Chapter 14
Aida
It’s a crushing disappointment to the British tabloid press that Simone Salem and I aren’t mortal enemies.
God knows, they’ve pitted us against each other from the outset.
Two confident, glamorous, ambitious news anchors, vying for the same top spots at the BBC?
It was the stuff their particular brand of poison was made of.
Especially when I went on my first maternity leave and Simone, who’s publicly declared her horror at the mere thought of having children, took my place.
Sadly for them, and happily for us, their toxic little shenanigans didn’t work, because I fucking love that woman. And I’m pretty confident it’s mutual, too. When Simone Salem dislikes you, you’re gonna know about it.
Believe me.
I waggle my fingers at her as she sweeps into the White City outpost of Soho House, conveniently located in the Television Centre, where the BBC still films the occasional programme. In her cream silk jumpsuit, immaculate blowout and chunky gold jewellery, she’s the epitome of late-summer chic.
Simone speaks like the late Queen and, even on the home stretch to fifty, looks like a Valentino runway model.
Case in point: the enormous gold V on her wide belt that catches the sun as she struts over to my poolside table on the tenth-floor rooftop, revelling in the discreetly curious glances from nearby tables.
The daughter of an outrageously successful Lebanese businessman, she married another outrageously successful, French-born Lebanese businessman. Her multi-millionaire husband, Karim, is short on height, long on Big Dick Energy, and his fabulous wife’s most adoring fan.
She may have three inches on Karim when barefoot, but do you think she ever forgoes the heels when he’s around? No, sir. My absolute favourite thing about my absolute favourite woman is her outright refusal to compromise. On anything.
‘Darling,’ she drawls, swooping down to kiss me on both cheeks and leaving a trail of Le Labo as she collapses into the chair across from me. ‘How goes it?’
I lower my sunglasses and shoot her a coquettish smile. ‘It goes great.’
She arches a perfect eyebrow. ‘Really? Do tell. Fun and games with your new boy toy?’
I smirk. God knows, it’s rare that I’ve had much to be smug about this past year.
But today?
Basking in the golden aftermath of my unexpected orgasm at the capable hands of a sinful man?
You could say I’m smug as fuck.
Glasses back in place, I smooth my palms over my cute Dolce shift. I always dress up for Simone—she both expects and appreciates it—and there’s something in my Italian blood that goes feral over the colours, the opulence, of Dolce and Gabbana’s dresses.
You could say they’re my weakness. My mom is first-generation Italian, and those guys dress women the way Mom always said we should dress. Colour. Flair. And, above all?
Flaunt those curves.
Even when they do an LBD, it’s sensuously feminine and made to stop traffic. Or so my little experiment last night suggested, anyway…
‘Holy fuck.’ Simone’s posh curse interrupts my little daydream. ‘Did you shag him?’
I roll my eyes with the moral outrage of someone who absolutely did not make out—and more—in a club last night. ‘Shh! No. Course not. How’s Karim?’
She gives that lame attempt at deflection the disgusted scowl it deserves. ‘Don’t bullshit me, darling.’ Reaching over, she grabs the bottle of Pellegrino and pours herself a glass. ‘Spill. I want details. Full details. Salacious details. Go.’
I sigh. My friendship with Simone runs deep.
She knows all the nasty ins and outs of my marriage and divorce.
I know all the less nasty ins and outs of hers.
But we were both married when we met, so swapping hot gossip about guys was definitely not on the agenda.
Not unless said gossip pertained to who was fucking who at work.
Because I’m a badass, hard-hitting, award-winning reporter and not some bashful teenager, I cut to the chase.
‘He ended up dirty-talking me into an orgasm while he finger-fucked me under the table at the Zebra Club.’
If it wasn’t for this place’s no-phones policy, I’d take a snap of Simone’s face, because it’s a picture.
She sucks in a breath. ‘Dirty bastard.’
‘Yep.’
‘I fucking love it. Tell me more.’
I let out a resigned sigh. ‘He was telling me about one of the Unfurl sessions last year where it was three of them and some young woman, who was a virgin. A virgin with a lot of balls, because the stuff she let them do to her sounded hot as fuck. Anyway, there was an ice cube involved, and he kind of… reenacted it. He got one from his drink and slid it up my leg, and…’ I shrug, attempting nonchalance. ‘I kinda went with it.’
Simone’s staring at me in a who the heck is this creature way. ‘Bravo, darling. Bravo. So the boy toy knows what he’s doing, yes?’
I press my fingertips to my brow. ‘Oh, God, please don’t call him that. It’s so objectifying.’
‘And I’m sure you haven’t objectified him at all,’ she drawls.
I sigh again. ‘Okay, fine. Of course I have. He’s fucking delicious. But you make him sound so young.’
Her face softens, and she reaches across the table to squeeze my hand.
‘He’s ten years younger than you, isn’t he?
You’re hardly a cradle snatcher. If John can fuck women less than half his age, you can certainly take some pleasure—pleasure you absolutely deserve—at the hands of some delicious fuckboy.
It sounds like the guy has experience, darling.
Bucketloads of it. So use it, for Christ’s sake.
