was never invited to join him, and I later found out why.
He’d asked me to put my marketing career on hold and take his mother’s place on her many local charity boards, auxiliaries, and civic associations. Of course, I agreed—anything to help with the transition. His father’s death changed everything.
So my marketing business dwindled, and I made few client contacts in the city. Instead, I did what the wives of the super-wealthy did. I attended meetings, had teas, cut ribbons. The only problem was, I didn’t want to give up my career. I didn’t want to be a lady who lunched. I didn’t even know how to play tennis.
I confess—I blamed myself a little for our marriage’s “failure to thrive,” as the counseling booklets called it. Sloan had swept me off my feet, and he had style. And drivers. And cache into all the best places. But apart from that, we had little in common. I told myself it didn’t matter. We would grow into those things.
The opposite happened.
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 Baltimore.
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
He’d asked me to put my marketing career on hold and take his mother’s place on her many local charity boards, auxiliaries, and civic associations. Of course, I agreed—anything to help with the transition. His father’s death changed everything.
So my marketing business dwindled, and I made few client contacts in the city. Instead, I did what the wives of the super-wealthy did. I attended meetings, had teas, cut ribbons. The only problem was, I didn’t want to give up my career. I didn’t want to be a lady who lunched. I didn’t even know how to play tennis.
I confess—I blamed myself a little for our marriage’s “failure to thrive,” as the counseling booklets called it. Sloan had swept me off my feet, and he had style. And drivers. And cache into all the best places. But apart from that, we had little in common. I told myself it didn’t matter. We would grow into those things.
The opposite happened.
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 Baltimore.
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
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