The Escort Next Door (5 page)

Proof

T
hrough an enraged red mist, I wasn’t thinking
clearly. I flew back into the bedroom and started tearing the room apart. I
began by ripping out the drawers of Paul’s bedside table, and tipping the
contents of them on the floor. His collection of cufflinks scattered over the
carpet and an old cell phone battery clunked to the ground followed by an ipod
with tangled earphones. The lower, deeper drawer was heavier and full of
notebooks and photo albums. I flicked through these, quickly dismissing them
when I found nothing relevant within the pages.

Using the bed to push myself up, I moved over to Paul’s
wardrobe. My movements were frenzied, as I tugged suit jackets off hangers and
rifled through the pockets. When I found nothing, I tossed the clothes over my
shoulder. I continued this way, until I’d gone through every item of clothing
he owned. I had to wade through an ankle deep puddle of fabric as I turned away
from the closet and glanced desperately around the room. He had taken
everything else with him; his phone, tablet and laptop were all in his
possession.

“Shit,” I hissed, my breath coming hard as the desperate
need to get to the truth became an almost physical pain. I couldn’t call him,
he’d only come up with a convenient excuse for the condom, and not being able
to see him when he lied put me at a disadvantage. No, I wanted to have
irrefutable proof of what he’d done before I confronted him with it.

In the corner of the room was a desktop computer, which I
focused on intently. It was my only route into his life. I’d only ever used the
thing infrequently, but I’d worked with computers before Lizzie came into the
world, and knew my way around them. Without a second thought, I turned it on
and tugged the antique chair toward the desk.

Sitting, I grasped the mouse and clicked on the shortcut for
Paul’s email. Then, I was forced to pause. I had no idea what his password was.
It wasn’t something he’d shared with me. Until that moment, I’d never
questioned it; hadn’t believed for one second that I needed access to his cell
or his computers. I’d stupidly believed that Paul loved me the same way I loved
him, and that no matter what problems we faced, we’d work through them
together.

Not only did I feel betrayed and sick with the knowledge
that he’d been with someone else, but I also felt stupid. I was gullible and
naïve not to see what had been going on. The signs were there; his distance,
his unwillingness to have sex (the exception being our strange encounter the
night before), that gnawing sense that something just wasn’t right. It was a
feeling I’d had for weeks, and yet I’d ignored it, buried it, pretended that
everything was just peachy and perfect.

With no trace of humor, I laughed bitterly at my own
stupidity.

Fresh anger welling inside me, I turned my attention back to
the computer screen. I began typing words that floated into my head. I started
with the name of Paul’s family business: ‘Hayes&Son’, then moved onto the
license plate number of his new BMW, the name of his childhood dog, our
children’s names and dates of birth, the date of our wedding. Denied, denied,
denied.

“Argh,” I groaned loudly, slamming my hand down on the
surface of the desk. In the silence that followed, I waited to discover that
I’d woken one, or possibly all three, of the kids. However, the moment’s ticked
by and still silence met my ears. Drawing in a calming breath, I resolved to
control my outburst. The last thing I needed was a sleepily toddler wandering
in and asking what was going on. I would never be able to explain Mom’s teary,
haunted face or the wreckage she’d made of the bedroom.

With a sigh of resignation, I threw myself back into the
solid wooden-backed chair, jarring my spine as I did so. I didn’t care about
the discomfort. Instead, my eyes crawled up the wall before me and landed on a
framed picture of Paul with three of his high school football teammates.
“Tigers,” I whispered under my breath.

Moving without my conscious request, I typed, ‘Tigers’ into
the empty password box. However, I hovered over the enter key for some time,
before deciding to add ‘32’, Paul’s jersey number. The screen suddenly changed
and I was looking at Paul’s inbox.

Quickly scanning through the first page of recent messages,
all seemed normal, boring and businesslike. However, three quarters of the way
down the page, I noticed something that seemed out of place. The sender’s name
was Jennifer, in of itself nothing to be suspicious about, but the subject line
of her email read, ‘Last Night’.

