeranian and an unlucky teddy bear. I bit my lip to stifle a laugh.
"Aahhhh!" He groaned against my ear as his orgasm pulsated through his body.
At least it was over quickly.
"Damn, baby." He rolled off me. "That was fantastic. Just what I needed. Tonight's game was brutal."
Fantastic, really?
We lay in awkward silence for a few moments. Ty chewed his lip, no doubt trying to come up with an excuse to kick me out.
"So, um, you want me to autograph something for you before you go?"
Smooth, dude.
"Really? That would be so great!" I feigned excitement in the saccharine tone I'd adopted for the job. It was a little trick I'd learned from Lydia who handled most of our professional athletes. I'd only gotten stuck with Mr. Fantastic because she was busy tailing a golfer on the PGA tour in North Carolina that week.
"Can you sign my ticket stub from the game?" I got up from the bed and crossed the room to dig the Dolphins ticket stub out of my purse.
Athletes, particularly football players, were easy targets. Like shooting fish in a barrel. All wives had to do was slip their lawyers a couple of hundreds and ironclad infidelity clauses magically appeared in their prenups. Jocks like Ty were either too self-involved to notice or too arrogant to think they could get caught cheating. That was where I came along.
"For sure." He took off the condom, got up, and walked past the trash can to flush the evidence down the toilet.
At least he'd learned that much, although I had no intention of stealing his little swimmers. I had everything I needed thanks to the camera hidden in my purse. The time-stamped and dated ticket he signed--on tape, I might add--was a bonus. He was going to have a hard time pulling out the pathetic "it wasn't me" defense in the divorce proceedings thanks to that extra tidbit.
I shimmied into my panties and then into my skintight tube of teal spandex Lydia claimed was a dress, taking care to retie the halter neck as my breasts stretched the fabric of the neckline, before I slipped on a pair of black stilettos. I fluffed my hair in the dresser mirror until I looked like a slutty hot mess. The corporate men I usually worked tended to prefer a more sophisticated look, but this was a job and when in Rome...
He passed me the signed ticket and leaned in to kiss my cheek.
"Thank you so much!" I tossed my long blonde hair over my shoulder.
"So, um, maybe we can hook up again next time I'm in town," he suggested.
Not likely because we'd met at a yacht party that night and he didn't have my number. He probably didn't even remember my name, which was as fake as my screams.
"Sure." I smiled as I tucked the ticket into my purse.
"You need me to call you a cab or something?" He opened the door.
Mr. Fantastic's sad attempt at being a gentleman, I see.
"No, I'm good. Thanks again, this was fun."
"All right, good night, then."
When the door closed, I pulled out my phone and started walking toward the elevators.
"I got everything we need and more," I said as soon as Patty picked up. "I'm sending it to you now."
❖
"How was your flight?" I smiled up at Grace as she stepped into my office.
It was good to finally see her in the flesh after playing phone tag and travel roulette for the past few weeks.
"Long." She pulled me in for a quick hug before crumpling into the chair on the other side of my desk.
I knew all too well how taxing the two hour time difference between L.A. and Chicago was on a late-night flight. I'd made the journey several times over the years for various engagements, including the one right before Mr. Fantastic. Coming back from Florida was definitely easier because I gained an hour.
"I'm glad to be home. Mr. Jackson was a tough nut to crack, but once I got him to open up"--Grace paused to let the drama grow thicker--"he was a complete freak!"
"Really?" I grimaced at the thought.
"Uh-huh. I'm telling you the old white dudes love a little brown sugar." She turned in her chair and slapped her ass for emphasis.
"I'll take your word for it." We both laughed, and I went back to work answering an e-mail when Grace started fidgeting with her hair. "What?"
"So I talked to Patty on the ride over." She gave me a look. "According to her, that video of you and Eric Bennett was something else."
She smirked.
