Paul came to a halt at the sight of the carefully set dining table. He frowned and slowly scratched his head. Then he placed his shiny black leather briefcase on the nearest chair. His eyes darted back and forth between the elegant porcelain plates and the gleaming silver cutlery.
“Are we expecting guests?” he asked hesitantly.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Claire’s reproachful voice echoed from the depths of the kitchen, reminding him of tonight’s girls’ night.
Paul let out a sigh of relief. That didn’t concern him much. He’d retreat to the bedroom and watch a movie while his wife entertained her friends in the living room. Maybe, just for the sake of politeness, he’d pop in now and then to pour them some wine—so they could see what a proper gentleman their hostess was about to marry. Let them envy Claire for landing such a catch before turning thirty.
He loosened his tie and headed for the bathroom. His posture straightened instinctively, his head held high, and his stride full of swagger.
He looked in the mirror and ran a hand over his face. He shouldn’t have shaved. A bit of stubble would’ve made him look tougher, more masculine. His hair was too light, too fine. He could easily pass for ten years younger. That youthful face would surely come in handy someday. Right now, though, he could use a look that was a bit more manly.
He flinched when Claire suddenly appeared beside his reflection in the mirror. Her hands on her hips and narrowed eyes tried to convey outrage, but the faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth gave her away. She had never been able to stay truly mad—at Paul or anyone else.
“You really forgot?”
“Of course not!”
Paul spun around, cupped her flushed, round face in both hands, inhaled the scent of roasted meat and sweet bread clinging to her thick hair, and kissed her full, red lips. Claire’s eyelids drooped under his gentle touch, as they almost always did. She leaned in closer and kissed the side of his neck. Paul didn’t waste time—he guided his ever-willing fiancée toward the bedroom.
As soon as Claire saw where he was headed, she snatched the sauce bowl out of his reach—even though he could already taste its rich, intense flavor in his mouth.
“Not now,” she scolded him. “Whatever’s left is all yours, but we’re eating first.”
Paul looked her up and down, her bare body clutching the bowl.
“It’s hard to take you seriously like this, you know?”
He grinned, satisfied. Claire just shrugged her round shoulders.
“I don’t care. I made you dinner too. It’s just as good as ours. But this—you’re not getting.”
Before he could argue, she turned her back on him and covered the bowl with cling film.
“So, who’s coming over?” Paul asked as his gaze lingered appreciatively on her shapely backside.
He wasn’t actually interested in the answer.
“The usual gang, plus the new girl,” Claire replied.
“What new girl?”
“You know, the one who opened that gorgeous, big yoga studio…”
“The whore?” Paul growled.
His entire body tensed.
“Paul, for God’s sake,” Claire sighed.
“I’m telling you—she’s a broke slut!”
“She’s a yoga instructor! You know that,” Claire’s voice trembled slightly.
A vein pulsed on Paul’s temple, his hands clenched into fists.
“She’s a goddamn whore. Let’s call it what it is.”
He slammed his fist down on the kitchen counter.
“I’m telling you, no whore is stepping foot in this house!”
“She only did escort work during college, to pay for her studies,” Claire hissed.
“I don’t care. If you dare invite her, I’ll throw her out. And you can go with her, for all I care!”
In the loud bustle of the bar, Paul could barely hear Lee blabbering about his promotion. Not that he really cared. He was already one of the company’s top executives and making a hell of a lot of money. Did it even matter what fancy title came with all that cash? Besides—Lee was just bragging. It was obvious how much he was enjoying rubbing it in someone’s face for once.
“There’s just one thing missing,” Lee leaned in.
His warm, beer-scented breath tickled Paul’s ear.
“And what’s that?” Paul asked with a sigh.
“A nice little lady to celebrate with.”
Lee’s eyes narrowed slyly, and his grin—lewd and smug—showed off his prominent front teeth.
“So?” Paul shrugged.
“I bet you can recommend someone,” Lee winked.
Paul rolled his eyes.
“Come on, man,” Lee nudged. “Everyone knows you’re into hookers…”
“Escorts,” Paul cut him off sharply.
His fingers tapped nervously on the table. Even the suggestion that he picked up women off the street offended him.
“I’ll give you a number,” he said at last. “A woman named Anna will answer. Tell her what you’re looking for, and she’ll take care of it. But it won’t be cheap.”