The Limo Driver and His Wife, Part 4

Chapter Eight: Pre-Show

Maggie is still sleeping when I get up, face down, hair a jumble all over her pillow. I let her sleep, despite it being after 9 o'clock—well past our usual wake up time. Rather than make a lot of noise in the kitchen, I quietly get dressed and slip out to get coffee at a place around the block. It’s our lazy Sunday morning routine, although this Sunday feels anything but routine.

“Late night?” the barista asks. We know each other by now—Vic.

“Way too late,” I say, ordering a couple lattes.

He’s got a croaky, smoker’s laugh. “That’s the problem with being in your forties,” he says. Vic is well past his forties. “You sometimes forget that you’re not in your twenties.”

By the time I get back to our place, Maggie is up, although still in bed. She’s got her phone raised above her and is laughing at something that she’s reading. I think it’s something on her social media feed until she starts typing back with a devilish focus. My heart skips. I know.

“Your famous boyfriend texting you?” I ask, carrying her coffee over to her.

“Oh, my God, thank you for this,” she says, taking the coffee. With a sip, she says, “Now this is why I married you.”

“And I didn’t even make the coffee,” I say.

“You’d make a terrific intern at the Times.” She says it, but is mostly focused on whatever’s on her phone. I feel both excluded, and a little aroused by it.

“So did he get you tickets for tonight?” I ask.

“He did! Right up front, too. Says he wants to look down my shirt.”

“Time to bust out the sexy bras.” I sip my coffee.

“Yeah,” she says, typing away. “I was thinking of going shopping.”

“If it involves you getting new lingerie, I fully support you.”

She starts giggling at something she reads on the screen, and at last, I need to ask. “What?”

“So the ticket,” she says, setting the phone down at last. “You remember what I’m going to have to do to repay him?”

“He wants you to go up to his room after.” I say it calmly, even as I feel the wild jealousy writhe through me. I love it.

“You know I can just not go, right?” Maggie says, checking in on me when she detects my anxiety.

“I do, but I don’t want that. And I know you don’t, either.”

“I want us to be us tomorrow,” she clarifies. “If that means not having extramarital sex, I’m okay with it.”

“And I’m okay with the extramarital sex. Seriously.” I run my hand along her leg. “Seriously,” I repeat. “So what has you giggling?”

“Well, I told him that while his scruff looks sexy, I’m not excited about what that’ll feel like between my legs.”

“You did not,” I say, covering my mouth. “What did he say?”

She blushes, then reports, “He said he’d shave if I would.”

My stomach squirms at the thought of that. I think of her landing strip. “Are you going to?”

“It’s been a little while since I’ve gone bald eagle. We’ll see if he follows through.” She grins. “You aren’t jealous?”

“Should I be?”

“I don’t know. Yes?” she says. “I think I would be.”

“You have feelings for him?”

“Of course not.”

“And do you think he’s falling for you?”

She shakes her head. “I’m just his New York girl.”

“Then I’m not jealous.”

Both of our phones buzz at once, but neither of us check them at first. Instead, we just stare at one another, soaking in the moment.

When I check my phone at last, it’s from Veronica. Time to start my actual day.

[Veronica]: Pick up at noon. Bring the stretch limo.

***

When I pull the limo up to the hotel, it’s a different scene than late last night. This is a moment to be seen and recorded in the flashes and mobile phones of the crowd outside of the entrance. This is Chase Morris flexing in all of his charismatic glory—cowboy hat, black denim, boots. He stops to make statements to the press and say hello to fans. He poses for selfies. He signs autographs.

Behind him, Veronica Larrson urges him forward, always so focused yet so discreet. I can’t read her. Not behind her sunglasses and coiffed facade.

Even with her prodding, it takes Chase nearly ten minutes to cross the twenty feet between the hotel doors and the limo. It’s enough time for me to check, then confirm, that his ever-present five o’clock shadow is gone. He shaved.

“Mr. Morris,” I greet, holding the door open.

“Good to see you, Brenden.” Turns out, Chase cleans up very well. Without the scruff, he looks like he’d be more at home in LA than in Nashville.

