It was a quiet Saturday morning in Austin, Texas. The late June sun had begun its relentless ascent, promising another day of crushing heat, but inside the Marshall residence, the air conditioning maintained a cool refuge from the sun's intensity.
Jessica Marshall made one final pass with the vacuum across the cream-colored rug and then clicked it off with a satisfied sigh. After hours of cleaning, organizing, and rearranging, the lower floor of their home finally looked polished and welcoming. What had once been a glorified storage space and a seldom-used guest room was now transformed into a comfortable apartment.
Jess stepped back, resting her hands on her hips, taking it all in. The room was simple but stylish. Muted beige tones on the walls created a warm atmosphere and light wooden accents added texture and depth. A plush, cream-colored rug lay beneath the coffee table and a potted plant with glossy leaves added life to a corner. The space felt cohesive and intentional, everything she'd designed it to be. It looked like something from one of her interior design portfolios, the kind of space she'd proudly show a client.
Jess, as always, was meticulous in her presentation, whether it was a room or herself. She turned heads wherever she went, and had the kind of curves that made men forget their names. Her beautiful face had even graced several modeling campaigns before she chose Interior Design as her profession. Even now, dressed in simple black leggings and a fitted dark blue T-shirt, there was a grace to her movements that couldn't be taught or practiced.
There was something else about her too, something harder to define. She possessed the ability to look insanely sexy without trying. It was an almost unconscious sensuality that radiated from her in the smallest gestures. It was the sway of her hips when she walked, the way she absentmindedly bit her lower lip while thinking, her slight frown of concentration, the curve of her smile, all a seemingly innocent combination that created something magnetic. She exuded pure, raw sexuality and moved through life with a natural allure.
Upstairs, she could hear Tom's voice, slightly muffled but still distinct, echoing through the house. He was on the phone, probably handling work calls even on a Saturday. Even after six years together, four of them married, his deep, steady voice still had the power to calm her nerves.
Tom was tall and lean, his body toned from years of dedicated running. His dark brown hair was always styled and his handsome face always clean-shaven. Tom was always well-groomed and always presentable. He was ambitious, reliable, steady, and in many ways, the perfect husband. He was always there when she needed him, never too demanding or confrontational. He handled life's problems with a level head, even when Jess felt like screaming in frustration.
Their differences complemented and balanced each other. He was more serious and structured. She was more spontaneous and passionate. They were the kind of couple others envied: attractive, intelligent, ambitious, and hardworking. Yet beneath the surface, subtle cracks were starting to form.
Jess and Tom had met in college through mutual friends, and their connection had been instant and electric. They fell deeply in love and married soon after graduation, certain they'd found their perfect match. That felt like a lifetime ago, their youthful optimism now tempered by the realities of adult life.
Today, financial strain weighed on them. Rising interest rates on their mortgage, car payments for both vehicles, and their goal of accumulating savings for a future baby were starting to suffocate them. But it wasn't just the mounting expenses that poked at Jess's peace of mind.
It was Tom's mistake, the cryptocurrency investment that still stung the most. Jess had been furious when he'd lost a significant portion of their savings in that ill-fated gamble, and even though she'd softened her stance outwardly over time, the anger had never truly gone away. It simmered underneath, a dull, ever-present resentment that flared up whenever she thought about their financial situation.
Her eyes moved to the clock on the wall, its hands approaching noon. Robert, their first prospect, would be arriving any minute. From his application, she knew Robert was a twice divorced, fifty-five-year-old man. He stood out from the other, younger applicants. Robert had been more forward during his phone conversation with Tom, mentioning how he could help around the house, fix things, and even upgrade their plumbing. It was a tempting proposition. After all, Tom wasn't exactly the handyman type, and Jess loved the idea of finally making some of the changes she'd been fantasizing about for their home.
"Jess?" Tom's voice floated down from upstairs. "Can you come up here?"
"Just finished," she called back, unplugging the vacuum. Her top clung to her curves as she stretched, working out the kinks in her lower back.
Upstairs, Tom was pacing their kitchen, phone pressed to his ear. He gave her a smile as she entered.
"Yes, Mr. Caldwell, we're definitely still on... No, that won't be a problem at all... Perfect, we'll see you soon." He ended the call and immediately pulled Jess into his arms. "You've been cleaning for hours, babe. Take a break."
"Can't." She squirmed away playfully. "We have tenants coming."
"The place already looks amazing," he assured her, reaching for her again. "And you look amazing."
Jess dodged his grasp with a laugh. "Tom! I'm all sweaty."
"I like you sweaty," he growled, finally catching her around the waist. His hands slid down to cup her ass through her leggings.
"Stop it," she giggled, even as she responded to his touch. "We don't have time for this."
"We always have time for this." He nuzzled her neck and Jess allowed herself to melt into him.
Then reality intruded. The doorbell chimed.
"Shit," Tom muttered, releasing her reluctantly. "That must be Robert. I didn't think he was that close."
Jess brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and straightened her top, smoothing the fabric over her curves. "I'll get it. You finish up your work stuff."
Opening the door, Jess blinked in surprise, momentarily taken aback by the figure that filled her doorway. Robert Caldwell stood there wearing a faded blue T-shirt that clung a little too tightly over his belly and jeans that were slightly too baggy hanging low on his hips. He was bigger than she'd imagined, taller than Tom, and wider too. He was bald, and his face, with its stubble, had a rugged quality that showed his fifty-five years plainly.
"Afternoon," Robert greeted with a slight nod. "Jessica, right?"
"Yes, you can call me Jess," she confirmed, offering a bright, professional smile and extending her hand. The moment their palms met, she felt the roughness of his skin, calluses built up from years of manual labor. They were working hands, strong and capable, marking him as someone who spent his days building and fixing rather than typing at a keyboard. "And you must be Robert," she added.
"Call me Bob," he said, stepping past her into the foyer with casual confidence. He didn't waste time with pleasantries or small talk, instead he immediately began to assess his surroundings. His eyes moved methodically around the space, taking in the details of the house as if he were already planning improvements.
