The Golddigger

The Golddigger

by Kynan Patram

SAMANTHA SAUNTERED through the spacious kitchen into the dining room, her high heels clicking loudly on the tiled floor. Though she knew her new lingerie would have an impact on him, she wondered just how big a response she’d get when George laid eyes on her, now that he was finally home from a long day at work.

When he looked up from his rye and coke, his elephant frame sitting at the table, his baggy eyes instantly snagged on her cleavage for several prolonged moments before finally reaching her face. His eyes went wide. He ran a nervous hand through his balding gray hair.

Samantha lifted her arms in the air to draw more attention to her crimson and maroon lingerie and how it hugged her hourglass figure. Giggling, she twirled around several times, adding an exaggerated rotation to her hips as she did so. “You like it?” she asked in a silky voice, as she stopped to look at him over a shoulder, batting her eyelashes.

George’s jaw hung loosely, looking like jelly that might ooze to the floor. A satisfied smile spread across her face.

He stammered, but before he could get the words out, she floated up to him and put a finger on his droopy lips. “I think you already answered that.” Giggling again, she slid her firm ass down into his lap, and wiggled it slightly to get comfortable. “Do you have any plans tonight?” she asked, taking his hand and resting it on her thigh, urging his weathered fingers to caress it.

He laughed heartily. “I guess I do now.” But suddenly his face hardened, the wrinkles becoming more pronounced. “Look, I just need to make one quick business call first, then I’ll turn off my phone. Okay?”

Samantha looked at him with narrowed eyes. She put on a fake pout.

He sighed and let his face fall, practically into her breasts. She sensed a slight movement underneath her buttocks.

“I’ll give you five minutes,” she said, winking. “But that’s it. No more.” She rose to her feet. “Want me to get your phone?”

“Would you, please? It’s in my coat pocket. In the lobby.”

Samantha bent at her waist, leaning toward him and letting her lips draw within millimeters of his. “You just wait right there,” she said, tweaking George’s bulbous nose with a finger.

She rose, turned, and walked toward the lobby, deliberately swaying her hips from side to side. She could feel his eyes on her ass, and she smiled to herself. George was a multi-millionaire, and Samantha was convinced she easily had enough charm to get a proposal out of him. Whether the marriage would last, she didn’t care much. In fact, she was counting on it failing within months. But she pushed the thoughts of divorce out of her mind. It might mess with her mind, and put her off her game.

The coat hung on a hook in the lobby. Samantha reached into one pocket, then the other. Her fingers brushed up against something course. Pinching it between her fingers, she withdrew a folded note. She unfolded it to find a phone number written on it in an elegant hand. A lipstick kiss glossed the paper.

Her eyes widened, and she cursed hysterically.

“Did you drop it?” she heard George calling out. “I just got that phone yesterday!”

Samantha stormed into the kitchen, picked up George’s drink and overturned it above his head. The contents rained over the bald dome and dripped down his forehead and cheeks, trickling down to soil his shoulders.

“Jesus, woman!” he snarled, trying to stand. But he faltered, gripping at his back, and then shakily eased himself back into his seat. “What’s gotten into you?” He wiped his face with a sleeve.

“You two-timing, sneaky, poor excuse for a man!” she screamed, flinging the paper in his face. It fluttered into his lap, before he picked it up to inspect it.

He cleared his throat and met Samantha’s eyes. “It’s a business contact.”

She clamped her fists into her hips, glowering. “With a kiss painted in lipstick? Right!”

George shrugged. “So she was a little flirtatious.” He rolled his eyes. “You honestly think I don’t get that kind of thing from time to time?”

Samantha continued to glare at him.

He slowly got to his feet, a hand supporting his lower back with care this time. “It’s not like anything happened with her, anything intimate, I mean. You’re getting all worked up for nothing.”

Am I?” she demanded, her nostrils flaring.

“Or course. You don’t think I’d have lasted this long in business if I didn’t have a sense of honesty and loyalty, do you?”

Samantha grimaced, and couldn’t help but kick one foot at the other. He was probably right. She’d met these types before. Always full of integrity, weren’t they? She despised it.

“Who the hell are you?” George suddenly grunted, a frown pulling at his lips.

Startled, Samantha spun around, following his gaze to see a muscular, bareback man peering into the dining room from the kitchen.

The man looked at Samantha, a silent plea in his eyes. But when she said nothing, he turned back to George. “I’m Seth.” He cleared his throat. “You know ... the pool guy?” He scratched his shoulder.

“And what in God’s name are you doing here?” asked George.

Seth swallowed hard. “Um, checking your pool. Routine inspection.”

George looked at his wristwatch. “Christ, it’s past ten!” He narrowed his eyes. “How’d you get in here?”

Seth picked and pulled at the cuticles on another finger. He threw Samantha another desperate glance, but she remained speechless. “The thing is – sir – I heard some yelling, and I was worried,” said Seth. “I was in the back, see.” He pointed in the direction of the front of the house, and Samantha winced, noticing her pulse speed up. “So I checked the sliding door and it was open.”

George glared at Samantha, whose heart had practically stopped now. She knew it was over. She was trapped. The game was up. Seth had dug them into a hole too deep to climb out of. She could visualize nothing but George’s money shrinking into oblivion in her mind’s eye.

“I think it’s time for both of you to leave,” George said in a forced but level voice, his hands shaking slightly at his sides.

Samantha raced forward, toward him, almost tripping in her heels. “No, wait. I can explain. It’s not what it looks like. Honest, George. I’ve never met Seth before.” She knew she had to at least try to salvage the damage done. She’d put two months hard work into George, and she wasn’t going to lose the conquest without a fight.

“Yet you call him by his name?” George cocked an eyebrow.

Samantha’s expression turned sour, her fingers going rigid. “But he just told us what it was.”

“You know I never open that sliding door,” said George. “Get out. Now.” He pointed in the direction of the lobby.

Samantha fell to her knees at his feet, conjuring up tears and letting them stream down her cheeks. Mascara painted her face. “I did it. I took a dip in the pool before you came home, and I must have forgotten to lock the door when I came back in.”

A gloating smile washed over George’s mouth as he turned to Seth. “Boy, what was wrong with my pool?”

Seth’s eyes shifted uncomfortably. “Too much chlorine. The – um – thingy ... was putting in, well, too high a concentration.”

“Get out of my house, both of you, before I call the police!” George yelled, flailing his hands above his head.

“Honey, don’t you believe me?” Samantha cried, still on her knees and wiping at the streams of tears running down her cheeks.

“The pool has been empty for months!”

 

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