Veronica doesn’t give him room to say anymore, though. She launches into his itinerary. Mic-check at the Garden, podcast interviews before the show, makeup, costuming, the whole thing. He only half listens, and Veronica takes note.

“Mr. Morris, I need you to focus please.”

“Sorry, right.” He’s on his phone, and turns it to show her something on the screen. “Just… distracted.”

“Ah, yes. Quite distracting.” She sounds bored, like he’s just shown her a photo of his dinner receipt. Chase knows her better, though.

“Don’t be like that, V. I know you find her sexy.” His phone buzzes as another text comes in. This time I see the dilation in the blonde’s eyes as she takes in whatever it is. She glances up at Chase, reaching out to touch his smooth face.

“You did this for her?” I can hear the jealousy now. “You disregarded your rugged, workshopped, focus-grouped, ‘Chase Morris’ brand for her?” Okay, so maybe it’s not jealousy that I hear, but frustration.

Chase grins unapologetically. “You know how much I like the look.”

Veronica has a haughty laugh, like she’s playing at being offended.

He adds, “I know how much you like the look, too.” He glances at the phone. “And it’s even sexier because she didn’t do it for her husband.”

That makes my insides squirm. I want to see what they’re talking about. It burns me up that I can’t, so I blurt, “We talking about the brunette from last night?”

Veronica and Chase share a look, and in that look, they seem to have a whole conversation. These two have more going on than just a long, rich, and purely professional relationship. Veronica shrugs. Chase turns his easy-going smile on me, scooting towards the front of the limo.

“Recognize her?” he asks, showing me the phone.

I wait for a red light before looking. When I do, I realize that it’s not just a photo, but a video, played on repeat, of Maggie. Her skin glows the way she does when she’s just stepped out of the shower, although she’s not naked. No, she wears a lacy, black bra and panty set that I haven’t seen her wear in years.

The clip is short—just long enough to show her swivel before the selfie-held camera, showing off how the thong plunges between her ripe buttocks, and, swiveling back, she pulls the thong away long enough to flash her hairless mound.

It is one of the sexiest things that I have ever seen in my life. The car behind us honks. The light is green. I press the gas a little too hard and we leap forward. “Nice haircut,” I say into the back. “And that’s a good trade.”

“See?” Chase says to his assistant. “Brenden approves.”

She gives me a withering look before focusing back on Chase. “You don’t know anything about her.”

“Something I plan on changing later tonight,” he says, waggling his brows at her.

His words reverberated through my mind. I’m actually grateful for New York traffic for once because it gives me something else to focus on. Even still, it’s difficult. Here’s a man who’s been with countless women, truly excited to fuck my wife again later on.

In the back, the debate goes on. “…if she’s crazy, like that girl in Dallas? Or she’s got an STI? There are so many things you might want to know if you stopped thinking with your little head.” Veronica is as stern as a school teacher, dripping with disappointment. “How about whether she’s got an angry husband somewhere?”

That one, while fair, hits a little too close to home. Fear takes over where lust had reigned. What if we’re outed? What if these two discover our game?

“Relax, V. This is just fun. A good time. Gone in the morning.” He plucks at the frame of the moonroof, smiling. He knows he’s getting under her skin and seems to be enjoying it. “Or maybe tomorrow afternoon, depending on how things go. When’s our flight again?”

“You are impossible, you know that?” She sighs. “Just promise me that you will not take any videos. I have no desire to deal with a sex tape scandal.”

Chase looks at her, and from what I can glimpse, it’s not entirely professional. “Mmm, yes. Let’s talk about your desires.”

Veronica’s laugh is biting. She looks out the window. Chase seems to see something that I don’t.

“You’re jealous!”

She rolls her eyes. “You know I could care less about your tramps.”

“No, not jealous of Maggie.” Hearing my wife’s name like that hits me like a bolt. This isn’t just a sordid conversation I’m overhearing. It’s a sordid one that heavily features my sweet bride. “You’re jealous of me. You’re jealous that I’m going to hook up with this sexy, smart, witty brunette—exactly your type—”

“Oh, look,” Veronica interrupts. “We’re here.” She smiles cuttingly at Chase. “I’m sorry, were you saying something?”

