Colleen's Story: The A-Z of Trophy Wives, #3

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.

 

Colleen didn't marry Frank for his money—she'd always had a thing for older men, so when the senior partner at the law firm she was interning at made a pass, she didn't resist—too much.

Now married for five years, she realizes it was a mistake. He works a grinding 75 hour week, and travels coast to coast a lot, sometimes gone for a week. She's pretty sure he's hitting on the young interns and paralegals wherever he goes, but she'll never prove it.

It's time for Colleen to play him at his own game. After all, he said she could have the house re-decorated—so why not take advantage of the fact. Her husband's two week trip to LA just provides the excuse…

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.D. Grey
• Release date: Aug 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223791744

Book preview

Chapter 1

By the time she’d shown him around the house and let him take measurements, Collen already knew this guy didn’t have a cat in hell’s chance of winning the redecorating contract. Sitting down with a coffee, he was perfectly pleasant, in his perfectly turned out suit, with his perfectly manicured hands. It wasn’t even the way his bottom lip curled in disdain when he saw the bright contrasting ruby red wall in the master bedroom, or the equally lurid cobalt blue contrast panels in the guest rooms. She’d had that reaction from each of the other potential contractors—it was so, five years ago. She knew that—and that had been the main reason Frank had given in and allowed her to redecorate, in a light, airy style of her choosing.

No, it was just his manner.

Thank you for the coffee, Mrs. Strenton.

No problem. Do you have everything you need?

Yes, I think so, I do have a couple of questions, though.

By all means, fire away. She was polite, but she really wanted to throw the little weasel out on his ear.

You want this to happen when?

In four weeks, from the Seventh, with the job completed by the Twentieth. My husband is away for that two week period, so it’s a perfect opportunity to get things done.

And are you moving out?

No, I’ll be staying, but I can move between bedrooms to allow your men to do the master room. I’ll stay out of the way, but still be on hand to resolve any issues.

And will Mister Strenton want final approval of the color scheme and costs?

She frowned and she watched him develop a nervous tick at the corner of his right eye. He’d recognized his own mistake, she didn’t need to rub it in unless she wanted to. After a moment’s hesitation, watching the tic grow more and more pronounced she decided while it might be fun to grind his face in the compost, it wasn’t worth the bother.

No. The color scheme is pre-agreed with him, and I run the household budget. I have seen three other contracting firms already, and I have another one to see this afternoon. In other words, don’t try and stiff me on the price, you cretin.

Very well, I won’t take up any more of your time. I’ll have the quote prepared by tomorrow. Would you like me to drop it in?

No, just post it, please. We have a corporate function tomorrow, so I’ll be busy getting ready for that.

Of course. Goodbye, Mrs. Strenton.

Goodbye.

She showed him out of the door, then as she closed it, she leaned back against it with a sigh. That made four contractors and four strikes. Three of them expected the man of the house to have the final say. The other had just made her uneasy. Either the next one came up trumps, or she’d be mining her friends and neighbors for yet more contacts.

* * * *

After lunch she was about to give up on the fifth and final contractor, they were already a half-an-hour late when her cell buzzed with a text.

Sorry, got hung up on a job, and traffic is a bitch—I65 blocked. Will be with you in ten minutes, tops.

At least he’d let her know, and that was a plus point, and the fact he’d used plain English rather than text speak was another. Very plain spoken too. Even more importantly, his prediction was accurate—the large four-seat pickup pulled onto her drive exactly nine minutes after she received the text. She watched as an older guy climbed down from the driver’s door, and a younger version of the same guy joined him from the other side of the truck.

Both had a workman’s look about hem, although they were clean despite having been working all morning. She could see the way their tee shirts rippled over their muscles as they moved.

She answered the door before they could ring the bell.

Mrs. Strenton?

Yes.

I’m Jim Lassicker, and this is my son Jack. I did text to apologize for being late.

I received it, thank you. I was beginning to think you might not want the job.

Believe me, Mrs. Strenton, we would love to do your house, in fact, any house in this neighborhood—despite the traffic issues in the middle of the day. Your recommendation could be the making of us.

You understand when we want the job doing?

