Aimee's Story: The A-Z of Trophy Wives, #1

By D.D. Grey

They're young, beautiful, with fast cars and luxury homes—with absentee, older husbands. Bored and lonely, each of our trophy wives has her own solution.

 

Aimee's husband works away from Monday to Thursday, traveling to his successful dealerships all over the state. Even on Friday, he spends 14 hours in the office and plays golf on Saturdays. When he's home, the thirty-year age gap now means he doesn't have the stamina he used to have. Frustrated, bored, and not allowed a career, Aimee must find some other way to amuse herself.

It's a good job, it's a college town…

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.D. Grey
• Release date: Jul 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223989615

Book preview

Chapter 1

Aimee put her knife and fork down next to her half-eaten meatloaf and looked over the table at her husband. Don, in complete contrast to her lack of appetite, was wolfing down his far larger portion of his favorite dish. Despite his balding pate and the wrinkles around his eyes, he kept himself in trim with vigorous workouts, and she always marveled at his ability to put away food without piling the weight on.

We live in a million dollar house. We both drive expensive cars. Yet every Sunday, he gets me to make him meatloaf.

He loved meatloaf on a Sunday. Usually the only time they ate in. When he came home on Thursday after his four-day swing through the dealerships he owned, they ate out. Friday he grabbed something in town, and Saturday’s dinner was eaten at the country club. The one time they sat down to a meal every week—he always wanted meatloaf.  She sighed as he looked up, sensing her watching him.

What’s up, honey?

You can’t even tell how bored I am, can you?

She tried hard not to frown. At least he hadn’t called her baby or anything else that emphasized their age gap. They’d had this conversation before, this time she’d decided on a different angle, and let him coax it out of her rather than blurt it out.

Subtlety, it might work. Worth a try.

Nothing... really...

He snorted and reached for his beer bottle. Don insisted meatloaf should be accompanied by Bud, not by wine. His peculiar idea of soul food. He took a hearty swallow of the amber liquid and cocked his head to one side. His slow smile was the same as the one that had charmed her six years earlier. Charmed her into bed, and then up the aisle a year after that. She tried to suppress a shudder – that smile meant he had one thing on his mind, and she wasn’t thinking along that direction at all. Not that she minded, but at thirty years her senior, her husband’s idea of sexual satisfaction and hers were different. The attractive brunette waited for him to move the conversation along. He knew her well enough to know he couldn’t leave it.

Come on, out with it.

Let me ask you a question, hypothetically.

He shrugged and carved another mouthful of his meatloaf but didn’t lift it to his mouth. Okay.

You say things are going great round all the dealerships, right?

Yeah. They are. I keep my managers on their toes.

One of the things she’d grown to hate about their marriage was the way he tended not to involve her in the business. Managing a company with thirty-three dealerships scattered all over the state was a big job, but he consistently ignored her business degree and work background from before the marriage. He ignored the fact she’d worked for him for two years before he took notice of her in a very un-business-like manner.

By your inspections. Right?

Yeah, you know that’s how I work.

How many problems have you turned up in the last six months?

He grinned at her, and this time raised the piece of meatloaf to his mouth, then chewed and swallowed before replying.

None, my managers are good.

She shook her long brown hair around her head. She kept it down on a Sunday, and it swung easily. Don’s eyes were drawn to the movement, just as she’d intended them to be.

Don’t you think that’s a bit odd? No business works completely like clockwork. Little things have to be going wrong.

No, as I said, they’re good.

She changed tack a little. And they’re surprise visits?

Yeah, Stephanie is the only one who knows my itinerary.

And you trust Stephanie?

Of course, she’s been with me for, what, four years? What’s getting at you? Hell, you helped me interview her and select her for the job when Pam left.

Aimee shrugged and squared her shoulders. He’d just given her the opening she’d been looking for.  I met Pam in town during the week.

Oh, how’s she doing?

Great, but she did let something slip.

Aimee, baby...

She frowned and Don winced—he’d noticed his own mistake but plowed on.

... You’re driving me in circles, here. What are you getting at?

Oh, just that Pam told me her new job doesn’t have the benefit of working for you.

I’m lost. Don finished his meatloaf and pushed his plate away, reaching for his beer bottle.

It’s simple really. She misses the extra hard cash she always had at the end of the month without having to declare it.

What extra? She left me for a better paying job. That doesn’t make sense.