I pull into the garage of Madison Square Garden, around to the backstage entrance. “This conversation isn’t over,” Chase says.

“Yes, it is, Mr. Morris.” She’s back to her phone. “Now, you need to get up to the stage for the mic check and rehearsal.”

I get out of the limo and open the door for them. Chase emerges. Veronica stays. “Where are you going?” he asks. I’m wondering the same thing.

“I need to deal with something. Now go. I’ll see you in an hour for those podcast interviews.”

Chase looks at me. I shrug. He says, “Hey, I never thanked you for bringing me to that bar last night. It was exactly what I was looking for.”

There are others waiting to usher Chase into the building, but they stand far enough away that they probably can’t hear our conversation.

So I say, “Or maybe you found exactly who you were looking for?” It’s not the kind of thing I’d normally say to another man, but Chase has this way of turning me into one of the guys. Guess that’s what makes him so successful.

“Maggie, yeah.” Both the dreamy way he says her name, and that he’s saying her name at all, make me feel woozy. He rubs his clean shaven face, and I know he’s thinking the same thing that I am—Maggie’s clean shaven pussy. 

“Okay, right. Now, take Ms. Larrson there wherever she needs to be taken. I’ll see you after the show.” He joins the people waiting for him. They snap into action and the building—and his many obligations—swallow him up.

I climb back into the limo and glance into the back, where Veronica is scanning her phone once again. “Where to?” I ask.

“Just drive me around. I mostly want to talk with you.”

“Oh...kay.” The single word comes out with effort, like they weigh me down. Everything is suddenly weighing me down. Something isn’t right.

I drive us out of the garage and onto 31st Street. She’s back on her phone, her thumbs a blur as she deals with something that’s probably important. She’s a force. Her white-blond hair tied back into a ponytail that breaks into loose ringlets and her red lipstick against her pale skin makes her look almost vampiric.

“I don’t need to remind you that you signed an NDA, do I, Mr. Hume?”

Ah, this is about what I saw last night. “Of course not. I’m a professional.”

“Hm,” she says dismissively. “And what about your wife? Is she also a… professional?”

My heart falls into my gut. “What?”

“Your wife, Maggie.”

How is it possible for my mouth to lose all moisture so quickly? “I…”

“You don’t know what I’m talking about,” Veronica says flatly. “We can drop all of that now, please. What I would like to know is what your game is. Tell me, Mr. Hume. What’s your game?”

“No… no game.”

“You took my client—and yours—to a bar where your wife just happened to be having a drink. They then ended up fucking in the back of your limo—while you drove them—before bringing Mr. Morris back to the hotel.” She ticks through all the details like a prosecutor addressing a particularly slow jury. “So I ask you again, what is your game?”

I lick my lips. “Look, it’s not… I never… it wasn’t…” I feel like I’m going to burst into flame. I pull the limo over. People stream along the sidewalk, some glancing our way, but no one stopping. This is New York. “There’s no game. Not really. We didn’t plan for anything to happen, it just kind of… fell into place.”

“So you’re a cuckold.”

“Huh?”

“A man who likes to watch his wife fuck other men.”

“What? No! That’s not it.”

“So you’re going to blackmail Mr. Morris? Because I wouldn’t advise that.” I hear the edge in her voice.

“Blackmail? No, it’s not… there’s no ulterior motive. Chase—”

“Mr. Morris,” she interrupts.

“Right, Mr. Morris… he wanted to get a drink somewhere lowkey. I don’t actually know many, that’s all Maggie’s—my wife’s—area of expertise. So I took him where she was. And he’s… he’s on her list.”

“Her list?” Veronica asks.

“Yeah.” I lick my lips, tasting the sweat on my brow. “Like, a celebrity list. It’s a silly thing, a… a game, I guess. But we never thought we’d actually act on it.”

“I could ruin you,” Veronica says. “Your business is based on referrals, right? I could make it so even a bunch of dumb teenagers wouldn’t hire you for their prom.”

