Page 40 of After Midnight
I wouldn't consider what me and Monroe did as me cheating. Me and my wife had anarrangement.People hear that word and think it’s messy, or some dramatic open marriage situation.
It wasn’t.
It was actually pretty simple. My wife loved the life I gave her. The house. The designer closets. The vacations. The security of knowing she’d never have to worry about money a day in her life. She enjoyed the social scene, the brunches with her friends where they compared purses and travel stories.
And I enjoyed providing it. In return, she didn’t ask too many questions about how I spent my nights when business or somethingelsekept me out late. It wasn’t something we sat down and wrote on paper. It was more like… an understanding that developed over time.
As long as I handled my responsibilities as a husband and father — showing up, keeping our lives comfortable and protecting our reputations, she didn’t go digging for things that would make her uncomfortable.
And I respected that. Appreciated it. Discretion was the rule. Which is why a place like Madam’s worked perfectly. Everything there was quiet, professional, and contained. No drama, feelings, and most importantly… no complications.
I adjusted my shirt as Monroe stepped back into the room wearing a silk robe, her hair falling over one shoulder. She leaned against the dresser and looked at me with that knowing smile. She walked over slowly, resting a hand on my chest. Her eyes studied me for a moment.
Finally, she leaned in and kissed my cheek lightly. “Same time next week, Daddy?”
I grabbed a handful of her ass. “Maybe.” She giggled when I smacked it twice before standing up and leaving. I was walking towards the exit when my eyes caught a pair of thick smooth legs and a flash of navy blue sitting at the bar. The woman's head was turned away from me, but she turned when the bartender placed a drink in front of her.
Shit. It was her—the woman with the laugh like bells.
Gianna.
I looked around for a moment before stepping in. As soon as I crossed the threshold, our eyes met. She blinked slowly and tipped her drink to her glossy lips.
"Gianna, right?" I approached.
She nodded slowly. "And you are?"
"Boss."
She smiled slowly. "Boss, huh? I bet you are."
"Damn right, gorgeous." I didn't wait for permission to sit, just sat next to her and nodded to the bartender for a drink. "You're new?"
"Yeah. But you're not," she smirked. "Word around here is you're off limits to the other girls."
I chuckled. "And who told you that?"
"It's been implied. You're exclusively Monroe's."
“Implied, huh?” I smiled.
Gianna swirled the drink in her glass, the ice clinking softly as she watched me over the rim.
“That’s the word floating around,” she said casually.
“People like to talk,” I replied.
“Yeah. But sometimes there's truth to rumors,” she answered coyly.
I leaned in closer. “And what do you think?”
She took a slow sip of her drink before answering. “I think Monroe probably doesn’t like sharing.”
“That so?”
Her smile deepened. “You ever met a woman who does?”
I laughed under my breath. “Fair point.”
