James smiled, still irritated, but undeniably drawn to her nerve. "Later, I am going to your apartment, and I will show you exactly how you are supposed to behave. But for now, finish what you started."
He chose the betrayal. He had the chance to stop, to feel guilt, to walk out that door and go after his wife, but he chose to stay in the chair. He looked down at Amanda with sordid satisfaction, filled with emotional contempt for the woman waiting for him upstairs. He guided Amanda's head, setting a ruthless, punishing rhythm. She took every deep thrust flawlessly, her hands gripping his thighs as the friction built to an agonizing peak. The sheer audacity of the moment pushed him over the edge. He came with a harsh, muffled grunt, his grip tightening in her hair as he emptied into her mouth. Amanda swallowed every drop, her tongue flicking out to clean him thoroughly before she finally pulled away.
Amanda stood up and smoothed her crimson skirt.
She leaned down, kissing him in an intimate, possessive way. "Do not take too long at lunch with her, or I will get jealous."
James liked that. He liked Amanda demanding ownership over him. He liked knowing Olivia was waiting upstairs without any idea that another woman commanded his time and his body.
"I won't be long," he assured her.
Amanda checked the hallway before slipping out of the office unnoticed.
James remained alone. He stood up, tucking in his shirt and adjusting his silk tie. He walked over to the small en-suite bathroom, washing his hands and studying his reflection in the mirror. He easily recovered the image of a respectable executive, a functional husband, a man in total control.
He thought about Olivia waiting for him at the restaurant. A very small part of his brain recognized that she just wanted to get closer to him. She was trying to save their marriage. He buried the thought without a second of hesitation. Olivia was too needy. She was too emotional and far too easy to manipulate. He did not have the patience for her insecurities. All he needed to do was get through the meal, act normal, and return to his double life.
When James arrived at the restaurant on the fourth floor, he found Olivia sitting at a corner table. She had the menu open, and she looked relieved the second she saw him. She tried to smile as he sat down across from her.
"Is everything okay?" she asked, her eyes scanning his face.
"Yes," James replied smoothly, unfolding his linen napkin. "It was only work."
The dialogue between them felt strained. Olivia tried her best to make conversation.
"How is your day going?" she asked, her voice laced with vulnerability. "I thought it would be nice for us to have lunch together. We have not done this in a while."
"It's fine," James said, giving a vague answer. He picked up his phone, checking a notification. "Just dealing with the Longford accounts."
He gave her short replies, physically present but emotionally entirely removed. His mind remained in the officewith Amanda, reliving the thrill of the risk and the lie he maintained with such ease.
Olivia noticed his distance. She picked at the edge of her placemat. "Did I interrupt something by showing up at your office?"
"No," James lied effortlessly, not even looking up from his screen.
"You seemed really tense," she pressed, searching his face.
"You are overthinking, Liv."
Olivia dropped her gaze to the table.
James watched her take the blame. He did not even need to craft a perfect lie, because Olivia did the work for him. She searched for innocent explanations, eager to fill the gaps with anything less painful than the truth. She desperately wanted to believe her husband.
James took a sip of his ice water, watching her from across the table. He lied with flawless ease, feeling invincible. He thought everything was perfectly under control. He had his wife, his mistress, and his career right where he wanted them.
Chapter 6
Olivia
Olivia sat at the corner table of the fourth-floor restaurant, the leather-bound menu open in front of her. She was not reading a single word on the page. Her mind kept replaying the exact way James reacted when she walked into his office fifteen minutes ago.
His rigid posture. His cold tone. The urgency in his voice when he told her to leave. He had seemed alarmed, treating her arrival like an intrusion rather than a pleasant surprise.
She stared at the linen tablecloth, trying to rationalize his reaction. Maybe she startled him. Maybe he was in the middle of a crucial thought process for the Longford account. She should have texted first. Walking into an executive office without warning was crossing a professional boundary.
Beneath all those logical explanations, she just felt embarrassed. She had gone up to his floor hoping to surprise her husband with a nice lunch, and somehow she had left his office feeling like she had done something wrong.
James arrived ten minutes later. He slid into the chair across from her, looking impeccably composed but emotionally distant. He leaned over the table, pressing a brief, automatic kiss to her cheek.
