by Piper Knox
24
I reached over to my left side expecting to encounter the warm body of my wife and instead I grasped cold sheets. I woke up. The bed was empty. She was gone. But not completely. Her scent was still on the sheets, giving me another raging boner. My fantastic plan of remedying my obsession with her by sleeping with her was not going well. I wanted her more than ever. The one time I had her was not enough. No. Make that three times. We had fucked in whichever way possible after that, and we barely got out of bed on Sunday. Still I couldn’t get enough of her. What the fuck was wrong with me. The more I had her, the more I wanted her.
I turned to the other side and checked my phone. It was still early. I could go to her room and we could have a morning quickie before going to work. Maybe take a shower with her too. Excited with the prospect, I rushed across to her bedroom naked, expecting to see her at the very least asleep in her bed.
The room was empty. The shower wasn’t running either. I went downstairs. She had left a note on the kitchen counter saying she had gone for a jog. I felt my boner dissipate a little and went back to my room and took a cold shower. I deserved it for thinking she would be there at my beck and call. When I got out, I checked my phone for any messages. There were a few. The one that caught my attention was Ax.
Ax: Are you fucking her?
He had sent it soon after we left the match.
Me: Yes. What’s it to you?
It didn’t take Ax long to respond.
Ax: Can’t say I’m surprised with the way you were all territorial about her.
I had been territorial; I thought. And he had noticed it. I hated that. He sent another text.
Ax: Careful with her, I hope you’re using protection. She’s probably been around the block a few times.
Me: This, coming from a self-confessed playboy
Ax: That makes me an expert. You don’t want to catch something nasty from her
Me: Yes, daddy.
Ax sent me a middle finger emoji and I chuckled to myself as I threw the phone on the bed. My mind immediately went to the subject of the conversation and why she wasn’t back from her jog yet. I got up and made breakfast for the two of us hoping she would be back in time for us to eat some together. By the time I left for work, she still hadn’t come back from her morning jog. I left her a text.
Me: Are you avoiding me?
I immediately deleted it. I came off needy. And one thing Caiden Scott wasn’t needy for was Hailey. I mean, she was good, but not that good. I wrote another text.
Me: Where the fuck are you?
I didn’t get a reply. She probably left her phone at home, I later thought. By the time I reached my office, she still hadn’t replied. I threw my phone on my desk and turned my attention to my assistants, who came rushing in. According to the number of messages Layla was reading to me; I had been in high demand after I had left work early last Friday. After rattling what she thought were the important ones, she added, “And Mr. Jones is waiting for you in the visitor’s lobby. He had set an appointment with you.”
I was almost lost as to who Mr. Jones was until I remembered it was Fred, the private investigator I had hired. My mood darkened.
“Send him in.”
A few moments later he came in.
“You found something?” I asked him as he was taking a seat. I checked my phone again. No response, but it showed that she had read it.
“Not a lot that you didn’t already know. The tape from the night of, is still missing.” Fred had grown to calling the night Liam died the night of which made it even more portentous.
“About your in-laws,” it sounded like a jab, but he wore that serious detective face of his, so I wasn’t sure. He continued, “you were right, the Lyndells are in a colossal mess and Julian is trying to sell the mine.”
“He can’t. He doesn’t have the deed.”
Fred looked surprised, “how did you do that?”
“I have a little helper,” I didn’t want to tell him it was Hailey who had helped. Like the universe was playing games with me, my phone chimed. Hailey had responded.
Hailey: I’m not your beck-and-call girl.
I quickly typed a response.
Me: I wake up to an empty bed, and an empty house What am I supposed to think?
“Hailey Lyndell?” And the motherfucker guesses it right. I reluctantly nodded.
“How did you get her to agree?”
“Not that hard. A little blackmail was involved though.” I would never go through with the threat but Fred and Hailey didn’t need to know that. “What else have you discovered?”
Fred took out some papers from his briefcase. While he was doing so, I grabbed my phone and typed:
I have a boner because of you. Now what am I supposed to do?
“Well, your wife is or was lying to you.”
I sat up straight. My phone chimed again.
Hailey: Then you’ll have to make do with this.
Below was a picture of Hailey in the shower, naked. Fuck. I tried to appear as casual as I could and put my phone down. I cleared my throat, trying hard and failing to put the picture of Hailey out of my head.
“What do you mean she’s lying?”
“She doesn’t stay at the upper-west side address she gave you. Not recently, at least. She vacated it six months ago.”