Fuck! “Look, you don’t need to do that. I signed an NDA, and Maggie… well, she’s not going to go bragging about having an affair, even with a man like… like Mr. Morris. She’s got a reputation to uphold, too.”

“Oh, I know. Probably wouldn’t be great for a senior financial reporter for the New York Times to get that kind of press.” Of course Veronica had done her homework. “Not a good look for someone with her reputation,” Veronica says.

“You don’t need to make threats.” She’s starting to get under my skin. “It’s not like that.”

“You just get off on your wife fucking other men, and he’s on her list. Got it.”

Something occurs to me, though. “Does Ch—Mr. Morris know?”

Veronica’s laugh is biting. “No. Not that it would make much of a difference. Mr. Morris’s tastes are pretty indiscriminate.” She’s already bored, having satisfied herself that we weren’t threats. 

I start to drive her back to the Garden when I blurt out, “What’s the deal with the two of you?”

“I’m not sure what you’re implying. I work for Mr. Morris, and I protect his public image.”

I can’t let it go, though. “And he also shares naked photos of the women he’s fucking?”

“We have a close working relationship.” There is nothing defensive in the way Veronica talks about it, and for the first time, I see her smiling.

“So it’s more like locker room talk,” I say, meeting her smile with my own. “And my wife’s your type?”

“This is hardly an appropriate conversation, Mr. Hume.”

“Not much of this job’s been appropriate,” I say.

Veronica sighs in the back. “Welcome to my life.”

Chapter Nine: The After Party

I don’t see Maggie before the show. There’s too much driving around, too much actual work to get back home, although she does send me a few texts of her getting ready.

[Maggie]: How’s this? Do I look like a groupie?

The photo is of Maggie, in the mirror, wearing a pair of tight, Daisy Dukes, a denim top that showed off plenty of flat midriff, and her cowboy boots. Her hair is down, full and glossy around her made-up face, and her legs look extra shapely in those boots.

[Me]: I didn’t know you owned a shirt like that.

[Maggie]: I told you. I went shopping. Have to keep up with the other skanks backstage.

Chase doesn’t bring her up as I shuttle him around, although he spends a lot of his time on his phone, grinning and chuckling to himself. It ties my stomach into knots. Veronica, at his side, watches me with a knowing smile.

During the actual show, I waited in the backlot with the other drivers. I know a bunch of them, running in the same circles, and they give me shit about driving my own clients around. That is, until they hear that I’m driving for Chase Morris.

“What’s he like?”

“You know, pretty normal guy. Just like everyone else we drive, they’re all people.”

“Sure,” another driver said, “but he’s also a fucking famous rock star. Any dirt?”

I think of Maggie. I think of sex in the limo. “No dirt. Pretty boring, honestly. He’s got a P.A. that keeps him on a tight schedule.”

“Shame, man. Total shame.”

At one point, unable to resist, I talk my way into the wings of the arena just to catch a glimpse of Chase Morris, his show, and most importantly, the crowd. The arena is packed with screaming fans—most of them women—and sure enough, I see Maggie in the front, arms in the air, swaying to Chase’s most recent ballad.

She looks phenomenal, so lost in the music. While she developed a crush on Chase later on, it was his music that drew her in.

And then there is this moment as Chase gets down on one knee and belts out his soul-filled refrain—Good God, I can’t escape you, no matter how hard I try—I swear he’s singing right to Maggie. She opens her eyes, her smile bright and broad, and she fans herself with her fingers. Even the people around her seem to take notice of the exchange.

Then Chase is back on his feet, pacing the stage as he transitions into his more upbeat hit song, Summer Heat.

The moment lingers for me in all the best ways for a man with this fantasy—like an ache that I want to keep feeling. I return to the limos, waiting for the band to finish their multiple encores. I don’t see Chase first, though. I see Maggie, following a stiff-looking Veronica. The blonde points towards my limo, but doesn’t follow her all the way over to me.

