Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Good thing I didn't need her mistake. I only needed the illusion of one.
I restarted the footage and watched again, taking screenshots of the moments that mattered. Then, I reviewed the still shots, confidence growing with each isolated image. Yes. I had enough. And that was without even seeing Don's images.
I sent an email to my graphic designer and attached the images. Don's email popped up and I forwarded that also. The designer would know what to do, which ones to pick, and by the time Brant and I returned from Hawaii, everything would be ready for execution. I closed my laptop and waddled to the bathroom where I unwrapped my feet and rinsed off the moisture treatment.
Soon, everything would be fixed. Soon, Lee would be fully mine.
The weapon of my plan — a newspaper proof — was beautiful. I scrolled down the long image, checking the title, date, and the side copy that framed either side of our deceit. It was all legitimate and accurate. Should she feel the need to check on the publication, she'd find what I've placed in easy reach.
The beauty of the proof was in the center of the page, the main event. The headline was in giant letters across the top:
AREA SURGEON'S WIFE FILES FOR DIVORCE AMID CHEATING SCANDAL
Then, the photos. Crisp black and whites, one a respectable newspaper wouldn't print, but in this deception, spoke louder than any words ever could:
Molly and Marcus. At the Ginger. His hand on her leg, his mouth to her ear, a smile I'd seen her use with Lee screaming from the page, her features easily recognizable.
Molly and Marcus. In his car, her mouth on his, the press of her hand silhouetted in the window.
Molly and Marcus. In my living room. On my couch. The zoomed-in photo only showed her bare back, leaning over him, his eyes burning up at her.
Molly and Marcus. My favorite. His hands digging into her back, her mouth at his neck, his head back, eyes closed. The crop made it look like he was inside her, getting the ride of his life.
The copy was short and beneath the photos.
One of the city's most respected cardiologists received divorce papers today in what could be the ending of a five-year union. The good doctor was captured in several incriminating photos with an unidentified young woman. There’s no word on how long their dalliance has been going on. The majority of the photos received were too inappropriate to print. For questions and leads, please email Don Insit at don@newseagleprint.com or call 415-323-9811.
The page looked stunning, the photos leaping out from the page in a manner that was unavoidable. He would stare. She would stare. He would accuse. She would object or confess. Either way, they would be done. I approved the work, then called Don and verified the plan. He'd print two copies of the full-length newspaper spread. Next week, I'd replace the paper’s cover sheet with this one. I’d leave it on her front step with a nasty note, in a place that Lee would be sure to see it. They could fight over the photos, and I’d reap the rewards of my labor.
The plan was flawless and intelligent. I gave myself an awkward pat on the back and hung up with Don. Then I hurried to the closet and took out my Prada tote. We were wheels up in two hours, but I didn't need to pack much. Our Hawaii closets were full, the bathrooms and kitchens stocked by a staff that was expecting our arrival. I’d need my makeup bag, medications and my laptop, little else. I threw a few paperbacks in my bag, along with a new lingerie set Brant hadn't seen. I texted Jillian to make sure Brant was around and ready, then I headed for the shower.
Chapter 34
At forty-thousand feet, I feasted on Brant with an urgency that surprised us both, his mouth dropping when I yanked at his zipper and pulled out his cock. "Here?" he whispered, the question morphing into a groan when I took him soft in my mouth. He began to harden almost instantly. Against my tongue, he thickened, and I had to pull off and readjust my angle to accommodate all of him. He stood in the aisle and gripped my head, his fingers digging into my hair. I gripped his suited thighs and sucked him harder, needier than I ever had. God, I loved this man. God, I wanted him. All of him. I wanted him to look at me and see no other woman. I wanted to be his wife and have his babies, and for none of them, or us, or him to be broken. I wanted the impossible, and I took this instant instead.
There was only a thin curtain between us and the service cabin, and he whispered my name as his legs shuddered beneath my hands. "Don't stop,” he begged. “Yes, baby." I knew that scrape of his voice, the huff of his breath, the tightening of his thighs… all the signs that he was close.