The Convenient Wife

Starla giggles and snuggles deeper into my arm, tilting her head and making room for my mouth. “Oh really?”

Gina pops back into the room, her jaw dropping to the floor. “My God, have you both lost your mind?” Snapping her hand to her hip, she snarls, “Bolt, your father would kill you if he saw this—”

“My father isn’t here, is he?” Taking a firm step forward, I’m about to give her an earful, but Starla reaches out and touches my arm.

“She’s not worth it, Bolt. Don’t let her get you to do something you’ll regret.” Shaking her head, she put herself in front of me. “She’s no one, she’s going nowhere, and she knows it.”

“Is that right?” Gina’s lip curls with an evil smirk as she widens her stance and balls her fists at her sides. “You think you’re better than me because you’re fucking the boss?”

“No, I was better than you before this, but I think I’m better than you now because I married the boss.” Holding up her hand, she flashes the giant rock on her finger. “I’m only still doing this low level shit because I like to earn what I have. Something you’re probably not used to.”

Starla lets her eyes travel over Gina and her clothes, pointing out her expensive Cucinelli sweater and Dolce and Gabbana heels.

“Just because you let him in your pants, doesn’t mean shit. You have no power here.” Gina smiles as if she’s just handed Starla her own ass. “It seems to me like working for what you got means spreading wide and giving him what he wants. It must be nice to not have respect for yourself.”

“Bolt, Honey,” Starla whispers with a sexy little twist. “Let’s go get lunch, maybe we can bring Gina back some leftovers, we don’t want her to get jealous now.”

Gina veers her stare, and I can see the hate in her eyes. “You little—”

“Uh,” I say swiftly, holding up my hand. “I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you. I’d hate to have to write you up for threatening our intern.”

“This is crazy, Bolt, she’s taking advantage of you.” Throwing out her arm, Gina slices the air in half. “She’s just using you. Can’t you see it?”

Is that what you think?

A smug grin splits my lips. I’m tempted to tell her the truth, that I’m actually using Starla, she’s not using me. I say nothing, because Starla was right when she said Gina isn’t worth my time.

But I can’t stop myself from making one point to her, reminding her who she’s talking to. “It’s Mr. Sheckler, don’t forget that.”

Taking Starla’s hand, I lead us out. I know she’s been holding that in, and probably wanted to say that shit to Gina since her first day here.

The other girls are treating her like she’s done something wrong. What everyone in the distillery doesn’t know is how she was picked from a stack of papers, run through a series of horrible questions, and offered the unthinkable.

My convenient wife.

But in reality, I was Starla’s out, and she was mine. It worked for both of us.

Climbing into Starla’s old, green, two door coupe, I find myself sitting with my knees in my chest.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take my car?” Trying to adjust myself, my calves keep bumping the bottom of the dashboard. I barely fit in the seat.

Sticking the key in the ignition, Starla lets out a laugh. “As cute as you look like that, there is a lever on the side that moves you back.”

Feeling the base of the seat, I find the lever and pull it up. The seat slides back quickly, causing me to let out a sigh of relief when my legs can stretch out. “There we go, that’s better.”

“Look at that, you’re learning how us common folk live with cars that don’t respond to voice commands.”

“Ha ha, very funny, but my car doesn’t talk.” Pulling the seat belt over my chest, I buckle it in. “Where exactly are you taking me anyway?” I ask, unsure what she has in mind for lunch.

“A place.” Pulling out of the parking lot, we drive up Main street and hop on the highway. “I hope you like good old fashioned southern food.”

“Of course I do.”

“Good, then you should love this place.”

We drive for a bit, chatting about our childhoods, our family life, our friends. Everything between us is so different. Starla went to public high school, I went to private. Starla had to work and save her money for her first car, I was given one when I turned sixteen—brand new, right off the showroom floor.

She had used everything, from clothes to shoes, even her phone was bought second hand. I was used to having shit before they even landed on the shelves. The newest smart phone, the newest BMW, if it was new, I had it.