‘We’re not homeless after all, Cinder. At least not for a while.’ Finishing her call with Claire, Sophie bent to stroke the cat’s sleek back as it came into the kitchen to weave its way around her ankles. ‘But then you never were, were you?’ Cinder was obviously a wherever-I-lay-my-hat sort of cat – something they had in common, which was why Sophie had been happy to accept her aloofness and allow her to come and go as she pleased. The cat had actually been extremely useful, portraying Sophie as a big-hearted animal-loving type, which had gone some way to winning Claire over. She’d certainly won little Ella over. Sophie was glad she’d gone to the trouble of feeding the animal now.
Going to the fridge, she took out the milk and topped up Cinder’s dish as a reward, then pulled her phone from her pocket to check her texts, of which there were several, all from Peter, the latest man in her life. She’d avoided any contact with him while Claire was here. She’d desperately wanted to bond with her, and a man lurking in the background, she suspected, might give the impression she wasn’t as traumatised by her ex’s controlling behaviour as she’d claimed to be.
He was obviously getting desperate. Sophie’s mouth curved into a smile as she read the last text he’d sent: You’re driving me insane. Can’t stop thinking about you. Hope it was as good for you as it was for me? Need to catch up with you. Text me back. Please.
She debated whether to keep him waiting, thereby keeping him keen, but then decided against. Experience told her he was the kind of man who was likely to move on if he wasn’t getting what he wanted. What’s it worth? she sent back.
Takeaway picnic? he replied swiftly. Clearly he’d been eagerly checking his phone, awaiting her response. Your choice.
Picnic in bed, he meant. Sophie wasn’t sure she was up for that. He was definitely into kinky stuff – and she’d been left with the cleaning bill for the duvet the last time he was here. But then it wasn’t his money she was after, though running his own financial services company in Birmingham, he had plenty of it.
Thai, she typed back. From the posh place.
I’m ready to fulfil your every desire, he sent back, with a winking emoji.
Sophie sighed inwardly. And wine. Dry. White.
Fuck me like you did last time and you can have champagne, he assured her.
Sophie rolled her eyes. It was strange how some men thought flaunting their wallets, along with their imagined macho physiques, would impress a woman. When? she sent.
Today? I’m in the area. Could make it about 8.
Definitely keen. Evidently he didn’t intend going home to his wife and baby tonight. Sophie curled her lip in disgust. The child was barely a month old. Some men really were complete bastards. Make the champers the good stuff, she replied.
Nothing but the best for you, my sexy little temptress, he responded, reinforcing the fact that she would never be anything more to him than a convenient shag while his wife recovered from giving birth to his child.
She supposed she should take herself to the bathroom to titivate. This would be the last time, she’d already decided, and she wanted it to be unforgettable. She needed him to remember it – every intimate, sordid detail – when she offered him her proposition: her silence in exchange for his services.