Terrified, but unable to simply turn away, I slowly directed
the mouse to that message and clicked to open it. I don’t think I breathed as I
read, and my heart seemed to sink lower and lower in my chest.

Hi Paul,

Just wanted to say thanks for a
very interesting evening. Someone told me that you admire people who go after
what they want, so I assume you won’t think any less of me for doing exactly
that. Like I told you, I’d been thinking about it for months and the temptation
of being in a strange city and a luxurious hotel with you was just too great to
resist. And I think you should know that you definitely didn’t disappoint!
Anyway, I look forward to working with you. I’m pretty sure it’s going to be a
lot of fun for both of us.

There was nothing overt, but the subtext of her email left
little to the imagination. My eyes flicked to the date, it had been sent almost
three months ago. Paul had been on another three, maybe four trips since then.
The tears that had been pricking my eyes spilled silently onto my cheek and
traced a hot trail to my chin. This hadn’t just been a one-time thing; a moment
of weakness. In all likelihood, he’d been having a full-blown affair with this
woman.

Desperate to know more, I typed Jennifer in the search box
and pulled up all messages sent to and from her. There were only two more that
she’d sent to Paul, both were completely professional and written some time
earlier. The other was written by Paul in reply to the first email I’d read.

Jen,

The pleasure was mine! You’re
absolutely right, this could be the start of a long and successful association.
Will be in Dallas again in a couple of weeks. If interested in another meeting,
let me know. I’ll e-mail you the details when they’re set in stone.

Again, the pretext of business hid something that caused my
stomach to lurch. Blinking back the water that was blurring my vision, I
slumped in the chair. There were still so many unanswered questions. Who was
this woman? How long had it been going on? Was it just a fling or was Paul
considering leaving me for her?

It seemed as though I’d struck a dead end. Paul and this
Jennifer hadn’t corresponded in ten weeks, at least not via email. However, as
I was about to give up, I noticed that Paul had placed those two emails, which
seemed to skirt around the subject of a night spent together, in a folder
entitled, ‘business trips’. I’m not sure why it occurred to me to check it, but
I did so on instinct.

Moving the mouse to the right hand side of the screen, I
clicked on the folder, which opened a new window. ‘Business trips’ contained
dozens of messages and as I scanned down the list, I quickly noticed the
pattern. Every single one was from a woman. Four names featured heavily; Abby,
Rachel, Joann and Krista. Emails from each of them were predominantly in dated
chunks. Abby’s were all sent just before and around the time Paul was in New
York. Rachel’s centered around the week he was in Tampa. Joann wrote to him
during his trip to San Francisco, and Krista’s emails were dated on and just
after Paul’s visit to San Diego.

“Jesus,” I mumbled, my eyes widening with disbelief. It all
seemed so surreal. Shaking my head, I felt that I must be dreaming. This had to
be some horrible nightmare that I was about to wake up from. However, no matter
how many times I blinked, the image on the screen stayed the same.

Although a part of me didn’t want the pain of knowing what
was inside those emails, the urge to get to the truth was overwhelming. So, regardless
of the sensible voice that told me to just turn the computer off and walk away,
my fingers gripped the mouse tightly and directed the cursor to the last email
on the list – the oldest. It was from Krista and the subject line read,
‘Discrete’.

Paul,

I’m sure you feel the same, but I
wanted to ask if we can keep what happened yesterday between us. Some of the
guys on my team were asking where I disappeared to last night and I made up an
excuse about not feeling well. I just hope nobody saw us going upstairs to your
room. I don’t want people thinking that I’m trying to sleep my way to a
promotion. Working with a large group of men is difficult enough without them
thinking I’m a slut. And as drunk as we both were, I don’t want you to think I
regret what happened. In fact, if you’re in town for a few more days, perhaps
we can meet up again?