I frowned, “Why would she lie about that?”
Fred shrugged. “Could be there’s a better, pricier apartment she might not want you to know. I would have to look into it further. Have you been there?”
“The apartment? Once.” Now that I thought about it, I never got in, “I only made it to the lobby of the building.”
“It could be nothing. It could be…” Fred trailed off into thought.
“Could be what?”
“It could be she was staying at someplace cheap and she didn’t want you to know out of shame and pride.”
I bellowed with laughter, “There’s no way. She has no shame. Pride maybe, but I couldn’t see a Lyndell living in a cheap apartment.” That family would make sure they float no matter what. Isn’t that why she had married me? She had said as much.
“I’ll look more into it.”
“Do. But you won’t find her living in some ram-shack in Queens.”
When Fred left, I picked up my phone and went back to Hailey’s texts. I’m going to have to be on guard with her. But in the meantime, I’m going to enjoy having her around.
25
“What is all this?” I heard Hailey say behind me. She must have waltzed into the apartment while I was in the midst of chopping carrots. I turned to her. She was standing over the counter on the other side of the kitchen-cum-dining room.
“Grab that,” I pointed to an apron on one of the tools, “and come help me.” I went back to the chopping.
“Mini chef?” she drawled. She was no doubt reading what was written on the navy-blue apron, “Is that what I am?”
“Yes. Now come over here and learn.” I felt her more than heard her come to stand next to me. She touched my shoulder to turn me toward her, “let me see,” I turned to face her. She had donned the apron and was now reading mine, which was like hers except for the words, “Super Chef!”
“Am I not?”
“Since you’re going to be my teacher, best not argue against it, or you will give me a shoddy lesson.”
“Wise.”
She grabbed the glass of wine that was next to the pack of peas, “Is this how you cook? Drunk?” she took a sip.
“Slightly tipsy actually,” I took the bottle and a glass from the cabinet and poured her her own, “Lesson number one: You should always be slightly tipsy when you cook. Makes the entire experience fun.”
She chuckled, “And who taught you that? The chef at the hotel you once worked for?”
“He was the best chef in the world before I came along.”
She had a glow about her when she smiled. It made me want to make her smile and laugh. “What’s the s
econd lesson?” she said, looking down at the carrots.
“Have you ever made a casserole?”
She shook her head.
“It’s the easiest meal you can make. Just throw everything in a dish and go, really.”
She looked around the counter. I had sent Bailey to buy everything we needed. There were three types of cheese, bacon, prime cut mince, a can of tomato sauce and a packet of peas. “With all this? I don’t think it’s that simple. And look,” she turned to the macaroni that was on the boil, “you’ve already started without me.”
“I’m sure you know how to boil. Plus, you don’t have to worry, I’ve placed it on the stove a few moments ago.” She made a face as if to say she didn’t trust me. I chuckled. “Can we concentrate now,” I said to her, “I already had a tough time at work with that racy picture you sent.”
“You were begging like a little toddler; how could I not comply.” Her breasts brushed against my shoulder as she said so. Even through the apron she had, I could feel the hardness of her nipples. Or was it all in my lust-fogged head.
She was so close that it made it harder to focus on teaching her, and also, I wanted her to be closer. She followed me around the kitchen like a child who was so eager to learn something new. It made the teaching fun. The alcohol also made the teaching sexy.
“This smells nice,” she said as I was sautéing the mince. I turned the pan toward her and gave her the wooden spoon. She did as I was doing but she was going a little too fast, “No,” I went behind her and held her hand in mine, “the purpose is to make sure that all the mince is perfectly cooked. Like so,” I stirred along with her until I was sure she got the hang of it. I let go of her hand, but I didn’t step aside. Standing like this together felt nice. It made me want to reach down and kiss her nape which looked too tempting not to kiss. I found my arms making their way around her waist and I did just that. She turned to the side to receive my kiss and moaned. She stepped forward a little, breaking away from my lips, “If you continue to do this, then I’ll burn the food. This smells too good to burn.” I kissed her again and then let her go.
For the next thirty minutes, I showed her how to make the dish. It was getting more difficult the longer we were in the hot kitchen, so close together. We kept bumping into each other and brushing against each other. Our combined tipsiness did little to make things better. I ignored my boner and helped her.
