He enjoyed feeling powerful.
The kind of man who could kiss his wife goodbye in the morning and, two hours later, parade his mistress through a five-star luxury hotel.
That morning, before leaving our townhouse on the Upper East Side, he’d told me he was flying to Chicago.
“Big investor meetings,” he’d said while adjusting his Rolex.
“Don’t wait up.”
I was sitting in the dining room reviewing legal documents.
A cold cup of coffee sat untouched beside me.
“Another trip?” I asked.
“That’s what happens when you’re the one doing the real work.”
I looked up.
“Of course.”
He didn’t hear the edge in my voice.
