More Than Just Business
I would like to thank BlueFellow for giving me permission to write this sequel to his story,
It's Just Business
, about a wife who engaged in a very long-term affair with her boss and continues her trysts even after she retires. The cheating wife was never given a name in the original. I named her Linda, with BlueFellow's permission. This story is from the husband's perspective and picks up at the end of the original.
Many thanks to Kalimaxos and QuantumMechanic1957 for giving this a beta read. I would also like to thank all those who have read my previous stories and those who have provided constructive criticism. Your support and readership is what keeps me going.
And now, the disclaimers:
For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper... In addition:
Characters in this story may participate in one or more of the following: Smoking, consumption of adult (meaning, alcoholic) beverages, utterance of profanities.
All sexual activity is between consenting adults 18 years of age or older.
Statements or views uttered by the fictional characters in this story do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of the author.
Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (Yes, I DO moderate comments) And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...)
...
"I'm truly sorry, Mr. Walker. I really hate giving guys like you bad news," John Michaels said when he handed me the envelope that contained a full written report of my wife's activities with her former boss, Grant Jacobs. The envelope also contained several photographs and a DVD.
I had seen the photos, but I had not yet looked at the DVD. A part of me didn't want to look at it, but I knew it would be necessary for me to come to grips with what John found.
"Do you have any idea how long this has been going on?" I asked. John consulted his original report before answering.
"From what we've been able to determine from the transcripts, at least ten years," John said. "Perhaps as long as twelve years. It appears to have started about the time your wife was being considered for the top job." That was about a year after our daughter Sophie was born. Still, I decided I would need to have DNA tests run to see if the kids were mine.
Then I thought of something else. What about sexually-transmitted diseases? The report showed Grant has a stable of married women he screws in addition to Linda. I know for sure we have been intimate since she "retired," but what might she have infected me with in all that time? I would need to get tested, and soon.
Scanning the report again, I scoffed without humor at Aaron's conclusion that Linda appeared to be blissfully ignorant of what the asshole does to occupy himself when he's not screwing her.
"If it's any consolation, Mr. Walker, your wife's lover stated that he never had any intention to break up your marriage. All he wanted was, well, her body," John said. "And they never did anything at your house." I had let John wire our house with cameras and microphones when I first hired him. At least my marital bed hadn't been violated with Grant's bodily emissions, I thought.
"No, it's not any consolation, Mr. Michaels," I said. "But thank you for letting me know." I had met Grant Jacobs several times, and I really wasn't too fond of him. He was what the women would call handsome, but he was also a conceited, arrogant, brash asshole with a smirk that put me off. I had to fight the urge to smack that smirk right off his face more than once. Now, I knew the real reason behind his smirk.
"There's more, Mr. Walker," John said. "From what we saw and heard, Jacobs' sister, Natalie, has been aware of the relationship from the beginning. In fact, it appears she may have helped facilitate it." That saddened me somewhat, as I always thought Natalie was a nice woman -- the complete opposite of her brother.
"Damn," I said softly.
"So, have you spoken with an attorney yet?" John asked.
"Not yet," I said. "I wanted to find out the truth first."
"Well, I do a lot of work for Lisa Hawkins. She's the best in the business, in my opinion. Hates cheaters with a passion. If you want, I can forward this to her office and give her a heads-up that you'll be coming in to see her," John said.
"That would be nice," I said. "Thanks. I'll call her office and arrange for an appointment." John gave me a business card, and I put it in my pocket.
"May I offer a suggestion?" John asked.
"Of course," I said.
"Let Lisa take care of this. I know you're hurting right now and you may be tempted to lash out. Don't. It's not worth going to jail over. This isn't some story on the Internet. It's real life. You have two children to think about," he said.
"I understand," I said. "Thanks." I paid my bill and left his office, feeling like my entire married life had been a lie. I knew John was right, but it still hurt like hell. I got in my car and cried my eyes out for about 15 minutes.
After I collected myself, I pulled out the card he gave me and called the Law Offices of Lisa Hawkins and arranged for an appointment the following afternoon. Lisa gave me a list of things to bring -- primarily financial statements.
On the way home, I stopped at a convenience store and bought a pack of cigarettes -- something I hadn't done since college. Then I went to a bar and tried drowning my sorrows in a beer. I'm not much of a drinker, but I felt I deserved it this one time.
"You okay, buddy?" the bartender asked as I took a drag off a cigarette. I looked up at him before answering.