Aimee grinned at him. She could see he was puzzled. She knew she had him baited and on the hook. To use her fanatical fisherman father’s terminology, she needed to strike, and strike fast. The fifty dollars a head the managers slipped her to know when they were on the rota for inspection by the head honcho.

Don actually gave a pretty good impression of a landed fish, mouth hanging open and eyes wide as he digested that. It took him several seconds to process what his wife had just told him.

The little bitch. He paused. You think Stephanie is taking the same rake-off?

I have no proof sweetheart, but why not?

Don nodded. Why not indeed. Thank you for telling me. I suspect I won’t get any sleep tonight.

I think there’s a way we can deal with this without needing any kind of proof.

Oh? I can’t fire her without proof.

Simple, we make up a new itinerary for next week, without Stephanie being involved. I’ll book you into a different chain of hotels—so if they’re covering their bases by getting someone to check the bookings, then that won’t work either. You were going south next week, right?

Don nodded.

So go west tomorrow, instead.

Before she could add to that, he jumped up from his seat and moved around the table. His arms enfolded her in a bear hug, and his lips brushed her forehead.

Darling, you are a treasure. I’ll get Stephanie to cancel... His words ran down, and he smiled at her a little sheepishly. I guess that’s not a good idea.

Nope. You’ll be paying for a couple of rooms you don’t use this week, but see if you get different results.

I knew I married you for something other than your pretty face and that gorgeous set of knockers on you.

She snorted in response and then smiled up into his face. Even at thirty, her weight was within a couple of pounds of her weight when she’d left college—and she worked hard to keep everything trim and tight.

Actually I thought it was my long legs and my tight butt.

Those too, Aimee, those too.

He leaned down and kissed her, properly this time, and she returned the kiss. Within seconds the kiss had grown passionate, and she knew she had to take action to prevent anything else happening. She broke the kiss, breathing heavily.

Whoa, there cowboy. We’ve got an itinerary to plan, and some hotels to book.

Okay, okay... She could see the bulge in his trousers. He was eager. ... but after?

That schoolboy look and plea to his voice melted any lingering resolve to resist his advances. She nodded, and he grinned in response.

You’re incorrigible. You get the laptop set up and work out which branches you want to hit, and I’ll get the dishes into the dishwasher, and we’ll work this out. Then after...

She rose from the table, and without thinking turned her back. A moment later she heard and felt the stinging retort as his hand hit her denim encased butt.

Ow.

You earned it, minx.

Any more of that and you can forget all about afterward.

Minx!

She headed for the kitchen and made sure she swung her butt a little harder from side to side than usual. Without turning around, she knew his gaze would be glued to the way the skin-tight jeans clung to her ass. Maybe, just maybe, now he’d involve her more actively in the business.

* * * *

It had taken them an hour to sort out which four dealerships he was going to visit, coming up with a somewhat longer, but much more unpredictable route. That had included booking the hotel rooms for Monday to Wednesday too—deliberately going down market and not in the same towns as the dealerships—picking motels about ten to fifteen miles away. They were both satisfied with their work.

Happy with that route?

He smiled, and she closed the lid of the laptop down. Aimee could see the gleam in his eye, her husband wanted what she’d promised. Her unspoken agreement had him rising to his feet reaching for her hand to lift her into his arms too.

You’re incorrigible—and I should say no for that slap on my butt—I’m still sore.

I only did it so I could kiss it better.

Aimee raised an eyebrow in question and rubbed her ass to remind him. Although his swat had been quite hard, it had been playful—she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, and the warmth from it had faded within minutes. No harm in extracting the maximum from the situation though.

I’m not letting you anywhere near that, where there’s no soft bed to cushion it.

Oh, I thought I’d utilize the kitchen worktop.

Yeah, right. One word, one syllable, no.

Okay, you go up b... honey and I’ll be up in a minute.

He kissed her, and she could see by the fleeting look of disappointment on his face, gone in a split-second—he had intended to do something downstairs. For a moment she thought about giving in, but the idea of comfort won out. He’d have been joking about the marble kitchen work surface, she was sure of that—but he’d probably been thinking about the couch. Maybe even bending her over the back of the couch. He’d done that a couple of times and they’d both enjoyed it, him more than her.

She wavered for a moment then headed for the stairs, almost wishing he hadn’t given in so easily. She knew the real reason—he hated trying to wrestle her jeans down. He’d happily strip her out of a dress or skirt but hated the wrangling involved in getting the tight jeans she preferred, off of her.

Once upstairs she had the jeans unsnapped before she reached the