night, she left with a little over eight thousand dollars.
That money had come in handy for the lease on her town house, her upkeep, and her rendezvous with Pleasure.
“Two tears in a bucket . . . fuck it,” she said, exiting out of her account and closing her laptop where it sat on the counter in her kitchen.
The sex during the first years of their marriage was humdrum—quite a disappointment after waiting for their wedding night. No fireworks. No explosions. Just a few pumps between her thighs and it was over. Their sex had been . . . safe, comfortable, predictable, and very anticlimactic. And then the last six months of their marriage had been centered on living as strangers during the day, with the weirdest, most degrading sexual torture and humiliation during random nights of his choosing. “That bastard deserves to pay for me to get some good dick,” she muttered under her breath, reaching in the fridge for a bottle of apple juice.
The first step was leaving the security and seclusion of her town house. It was beyond time. And next? Lawyer time. Her marriage was over and no matter how much Eric fought it, it was time to finalize everything. Hate it or love it, the happily ever after for Eric and Jaime Hall was—in the words of Aria—a done dada.
In the meanwhile she needed to focus on a career and making her own money.
She’d acquired her bachelor degree in interior design, but she was caught up in planning her wedding and she never obtained the required work experience to even sit for the exam to obtain her certification from the National Council for Interior Design Qualification (NCIDQ). In college, she and Eric had dreams of opening a business together. With his degree in architecture, they’d planned to design, build, and then decorate residential, commercial, and retail properties. The total package. Once she strolled her happy-to-be-getting-married behind down the aisle, all talk of a career just disappeared. She gladly stepped into the role of wife, socialite, and volunteer.
A fucking Stepford wife dipped in chocolate.
Maybe she could start her own interior design firm, but first she had to get in the hundred hours of work experience to get her certification. The skill was there, but she had to get her level of professionalism up to par. She’d decorated her own home and the majority of Aria’s and Renee’s homes as well. They had loved the way she mixed textiles and did unexpected small things to take their wishes to the next level. She did it out of love, but maybe it was time to start charging.
Jaime shook her head as she looked around at the decor of her town house. It was clear the sparsely furnished space had yet to become home for her. The little furniture she had came with the rental. A large sofa. A table. A lamp. A few nondescript paintings. Very hotel like. Very cute, but mostly just functional as hell.
Nothing at all like the design showcase of the home she’d shared with Eric. Not much of her life was, for that matter.
She brought her hand up to run through the chin-length soft waves of her natural hair. No more eight-hundred-dollar weaves by celebrity hairstylists. Her closet was no longer filled with the newest designer clothes. The eight grand was going fast and for now the days of thousand-dollar outfits were over.
She’d wanted a new life and a new life was what she’d gotten.
Finishing her drink, Jaime hurried into the adjoining bathroom to shower and get dressed. She had been summoned to her parents’ for another wonderful night of scolding and dinner. They’d promised her that Eric, the minister, or any other part of the cheering squad for an Eric and Jaime reunion would not be in attendance. Supposedly they just wanted her back in their lives. “Fun, fun, fun,” she said sarcastically as she undressed.
Jaime enjoyed a steamy hot shower and then massaged her shapely figure with her favorite lotion and a few precious sprays of perfume.
She chose a pair of
That money had come in handy for the lease on her town house, her upkeep, and her rendezvous with Pleasure.
“Two tears in a bucket . . . fuck it,” she said, exiting out of her account and closing her laptop where it sat on the counter in her kitchen.
The sex during the first years of their marriage was humdrum—quite a disappointment after waiting for their wedding night. No fireworks. No explosions. Just a few pumps between her thighs and it was over. Their sex had been . . . safe, comfortable, predictable, and very anticlimactic. And then the last six months of their marriage had been centered on living as strangers during the day, with the weirdest, most degrading sexual torture and humiliation during random nights of his choosing. “That bastard deserves to pay for me to get some good dick,” she muttered under her breath, reaching in the fridge for a bottle of apple juice.
The first step was leaving the security and seclusion of her town house. It was beyond time. And next? Lawyer time. Her marriage was over and no matter how much Eric fought it, it was time to finalize everything. Hate it or love it, the happily ever after for Eric and Jaime Hall was—in the words of Aria—a done dada.
In the meanwhile she needed to focus on a career and making her own money.
She’d acquired her bachelor degree in interior design, but she was caught up in planning her wedding and she never obtained the required work experience to even sit for the exam to obtain her certification from the National Council for Interior Design Qualification (NCIDQ). In college, she and Eric had dreams of opening a business together. With his degree in architecture, they’d planned to design, build, and then decorate residential, commercial, and retail properties. The total package. Once she strolled her happy-to-be-getting-married behind down the aisle, all talk of a career just disappeared. She gladly stepped into the role of wife, socialite, and volunteer.
A fucking Stepford wife dipped in chocolate.
Maybe she could start her own interior design firm, but first she had to get in the hundred hours of work experience to get her certification. The skill was there, but she had to get her level of professionalism up to par. She’d decorated her own home and the majority of Aria’s and Renee’s homes as well. They had loved the way she mixed textiles and did unexpected small things to take their wishes to the next level. She did it out of love, but maybe it was time to start charging.
Jaime shook her head as she looked around at the decor of her town house. It was clear the sparsely furnished space had yet to become home for her. The little furniture she had came with the rental. A large sofa. A table. A lamp. A few nondescript paintings. Very hotel like. Very cute, but mostly just functional as hell.
Nothing at all like the design showcase of the home she’d shared with Eric. Not much of her life was, for that matter.
She brought her hand up to run through the chin-length soft waves of her natural hair. No more eight-hundred-dollar weaves by celebrity hairstylists. Her closet was no longer filled with the newest designer clothes. The eight grand was going fast and for now the days of thousand-dollar outfits were over.
She’d wanted a new life and a new life was what she’d gotten.
Finishing her drink, Jaime hurried into the adjoining bathroom to shower and get dressed. She had been summoned to her parents’ for another wonderful night of scolding and dinner. They’d promised her that Eric, the minister, or any other part of the cheering squad for an Eric and Jaime reunion would not be in attendance. Supposedly they just wanted her back in their lives. “Fun, fun, fun,” she said sarcastically as she undressed.
Jaime enjoyed a steamy hot shower and then massaged her shapely figure with her favorite lotion and a few precious sprays of perfume.
She chose a pair of
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