That’s precisely why you approached Alchemy. ’
‘I guess,’ I say. She’s right, obviously. And last night was as enjoyable as it was unexpected. But Simone’s use of the term fuckboy, while definitely sexier than boy toy, only underlines the shitty feeling that underscores all the post-orgasmic smugness.
‘And it was a good orgasm?’ she persists.
‘Fucking amazing.’ It really was. It was so hot. So dirty and carnal—like I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t have stopped him if I tried, because his filthy mouth and magic fingers had me spiralling into another version of myself so quick I didn’t know which way was up.
It wasn’t just coming at someone else’s hands which, given the year I’ve had, was, in a word, delightful. Having someone else take control of my body. Drive it. Own it.
It was him. It was the overwhelming masculinity of his huge body.
His absolute confidence in his own attractiveness, in his ability to work a woman’s body.
The way he managed to be so smutty and intense without letting go of that light humour of his.
The way he spoke to me, like I was a dirty, dirty girl and he knew just how to wring me out.
I’ve only been waiting for someone to speak to me like that my whole married life.
‘Good.’ She gives an approving nod. ‘How did you leave things?’
I shoot her a rueful smile. ‘And here’s the rub.’
‘Go on.’ She sits, ramrod straight, and waits.
It wasn’t awkward at all after I came all over his fingers.
He held me there, his arm in a vice-like grip around my back, as we made out like teenagers.
I was all gooey and limp, my entire nervous system rewired in the best possible way.
And I suspected, from the hungry way he kissed me, that he was still hard.
Something I felt awful about, but I wasn’t about to jerk him off under the table. That was a step too far.
But, after we finished our drinks and exchanged numbers and he’d presumably talked his boner down, he called for the cheque and walked me outside before flagging down a black cab.
‘Where do you live?’ I asked him, thinking I could drop him off if we were close by each other.
‘Knightsbridge,’ he said, stroking a warm palm down my bare arm. ‘But, uh, I’m heading back to work.’
And that was it.
That was the moment the penny belatedly dropped for me.
‘He put me in a cab and went back to Alchemy,’ I tell Simone, and her eyes widen in understanding.
‘Ah.’
‘Yeah. Ah.’ I press my lips together.
‘Were you okay with that? Are you okay?’
I cock my head. ‘I don’t have any right not to be. I mean, we both know what this is. He owns a literal sex club. That’s why we’re hooking up—not because I met him somewhere and he asked me out. It’s a commercial partnership, right?’
Simone merely waits for me to answer my own rhetorical question. Around us, servers in immaculate white polo shirts and navy shorts tend to the glamorous guests and the sunlight puts on a blinding, fizzling dance on the surface of the turquoise water.
‘Anyway, I got off and he didn’t, so he was totally justified in going back and getting laid the way he needed to. I guess I should take it as a compliment that he was so turned on he needed to go fuck someone else.’
‘That’s fair,’ she says in a tone that suggests she’s holding back.
‘What.’
‘There’s a difference between an act being justified and it being upsetting.
You’re correct in that he hasn’t done anything wrong.
I mean, you’ll hopefully be getting the full benefit of this guy’s skills over the next couple of months.
But you’re allowed to feel upset about it, too.
This is a massive step for you, darling.
You’re getting back out there in what will be a very public way. It’s fucking terrifying.’
‘I guess.’ I allow my gaze to drift once again to the dancing sunlight on the water as I attempt to articulate my thoughts, to sift and weigh the confusing tangle of emotions.
‘I don’t think I’m upset, exactly. Nor is my ego bruised—if anything, last night was absolutely the confidence boost I needed.
‘I think it’s more that it made me feel a little… grubby, maybe? I’d just had this very sexy moment with a hot guy, and it felt pretty intimate by my standards, so it was a stark reminder that I’m one of god knows how many women for him. It probably wasn’t even memorable for him.’
‘And you’re absolutely allowed to feel like that,’ Simone tells me. ‘Have you heard from him today?’
‘Yeah.’ I pick up my phone and unlock it, sliding it over to her. ‘I had a message from him as I was dropping the boys at school.’
How are you doing today? If last night was anything to go by, I’m going to enjoy our little project VERY much x
‘Well, that’s sweet of him,’ she says, handing my phone back to me. ‘He’s got good manners, at least.’
‘That, or aftercare is part of the service,’ I say. ‘But yeah, it was sweet.’
The knowledge that he’d slunk away from me last night and into the warm, eager pussy of some woman who wasn’t afraid of putting out had me typing out a reply that was an exercise in restraint.
Thank you for such a fun night. I’m doing good, thanks. Look forward to catching up soon. X
‘For what it’s worth,’ Simone says, picking up the lunch menu and removing her oversized sunglasses, ‘I think it’s brave and fabulous what you’re doing.
Last night was a major first step for you, and it sounds like it was a huge success.
So when we do the kick-off interview next week, you’ll have to pretend to be all nervous and apprehensive about letting a big, bad man get anywhere near you. Got it, you dirty little slut?’
I laugh, momentarily comforted. ‘Got it.’
‘Excellent.’ She holds up her Pellegrino, menu still in her other hand. ‘Here’s to you getting schooled.’