|Callie parked her car across the street from her house.
Tears trickled down her cheeks, but she didn’t feel them. She
was numb. Angry. Done. She had to hand it to him. Donald’s taste
in women had improved since the first time she’d caught him
cheating. The blonde, in her six-inch, cherry-red heels, clicked
merrily across the driveway to her car. The Mustang was
noticeably the same shade of slut as her shoes and was parked
contemptuously in Callie’s spot. She scowled as the tart
shimmied herself into the car. Her mini skirt was wrinkled and
tight. She probably didn’t even take it off.
Callie had just arrived home from a five-day pharmaceutical
conference where she’d been working twelve-hour days promoting
one of her company’s new drugs. Exhausted, she’d caught the
red-eye to make it back on time. Today was their fourteenth
wedding anniversary, and she wanted to surprise her husband with
a day of wine tours and food samplings she’d booked online while
she was away. This was the second time the surprise had been on
When he’d done it the first time, she couldn’t believe the man
she’d entrusted her heart to would hurt her in such a deceitful
manner. She’d married him because he was safe. He definitely was
not the partying type. He never stayed out late with the boys,
and he’d always come home right after work. He was, well . . .
boring. He was the one man she’d thought she didn’t have to
worry about. Although they didn’t share the same interests—she
loved the outdoors, running and biking and he was happy in front
of the television drinking a few beers—she loved him and he
loved her. Or at least he told her he did.
Back then she’d had an overwhelming sense of failure and guilt,
thinking his affair was somehow her fault. Her job took her away
quite a bit and when she was home, she worked such long hours
they rarely had time for a quickie, let alone what he would call
She stared at the car backing out of her driveway. She didn’t
have those same feelings of guilt, heartache and complete
devastation as before. Only anger and emptiness remained. After
eighteen months of counseling and thousands down the drain, this
was what they’d accomplished? Well, not again. No more lies. No
more wasted money. This time she was done for good.
Her first instinct was to throw open the front door and wipe
that smirk off his face with a baseball bat, screaming every
obscenity she could think of. She wanted to cause him extreme
pain. It’s our stupid anniversary!
As much as physically beating him appealed to her, she needed to
hit him harder, in a way that made complete recovery impossible.
No, violence wasn’t the answer. Her next move needed to be one
that would hurt him as much as he’d killed their marriage. She
needed professional help. It was time to consult with the people
who knew him best––The Law Offices of Divorce-A-Cheating-Ass.
Callie started her car and gunned it down the street. She
expertly cut off Donald’s newest ride, eliciting quite a
resentful honk from her, which she quite happily returned with
the full length of her middle finger. She sped down the street
and away from her beloved home.
The Starbucks parking lot was almost empty as she maneuvered her
shiny, silver Chrysler 200 into a lonely spot. She popped her
trunk and got out. She always bloated on long flights and her
black suede platform heels were beginning to pinch. She tugged
at the ruffled skirt she typically wore on business trips, which
was now cutting into her waist. She was about to grab her jeans
and sneakers from her suitcase to change into, when she heard
the vocal admiration of a passing, very well-built, fetching,
young male cyclist. She decided against comfort and tossed the
items back in. Damn right, I’m sexy.
At thirty-seven, Callie still had a great figure. She wasn’t
statuesque, but her legs were muscular, giving the illusion of
length. Her waist was narrow. So was her chest, but nothing a
Victoria’s Secret push-up couldn’t cure—and she wore it well.
Her blonde hair was long and straight, fanning out across her
shoulders to mid-back. However, her eyes were what gave Callie
her power. The large cobalt orbs could stop men at twenty paces.
A flutter of the eyelashes followed by an intent gaze could get
her anything she wanted. She used her power well; it had gained
many large contracts for her company.
She pulled out her laptop bag and closed her trunk. It was going
to take a lot of research to find the perfect attorney who would
represent her in the courtroom. Donald wasn’t going to get away
with it this time. The son-of-a-bitch!
She found a table and took out her laptop, then stood in line to
order while she waited for it to boot up. Now, what type of
coffee does a day like today require? When it was her turn to
order, Callie spoke with no emotion. “May I please have an
grande, skinny, extra-hot, caramel macchiato?”
The barista stared at her for a brief moment before replying “Of
course, and how about we just go ahead and make that a venti at
no extra charge?”
The wink she gave Callie was one of a woman familiar with her
kind of day, and Callie knew she’d chosen her sanctuary well.
Coffee in hand, she sat down in front of her laptop and sighed.
She shook her head as she searched through the myriad of divorce
attorneys. How did she get here again? How did she not see this
Tramp-happy Donald was currently between jobs, as he liked to
tell anyone who cared to ask. A plumber by trade, they’d met
when the pipe in her en suite bathroom burst one Sunday
afternoon. She’d called the first company listed in the yellow
pages and paid an arm and a leg for the repair, but thoroughly
enjoyed the view as she waited for it to be fixed. Donald’s
well-rounded, firm, plumber-butt definitely drew her away from
her laptop, and she was thrilled when he’d asked for her number.
However, his idea of a stellar evening included darts and drinks
at his favorite pub, which was where he took her on their first
date. And the next five. She’d always dreamed she would find a
man who was kind, loving and, of course, fabulously sexy.
Instead, she’d found Donald. He drew her in with winks and
compliments. He held mystical powers when it came to bullshit,
which he opened up like a clogged drain when he was with her.
They used to talk a lot back then. She was attracted to his
easy-going confidence. She was comfortable in his company and
satisfied in his bed. Now, Callie realized he’d played her. She
was merely his meal ticket with the option of sex.
Callie had never had a long-term, serious relationship before
she met Donald. Her drive to climb the proverbial ladder had
kept her from having time to socialize outside of work. Somehow,
this man had wrenched his way into her heart. She’d allowed him
into her life, her home . . . and now she was paying for him to
plumb someone else’s pipes.
“Idiot,” she said.