A big thank you to everyone for their comments and feedback on my first story. The positive feedback encouraged me to write a continuation, hoping to turn this into a series. Note that this is a direct continuation of my first story, "Picture Perfect". I highly recommend you read that one first!
All characters in this story are above 18 years of age.
Enjoy!
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I received a text from my ex husband today.
"Hey, Emma! How have you been? How about we grab a cup of coffee sometime?"
I'm not sure why I find this so infuriating. Perhaps it's his nonchalant tone, or his complete lack of acknowledgement regarding the reason we broke up. Banging your secretary is not exactly the kind of thing you can ignore when you reach out to your ex wife. But Mike was always this kind of guy. His lack of self awareness is not the least bit surprising. I have no idea what he wants from me. To make amends perhaps?
Anyway, I don't intend to grace him with a reply. It's been over a year since I last saw him, and I have felt no need to reconnect with him in the meantime. It's not like we broke up on good terms either. We had met up in a coffee shop in a futile attempt to keep things civil, but the last thing I remember is an ashtray flying past his head and smashing into a decorative glass vase on the other side of the room.
I'm not exactly proud of that. But, what can I say, he had his ways to get this kind of reactions out of me.
Besides, my dry spell with regards to my love life ended quite recently. It's been almost a week since the incident with James in my studio, when a simple photography session evolved into something beyond my wildest dreams. Aside from reinvigorating my dormant desire for love, it provided a major boost to my self confidence as well. If I can get with such a handsome man in his mid-twenties who could literally have any woman he set his sights on, then why on Earth would I even need the approval of a guy like Mike?
But still, I wanted something more from James. Our meeting didn't end with a promise to meet again, or even the expectation that this would become a reoccurring event. There was an unspoken mutual understanding that this was a one-time thing. That being said, I kept checking my phone throughout the week, hoping that I would find a message or a missed call from him. Instead of that, I get a message from Mike. Talk about a disappointment.
I could have just let it go and moved on with my life. It's not like I can't find another man. However, my curiosity got the best of me. Over the past week, I have been doing a little online stalking. I realize that's quite unbecoming of a woman my age, but I couldn't help it. Besides, I'm not hurting anyone. Finding James' Instagram account was quite easy--and, I have to admit, I couldn't resist the urge to spend some quality time by myself with some of the photos he has posted on there. Some shirtless beach photos from his last year's summer vacation, in particular.
But, more importantly, I learned an interesting bit of information: James is taking part in a theatrical play. It's in a small nearby theatre, just a five minute walk from my apartment. The play itself seems like an artistic modern day reimagining of Miss Julie, the kind that theatre school graduates consider avant-garde and revolutionary. To be honest, I doubt it's going to be any good. But that's not important right now. I don't intend to watch the play, not yet at least. But I do intend to pay him a little visit.
Of course, I'm not going to leave anything to chance. As always, I'm a woman with a plan. The play finishes at around 11 PM. I'm going to wait outside the theater--not directly outside, but just far enough that I can observe while going unnoticed. Then, when everyone is done with their congratulations and the typical pleasantries that follow every theatrical play, I'm going to approach James so that we can have a little one-on-one chat.
One of my core beliefs in life is that my appearance is extremely important. It should always be appropriate so that I can get what I want. It has to be picture perfect.
I wear a white shirt, with the top two buttons strategically unbuttoned of course, and a short beige skirt. When I'm at my studio, my primary goal is to be the most professional I could possibly be. I want to be the best in the business. But now, my goal is a little bit different. The only things I'm keeping in common with the first time he saw me are my trademark blond hair tied behind my head and my deep red lipstick.
I arrive outside the theater a few minutes before 11. I find a nice little spot in the shade, where I can hide until it's time to make my appearance. Hiding in this place isn't too hard. It's not like the street is well lit. There are no street lights, and the only light that falls on the cobblestone pavement and the faded paint on the nearby building walls comes from the purple and blue neon signs above each store and billboard.
Finally, the time has come. A group of people, around twenty of them, emerge from the theater. And at last, my eye catches James. He seems even sexier this time, partially because of the inevitable adrenaline rush that follows a theatrical performance. I wait patiently as the people congratulate him and his co-stars. I remember when I used to do this kind of stuff when I was trying to do some networking and establish my presence in Los Angeles. It all seems so artificial now.
I wait until everyone has left. It's just James and his female co-star now. I'm just going to wait until they part ways and--
No. It can't be.
I think I see his hand around her waist. I can even discern a slight giggle on her face. Now he's pushing her against the wall and kissing her on the neck.
I can't stand to look at this. I turn around and leave as fast as I can.
What happened? He now seems much more confident compared to when he came to my studio. Is this my fault? Was I just a tool to help him build up his self confidence? Was this thing going on before we met or did it start after our little entanglement?
Lots of questions are running through my mind. Why did he fuck me? Was it because he really liked me, or was it just for the novelty of being with a woman almost twice his age?
And just like that, I feel my confidence boost dissipating. It wasn't very long lived after all.
I get back to my apartment and I slam the door shut behind me. I get undressed, I drop my clothes on the floor and I lie down on my soft, comfortable bed. I let out a deep sigh. It's safe to say that today didn't go as planned.
And as I'm lying down, in a momentary lack of impulse control and against all logic and rational thought, I grab my phone and I open Mike's message.
I type out my answer. "Where do you want to meet?"
Without thinking about it, I hit Send and I try to fall asleep.
Next morning, I am awoken by the rays of sun coming through the window blinds. Seems to be a sunny day today. Of course, the weather isn't what I'm interested in. I grab my phone. The time is barely past 8 AM. But, more importantly, there's a message notification from Mike. I open it immediately.
"I'll be in my office today. How about you come here at around 10 o'clock?"
Well. That's a strange choice. I was pretty sure he would suggest a coffee shop or a wine bar. Of course, as proven in our last meeting, it's entirely possible that our meeting might spiral into chaos, even in a public place.
"Fine. See you there." I hit send.
To be honest, I'm not quite sure what he wants. I don't expect him to try to rekindle things between us. Mostly because he knows that this has no chance of happening. Maybe he just wants to catch up. But I know him well enough to realize he probably has something else in mind. I pick up my clothes from the floor and I put them on again. It's a pity to let such a nice outfit go to waste. Besides, I know how sexy I look in these clothes. I want him to see what he lost when he let me go.
His office is in a fifteen story building in the outskirts of Los Angeles. Mike owns a small film production company that has financed some successful independent films over the years and he's made quite a name out of himself. When we were together, by most definitions of the term, we were a power couple.
I arrive outside the building where Mike's office is located. I have always had the feeling that the businesses hosted in this building were punching above their weight. It's an ultra modern building with dark glass panes for windows, and a minimal aesthetic for which I have no doubt that an interior designer was paid too much for. I go through the rotating glass door and I take the elevator to the sixteenth floor, to Mike's office.
It's an exterior glass elevator, the kind where you can admire the view of the city as you ascend to your daily grind after your boring commute. If nothing else, I can admire the view without any of these requirements.
I arrive at the sixteenth floor and I go through the front door of Mike's company office. My sight immediately falls on Susan's face.
Susan. The woman who caused the downfall of our marriage. A short, dark-haired woman with a pixie cut, whose only discernible characteristic is her pair of tits which she doesn't omit to let practically hanging out of her low-cut blouse. Based on the times I've talked with her, I'm pretty sure there's nothing much going on behind those green eyes, in that round-shaped head of hers.
A pair of tits. That's what Mike threw our marriage away for.