She was an adept learner even though she struggled with doubting herself. She had a great palette too, which I’m sure was honed by the countless five-star meals she had eaten all her life. When I told her to put the casserole into the oven, she looked at me like I had grown another head. “Just place it in the oven, don’t worry.” She took the dish walking painfully slowly, afraid she would spill it and, holding the oven door open, I watched her put it in, “place it in the middle,” I said, “best way to get an even bake.” After she closed the door, I turned the dial to the requisite temperature. She watched eagerly, like a student. “Thirty to forty minutes should do it.”
“That’s imprecise. What if it burns!”
“We’ll take it out when it’s golden brown.”
I went over to the breakfast counter to check my phone. Hailey was still preoccupied with watching the casserole cook in the oven. There were a few messages on mine. Nothing important. Most were about the business and most from my neurotic CFO who always thought the house would fall at any moment. Hailey’s phone chimed. A text message appeared on her phone. I glanced over at Hailey. Her back was to me, I doubt she even heard it, but it was so close I didn’t even need to touch it to see the message that had popped up on screen.
Bryce: how is getting the info going. I need it now.
I felt like I had been hit with a thousand bricks. I shouldn’t be surprised and yet the disappointment was real. I knew that when Hailey came, her family would use her to get information from my company. Damning information. Part of me had thought that she wouldn’t try. She didn’t seem like she was that interested in my business. Save for that one time, I had seen her snooping into my things. Seems like my little wife had been busy. She was happy to help me against her father the same she was happy to use me for her father. The two were at odds with each other. The only good about this was that it served as a reminder not to be fooled with her. I shot a brief text of my own to one of my people. That would settle matters.
◆◆◆
“It’s so good.” Hailey spoke with her eyes closed, savoring the food. We were sitting at the dining table opposite each other.
“Thanks to you.”
“Oh, please. I didn’t do much.”
“You cooked.”
“Helped.”
“Fine. Helped. But that’s a lot more. I doubt it would have tasted this good if it weren’t for you.”
“Sure,” she smiled, “I added my own little zhuzh to the dish. Is that what you’re going to say next?”
That was what I was going to say next, and I felt caught out when she responded like that. I ate my share. The dish somehow tasted better than I had ever cooked it, even though I had done nothing to change it. It was the same recipe Pierre had taught me all those years ago.
Hailey dropped her fork in a clatter and took a sip of wine, “Tell me more about your time as a chef. We never got to talking more about it.”
“There isn’t much to tell than what I told you before. I was a busboy who later became a cook and then got out when a better job was offered.”
“I was hoping to learn more about you,” she sighed as if she had been truly deprived of some insight into me, “What about your business? You rarely talk about it.”
And there it was. I knew she was going to ask, but I didn’t think it would be so soon, “Aren’t you the daughter of a jeweler? You know what the business is like.”
“Yes, but you trade in all luxury goods. Your company is like a collection of everything rich housewives and rappers wear and drink. Take this wine for instance,” she picked up the bottle and turned the label part toward her, “my father, and certainly not my brother, would never have thought of buying it when it was a dying winery in Italy. Now look at it. It’s a big luxury brand.”
“What’s different about me and your father is that I’m less of a snob than he is.”
“Is that why you’re using musicians as part of your marketing campaign for the jewelry line? My father would never have done that. ‘Rappers cheapen the brand’ is his favorite rhetoric.”
Where was she going with this? Our marketing campaign wasn’t exactly secret, it was quickly becoming the study in universities. I thought she would ask about other strategies that weren’t marketing.
“Your father is a bit of a bigot.”
“A bit?”
We both laughed, and the topic moved away from the business to something else mundane. After supper I both went to the living room and sat down to more wine as we watched the view of the central park. She cuddled next to me and I felt compelled to take her under my arm.
“We’ve been talking more about me and less about you,” I said.
“What do you want to know?”
“High school.”
She lifted her head, “Really? There’s nothing to know more about that time that you don’t know.” She went back to cuddling into my arm.
“I had a crush on you,” she said after a while, “more than a crush. I think it was an obsession.”
“Then why didn’t you do something about it?”
“I did remember. Then you pushed me away and called me an attention-seeking spoiled little rich girl.”
I had done it because Liam was in love with her. I had seen him mope about when she wasn’t around. And make her the center of his universe when she was. I couldn’t take the one thing in his life that was positive about it. Suddenly I was filled with thoughts of that night. Thoughts of us fighting over her and what happened next.
I disentangled myself from her and got up.
“Where are
you going?” she was surprised by my sudden mood shift. I couldn’t be around her anymore tonight without thinking about Liam.