Filthy Rich (Filthy Rich 1)

I was going to meet a woman tonight.

I wasn’t wearing black. Instead I wore charcoal gray dress pants, a pale blue shirt, and a dark blue tie. I took my watch from my side of the dresser—bypassing the jewelry on the other side—and put it on. I put on a spray of cologne, putting the bottle next to the perfume bottle on the dresser.

I walked through the empty penthouse. There was different artwork on the walls now than there used to be, and the sofa now had soft blankets and throw pillows on it. There were framed wedding photos on the mantel. There was tea in the kitchen that I didn’t drink and cereal that I didn’t eat. Half of my penthouse was no longer mine, and I’d never been happier.

The anticipation built as I got in the elevator, then walked into the lobby. I hadn’t seen this particular woman in five whole days—far too long. I hated being away from her for even an hour, but it couldn’t be helped. Tower VC was doing better than ever, and the Chicago project was well underway. Both of our schedules were packed. We kept everything straight thanks to Jade, who had been promoted from receptionist to our shared executive assistant.

Besides, these short absences, when we were both out of town, only made the reunion sweeter.

The meeting place we’

d picked was a bar a few blocks from the penthouse. It was a high-end martini place, intimate and dark. When I walked in there was a woman sitting at the bar in a black sleeveless linen sheath dress, her hair tied up into a twist at the back of her neck, her long, sexy legs crossed. She wore low heels with ankle straps. As I watched, she took a sip from her martini.

My body went into overdrive at the sight of her. I tried to stay outwardly calm, even though the only thing I wanted to do was take her home, strip her naked, and make her come over and over while I said filthy things in her ear.

She caught sight of me in the mirror behind the bar, and she watched me approach. I wondered what name she’d use. Lately, we used our own names—it was more fun that way.

I slid into the seat next to her. I smelled her scent, glanced at her beautiful mouth and the flawless line of her bare neck. All of her was going to be mine tonight.

Thank God I’d married her a year and a half ago, or I’d be a very filthy man.

She was still looking at me, subtly checking me out in the mirror. I saw her gaze flick to my shoulders, the watch on my wrist. She was just as ready to pick up a stranger as I was. When she put down her empty glass, her diamond wedding ring glinted in the dim light. It had taken me three weeks to pick just the right ring, and she’d never taken it off since the day I gave it to her. I wore my own gold band on my wedding finger.

I ordered my own martini. Samantha’s gaze went to my ring as I motioned to the bartender. She licked her bottom lip.

I took my drink and turned to her. She turned to me and smiled.

“I’m Aidan,” I said to my wife. “Can I buy you another drink?”