"Is it that obvious?" I asked in response.
"'Fraid so," he said with a slight smile. "Don't tell me, let me guess. You just found out your wife's been cheating on ya."
"Yeah, pretty much," I said. "For the last twelve years, if you can believe that."
"I can believe it," he said. "I've seen and heard just about everything since I started working here."
"I'll bet you have," I said. He chuckled at that.
"Mind if I tell ya something my grandpa once tol' me?" he asked.
"Not at all," I said.
"He used to say, 'I felt sorry for myself because I had no shoes. Then I met a feller who had no feet.' I know you're hurtin' right now. Been there myself. But it does get better. And believe me, there are a lot of fellers who have had it a lot worse than you," he said.
"Your grandfather sounds like a very wise man," I said.
"That he was," the bartender said. "Finish yer beer, then go on home, son. Take care of business. Do what you gotta do. You ain't gonna find any answers in the bottom of that glass. Trust me on that." I smiled at that and nodded my head. Deep inside, I knew this grizzled old bartender was right.
I thought about things as I sipped on my beer. I never would have believed that Linda would actually cheat on me. Over the years, there were little things that couldn't be seen as absolute proof of an affair by themselves. But when I put it all together, it made perfect sense, at least to me.
For example, after our second child, Sophie was born, I had a vasectomy. Linda went back on birth control, and I thought that odd and asked her about it. After all, why would she need birth control if I had gotten snipped? She gave me a song and dance about being extra careful and said the pills would help regulate her period. Not being an expert in such matters, I bought her explanation.
Then when she got that position and started traveling with Grant, I noticed that some of her clothes weren't exactly what you would call "business attire." She indicated that "entertaining" would probably become a "big part" of her new job when I asked her about it. Now I knew that it was Grant she was entertaining. It apparently was a significant part of her new position -- pun intended.
I would often call to talk with her in the evenings when she was gone. I was impressed that she was always in her room when I called, but there were a few times I thought I heard a man's voice close by. Other times, I heard Linda's voice crack as she spoke. I couldn't explain it at the time. But if Grant was fondling her breasts or screwing her as she talked to me on the phone, that would certainly explain it.
And there were times when I detected the slight odor of Grant's aftershave on Linda's clothes when she came home. I knew it was his because I smelled it on him every time I met him, and it nearly made me sick. I could only see that happening if she was in intimate contact with him. Then there were the Friday afternoons she was supposedly asked to work after she "retired."
"My special skills are still needed, so my services have been retained for one afternoon a week, although I might be required to travel occasionally," she told me when I asked her about it. "It's just business," she added. Now I know her "special skills" involved using her mouth and pussy. And it was much more than "just business."
And if that wasn't bad enough, her one afternoon a week turned into two or sometimes three afternoons, and she usually wouldn't get home before 9 or 10:00 pm. And her "occasional" trips evolved from one a month to two or three and almost always included the entire weekend. So much for "retirement." All of this happened just in the last four months.
The thing is, Linda's attitude toward me hadn't changed one bit. She was just as sweet and loving to me now as when we first married. She seemed to enjoy being at home with the kids and me, and we enjoyed having her at home. It was a welcome change since I had become the children's primary caretaker due to her crazy schedule.
This has been weighing heavily on me for quite some time, so I hired John's investigative firm to look into her activities. And now, my worst fears have been confirmed. The only question left to answer now is how to split everything up.
If it had just been a drunken "one-off," I probably could've gotten past it. Yes, I would've been pissed, but it wouldn't have been a deal-breaker. This, however, was a cold, calculated, and deliberate betrayal that had gone on for more than a decade. And now, it was time for someone to pay. I ground out my cigarette, finished my beer, and headed out, giving the bartender a wave and a nice tip for his time.
I got home and saw her car in the garage. Frankly, I was a bit surprised to see her there. I closed the garage door and went inside. I took off my jacket and headed for my home office. Linda intercepted me on the way and instantly smelled the cigarettes and beer.
"You've been smoking," she said, her brows furrowed. "And I smell beer. Is everything alright, Jon?"
"No, frankly, it's not. In fact, today has been the worst day of my life," I said.
"What happened? Did someone die or something?" she asked. She seemed genuinely concerned, but I wondered if it was just an act.
"Something," I said. "I'm going into my office for the evening. I'm afraid I won't be very good company tonight."
"Is there something I can do, sweetheart?" she asked. Yeah, I thought. Unfuck yourself.