Fucking Patty. She was supposed to set us up with clients, walk them and their attorneys through the evidence we gathered, and cut us our checks. Gossiping about what we did to get that evidence wasn't in her job description. Too bad all the contracts and nondisclosure agreements we signed for our clients didn't apply when she was talking to us; us being me, Grace, Lydia and Bridget, the co-owners of Homewrecker Incorporated. Yes, the name was right on the nose, a sort of joke amongst us girls since we didn't exactly pass out business cards or have a storefront. Our work was by referral only but for official purposes, like our tax returns, we were Mason, Dawson, & Associates, LLP Private Investigators.
"Well?" Grace fished some more for details about my time with Alaina Bennett's husband.
It wasn't as though we weren't constantly talking about what we saw and did with our marks. The topic was standard when we got together, but the Bennett case was one I preferred to forget.
"It wasn't that bad, just some handcuffs and a leather strap or two." I hoped it would be enough to sate her curiosity.
"Oh shit! Eric Bennett is even kinkier than old Mr. Jackson!"
Kinky wasn't the word I would have used to describe it. He was something much, much darker.
"Welcome back, Grace," Bridget Hall said, popping her head in the open doorway. Grace and I jolted at the unexpected interruption.
"Damn it, Bridget! Are you trying to give us heart attacks?" I half-teased, glad for the distraction from the conversation about Eric Bennett.
She was quick on her feet and replied, "I thought stealth was a job requirement around here, boss lady."
"Touché," I said. Bridget was right, after all. "I hate it when you call me boss lady. You own just as much of this place as I do."
I shifted my stern stare from her to Grace, who was just as guilty of treating me as if I was in a position of power over her and the rest of the girls.
"That's only because you're too nice for your own good." The petite redhead shrugged as she looked to Grace for any sign of solidarity.
Grace obliged with a nod. Sure, I'd put up my inheritance money to start the venture, but Grace was the one who'd ultimately talked me into getting into the home-wrecking business in the first place.
"I can think of a few men who would disagree with that statement." I smirked.
One thing was certain: I was very good at my job. Not to say the other girls weren't good. Lydia and Grace were both great, and they were willing to do whatever it took to get the job done, but they favored an investigative approach. Investigation took time.
I was more hands on, so to speak. I closed most cases in record time and just happened to satisfy some of my own needs in the process.
"Hey, Bridge, while you're here, can you take a look at my laptop?" Grace grabbed her bag from the floor.
"Not a problem."
Bridget took the computer and set it down on my desk to start working her IT magic. The girl was a technology genius and drop-dead gorgeous to boot. It was impossible to understand how she'd made it to the ripe age of twenty-six with her virginity intact. Granted, she was cripplingly shy around strangers and dressed to hide what I happened to know was a stellar body, but she'd been a computer science major in college for God's sake. A self-conscious hot girl in that field was like an injured seal swimming in a cove of killer, albeit nerdy, whales.
Being technologically illiterate, I zoned out when Bridget started talking about firewalls and virus scans. I intended to catch up on e-mails while I waited, but instead only stared at the screen as, despite my best efforts, my thoughts turned back to Eric Bennett.
The hair on the back of my neck stood, and I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. As hard as I tried to forget about him, Grace bringing up that video made my former mark an unwelcome presence in the front of my mind. When I'd bumped into him under the alias of Cynthia Matthews in the lobby of his firm's newest L.A. hotel, he'd been polite and charming. A facade he maintained for several weeks before his true colors bled through. It was fitting I'd posed as an aspiring actress. I'd put on a great show for him and the camera despite the warning bells blaring in my head--the ones I should have listened to.
"Well, that should take care of the problem," Bridget said, pulling me from my thoughts. "I'm going to head out. I just stopped by to get the burners from your last jobs."
Grace rifled through her bag while I retrieved two phones from the desk drawer. I glanced down at the older one, internally cringing as I recalled the last conversation I'd had on it. I felt lighter the instant Bridget took the only connection Eric Bennett had to me from my hand.
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