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“I want to take you to dinner tomorrow night,” I said. “My clients are bringing their wives. I’m always the sad divorced man at the end of the table. I’d love, just once, to walk in with someone.”
Vivienne laughed, delighted. “A social booking. I love those. I’m very good at wives.”
She was. The following evening she turned up at the Michelin place in a black dress and pearls, introduced herself as Vivienne, an art consultant, and charmed the entire table in fifteen minutes. She knew which fork to use. She knew about Rembrandt and rugby. The finance director’s wife asked her for her number.
Under the table, her hand was on my thigh the whole time.
Back at the suite she kicked off her heels and pushed me onto the bed.
“That,” she said, unzipping her dress, “was the most fun I’ve had on a booking in months. You were adorable. You kept looking at me like I was a lottery win.”
She rode me with the pearls still on, slow and laughing, then fast and not laughing at all. When she came she clapped a hand over her own mouth and her pearls bounced against her breasts.
On Monday, the client signed a contract twice the size we’d pitched.
“Your wife’s lovely,” the finance director said. “Bring her next time.”
Ending 14 of 16: The Plus One. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.