Her next message made it clear that Paul had reassured her
and responded in the affirmative to her final question. She simply confirmed
that she would meet him at his hotel room at 9pm that evening.

There followed a couple more messages, stating that she’d
had a good time and requested more meetings with him. The content of her final
email suggested that Paul had given her the brush off. However, she didn’t seem
too distressed by that news.

Next came Joann, her messages were similar in tone. She
obviously also worked for the company, in one of the smaller branches. She
alluded to having given Paul a blowjob in the bathroom of a restaurant, before
signing off with a crass remark about her jaw still being sore from the
experience.

With a disgusted grunt, I shut that email and opened the
next. It was immediately apparent that Rachel from Tampa was direct in
expressing her desires.

Mr. Hayes,

This is probably totally inappropriate,
but I know you’re here for the weekend and I was hoping you might like a little
company. I feel that there’s been some chemistry between us and I’ve caught you
glancing at me in a way that tells me you’ve felt it too. I know that you’re
married, and I’m not looking for anything serious. I just want you to fuck me.

There were several very short messages, confirming a time
and place to meet. Then, a day later, a long message praising Paul’s prowess.
However, she, unlike the two other women, seemed content with just one night.
She made no mention of meeting him again, and continued to address him as Mr.
Hayes.

The final clutch of emails was the most recent, concerning
Paul’s trip to New York. There, he’d been supposed to be meeting with potential
new clients. The Abby from his mailbox seemed to be an employee of that
business.

Hello, Paul.

I’m Abby, Frank Welby’s personal
assistant. I tried to call you this afternoon, but couldn’t get through. Mr.
Welby was impressed with your presentation, but he’d like some further
questions answered before you leave town. However, he’s heading to Napa
tomorrow, so would it be possible for you to get down to the offices tonight?
Thanks in advance.

I read this message again, searching for some innuendo or
hint of over familiarity that I might have missed the first time around. There
was none, so why had Paul kept this message? The fact that there was another
email from Abby indicated there was more to this seemingly professional
exchange. With a sense of dread, I clicked on the subsequent message.

Paul,

I forgot that there was a security camera in the conference
room! Had to do some quick thinking to remove this footage from the files. I
really enjoyed watching this, though. Hope you will, too.

Beneath the text was a video file. In so deep, I felt sure
things could get no worse. I was wrong.

A new window quickly opened and a grainy image appeared. The
picture was soundless and quality awful, but there was no mistaking my husband.
He was standing behind a blonde-haired woman, with her shoulder length hair
masking most of her face. She was bent forward over a massive circular table
with some ten chairs around it. Her large breasts were threatening to spill out
of the low cut blouse she wore.

Paul had her tight, very short skirt tugged into his hands
and yanked up around her waist. I then watched his left hand, the one bearing
his solid gold wedding band, slide down to his pants and unzip his fly. His
fingers disappeared within and quickly returned, easing his hard shaft through
the opening. Suddenly, he was inside her. With no thought for contraception,
he’d rammed his unprotected member into a woman he’d met just that morning. The
knowledge that less than a week later, that same cock was inside me made me
feel that I’d been defiled.

Her head bucked up and she arched her back, her mouth open
as she screamed something. Paul instantly took advantage of her elevated upper
half, grasping both of her breasts in rough hands. After a few seconds of
frenzied groping, she turned her face to his and said something I couldn’t
lipread. It spurred him into action, pushing her back to the desk and slamming
his erection into her with a force that rocked the huge table.

All of the blood left my head, as I watched him repeatedly enter
her from behind. She was writhing beneath him, squealing in what looked like
delight at the violent treatment. Paul abruptly pulled free from her, using his
right hand to slap her hard on the buttock before clasping his penis. With
hurried, brutal strokes, he stimulated himself. Climaxing with a sudden jet of
creamy white fluid that splattered over the hand print that was reddening on
her ass.

Jumping to my feet, I dashed to the bathroom, making it to
the sink just in time to lose the small amount of water I’d managed to force
into my stomach just minutes before.