Yes, ma’am. Our schedule is clear from the Sixth, so fitting you in won’t be a problem. I take it there’s no structural work?

No, just decorating.

Well, if you wouldn’t mind showing us around the house. Jack here will take the measurements while I do all the talking. He’s usually very talkative, but I’ve put him on a warning today.

The younger man shook his head and rolled his eyes. She smiled, knowing she needed to treat both these guys with kid gloves—there was a lot more depth to them than they were showing on the surface with their good ol’ boys act.

Jack, used a laser measure to get the dimensions of each room as they walked around from room to room. She noticed though he was feeding the information directly into an IPad, rather than taking written notes. That surprised her, and another plus point for them.

Are you sure about the color schemes you sent us? The father continued to bombard her with questions.

Yes. We want that light, airy feel, but we don’t want white.

But you want it to graduate from slightly darker downstairs to lighter upstairs?

Yes, I guess that will make the staircases tricky for you.

He shrugged. More time consuming, yes, not so much tricky. You want that graduated seamlessly, or do you want it banded?

Can you do it seamlessly? The others seemed to think that was too difficult.

Some of those people were probably general contractors. We’re decorators through and through. Anything structural, or involving brickwork we sub-contract out. That makes us very good at what we do. It’ll take time, and that means money, but we can do it. Given the nature of your staircase here and the color change from sand to latte, it will look stunning.

Don’t forget the back stairs too.

Won’t be a problem, we’ll have to do stripes on the basecoat, then thin the paint down and add a little more color with each transition. There actually will be banding, but it will be so slight, you won’t see it with the naked eye.

Good.

Now, you want the bathrooms left untouched?

Oh yeah. That’s imported marble. You get paint on that my husband will kill me.

Thought as much, Italian or at least Italianate by the look of it. Makes our job simpler.

They’d arrived back in the family room. She watched as Jim looked at his son, and Jack nodded.

Can I offer the two of you a coffee?

That would be lovely, Mrs. Strenton.

Please call me Colleen.

Only when we’ve got the job, Mrs. Strenton, only then. I take mine black, but Jack here is sissy enough to insist on white.

She chuckled, which she knew they expected, and headed through to the kitchen. This was the first contractor who’d impressed her, and his easy manner continued to reinforce that.

When she returned with the tray, she saw Jack was working on the IPad with his father sitting next to him, checking over what he was doing. When he saw her returning, he jumped to his feet and took the tray for her, and gestured for her to sit next to Jack.

Let me show you how we think it pans out, Mrs. Strenton.

She realized it was the first time the younger man had spoken to her, and his voice had a low timbre to it that seemed to unsettle something deep inside her. Unbidden her nipples started to harden under her bra. She swallowed hard and nodded.

What he wanted to show her was seriously impressive. Each room was modeled, sans furniture of course, in stunning 3D. Complete with the chosen color scheme.

The doors and windows aren’t quite in the right place—I didn’t have time for measurements that precise, but you get the basic idea.

It’s impressive.

She noticed him pressing the power button and the app button at the same time every time he showed her a room. After a moment she remembered that was the combination for capturing a screenshot.

Not furnished, of course.

He paused on the whirlwind tour of her own virtual house, the shot of the stairs from the bottom was impressive. He’d blended the colors perfectly.

How on earth did you do that in such a short space of time?

I cheated.

Oh?

To be honest, we preloaded the colors and most of the room layouts from the e-mail you sent. I just added the dimensions and adjusted each room accordingly. The software’s very easy.

Well, it impresses the hell out of me.

Glad to hear it. Both men smiled.

I’ll e-mail you the stills once we get back to base.

Thank you, I’m sure my husband will be very impressed.

But it’s you who’ll make the decision?

Of course. She noticed it was the father who’d smoothly taken over the conversation again. He’d asked the same question as the others, but done so without patronizing her. She hadn’t been lying, she was very impressed with what they’d managed to show.

I’ll put the quote together tonight, and we’ll drop it in in the morning on the way to our current job.

And you’ll include references?

Of course. Three?

Yes, as long as one of them isn’t Samantha Harding.

Ah, so that’s who gave you our name?

Yes.

"I’m sure you’ll find