And as if to hasten the decline, our sex life never got off the ground. When we did have intercourse, he at least seemed satisfied. He gasped and groaned and got off, and I sort of followed along. But his hands never drifted below my waist, he didn’t like blow jobs, didn’t give me head. We would have one disappointing moment, and then months would go by before we’d try again.
Eventually, I quit trying.
I was depressed as hell when I found the receipt in his pants pocket. He’d spent two thousand dollars on a Jessica Black. It only took a few Google searches for me to discover Ms. Black was a high-end call-girl.
He told me it meant nothing. He was having a crisis. He needed to “feel” something again. And after all, she was just a “faceless whore.” None of that mattered. I just wanted to be done with it. I wanted to go back to Wilmington and resume my career in marketing. I wanted to restart my freelance business, forget the whole marriage charade, and get back to what made me happy.
Six months had passed, and we’d tried counseling, therapy. I’d even talked to my mom, although I knew her advice before she offered it: All marriages hit rough patches, give it time. It had all been well and good until the night he decided he was tired of waiting for me to “get over it.”
Until the night he changed everything.
After that I never wanted to see him again. I filed for divorce two weeks ago—the week before Elaine had taken me to Scottsdale for our spa retreat. I hadn’t had a chance to tell anyone but her before we left. I hadn’t even had a chance to plan my exit strategy.
As it was, I still had to collect enough money for a deposit on my own place. I still had to decide how I would live—that is, unless I decided to come clean and move in with my mother until I got on my feet again. I wanted to save that option as the very last resort. I still had a few small marketing jobs in the works, and once those clients paid, I’d pack up and leave Bal
timore.
Those were the details I was working out when I left for Scottsdale and met Derek.
Derek opened my eyes. He turned my body inside out, and then he set everything on fire. But at the same time, nothing had changed. Derek might’ve shown me I wasn’t to blame, that I could fall in love, that my life could get better. But before any of it could be realized, I had to finish here. I had to get back on my own two feet.
I was still unpacking my suitcase and pondering closure when my soon-to-be ex-husband found me. As I expected, he was not in an understanding mood.
He was ready to get to the bottom of my unannounced trip.
Chapter 11 – Portfolio Diversity
Sloan breezed into the room as if finding me here was the last thing he’d expected to happen—as if he hadn’t sent his driver to pick me up at the airport. My pulse sped up. My back was to him, and without turning, I cautiously lifted my hand to one of the small top drawers of my dresser. Sliding it open, I casually felt beneath my lingerie, locating the canister of pepper spray now hidden there.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he said, dropping lightly onto my bed. He was long and lean, dressed in expensive tan slacks and a pale blue button-down shirt. His light-brown hair was losing its battle against the grey, and I remembered a time when his age had made him seem distinguished to me. “I do love your flair for the dramatic, my dear. Have me served then disappear for a week. Brava!”
His words also reminded me of a time when I’d debated whether my husband might be gay. The prospect had softened me toward him. I’d wanted to help him come out, let him know it was okay. He’d grown up in a time and in a world not so understanding of alternate lifestyles. Then I discovered his penchant for prostitutes. Jessica Black had only been the first of many contact slips I’d found. No, it seemed his only problem was having sex with his wife.
“Elaine called and invited me on a spa retreat,” I said, keeping my voice calm. I continued unpacking, silently waiting for him to make his next move. “But you already know that, don’t you?”
“Spa retreat? Why didn’t you tell me,” he had the nerve to act hurt. “You know I enjoy a good massage as much as the next guy.”
He enjoyed a happy ending. He probably had masseuses all over town ready to jerk him off for a modest fee. The thought made me sick.
“It was more of a friend getaway.” The tension was making my shoulders ache. I wanted him to say whatever he’d come to say or do and leave. “You would’ve been bored.”
“No doubt of that.” Then as if he’d somehow lost interest, he sat up and went to the door. “As I said, some third-rate lawyer sent your papers. A James Pettigrew or something?”
“James Perry.” He knew damn well my lawyer’s name.
“Perry, right.” He paused in the doorway. “I sent them on to Thomas for a good once-over. Can’t have my lady screwing me now, can I.”
It would be the first time in a long time, I thought bitterly, but I wouldn’t take his bait.
Thomas was Sloan’s self-serving lawyer, and if there was anything wrong with the divorce papers, he’d find it. The shocker for both of them would come when they discovered I just wanted out. No alimony, no settlement, just freedom.
“Look them over as much as you need,” I said with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll find they’re completely to your benefit.”
He nodded. “Then, welcome home Melissa.”
I didn’t reply. This was not my home.
Once I had finished unpacking, I walked down the hall to my study. The office was also a library, and when I’d first visited this wing last year, I’d been thrilled with all the books I could read. Little did I know, reading was all I’d end up doing. A desk was placed in one corner, and I saw my small, silver Macbook lying there. I’d left it behind on my trip, not wanting anything that reminded me of Baltimore. As if I could escape that easily.