Maggie can’t wipe the smile from her face as she approaches me. Up close, she looks phenomenal in her tiny jean shorts and her denim top. The sleeves are cuffed to her elbows, and only a single button is clasped. The rest of the top tied together to leave her midriff bare. “Hey, Mister Driver,” she says. She flips her soft brown hair, which springs around her shoulders. She points to my limo. “I’m supposed to wait in there.”

I nod, and open the door for her. “After you, Ma’am.”

She giggles as she disappears into the cab. I shift, doing my best to hide my erection. A few of the other drivers note the new passenger, but they know better than to question it. When one guy raises his brows, I just shake my head and he leaves the matter alone.

I do slip into the limo at one point, though. Maggie is right there. I can’t not chat with her. She smiles as she sees me get into the driver’s seat.

“How was the show?” I ask as I pull the door shut.

“It was amazing! He’s even better live than I thought.”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” I say. “He sounded good from out here.”

She nods. She looks relaxed enough, sitting in the back seat, long legs crossed. “Ready for what comes next?” I ask.

Maggie nods. She toys with her jean blouse. “I should be asking you that question,” she says.

“I’m ready,” I say firmly. “It’s been crazy, standing back here, thinking about what comes next.”

Maggie leans forward, nodding. “I can only imagine. But good crazy?”

“Great crazy.”

The door opens before we can pursue his line of conversation more. “There you are,” Chase says to me. Then he glances at Maggie, waiting for him, and says, “You trying to steal my girl?” There is no animosity there, no jealousy. It’s a joke to him, and an ironic one to us.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say. “Just trying to keep her company.”

Chase climbs all the way in, accepting my explanation. He’s now fully focused on Maggie, and I’m once again the driver, the help, the background noise. “You enjoy the show?” he asks her.

“You know I did,” she says with a coy smile. Chase tugs the door shut and practically leaps to her side.

“You looked so fucking tempting there in the front row,” he says, running a hand up her leg. “I swear, you almost made me drop a few lines.”

“You sounded good to me,” she says, but before she can finish the statement, he’s kissing her. It takes my breath away. I just sit there and wait for instructions. Chase seems to remember me after a moment, breaking the kiss. “Oh, shit, sorry. Bring us back to the hotel.” He looks meaningfully at my wife. “This one’s got a debt to pay.”

I swallow hard and shift the car into gear, pulling the limo out of the garage. We get snarled in the rest of the traffic leaving the venue, which gives me more time to stare into that rear view mirror to watch my wife making out with a country music legend.

“This is all I could think about,” he’s telling her between kisses. “I couldn’t wait to get you alone.”

Maggie laughs. “I doubt that. Me? No…”

To me, Chase says, “Don’t you love a lady who doesn’t know how hot she is?”

“My favorite type,” I say. “And if you don’t mind me saying it, I’m pretty envious right now.”

I pull out into the street at last, and it’s like the traffic opens up. We glide through the streets.

Chase tells Maggie, “See? Everyone seems to want a piece of you, honey. The driver. You’ve even created a bit of drama with my PA.”

“Who?”

“The frosty blonde, Victoria. You’ve met her.”

Maggie nods. “Yeah. Sorry about any drama. I promise you, I’m a drama-free gal.”

“And that’s what’s so special about you.” Chase kisses her some more. I drive, forcing myself to focus on the road.

After a bit, though, Maggie can’t help but ask. “So are you and her…?” She’s followed Chase through all the gossip magazines, but this has never been discussed. Victoria works entirely behind the scenes.

“You trying to dig up some dirt?” Chase asks, but he’s grinning.

“Just curious. As a fangirl, I mean. She seems very protective.”

Chase chuckles. “That’s a generous word for her. She’s a good… personal assistant.”

The hotel isn’t far from the Garden, and before this conversation can progress, I’m pulling into the garage and away from all the paparazzi. Still, there’s a few reporters stationed down here, and see the arriving limo.

“Fuck, they’ve smartened up,” Chase says, flopping into the backseat of the limo. He looks at Maggie, knowing that if he gets out of the limo with her on his arm, it’ll be all over the New York Post by morning.

I slow the limo before it reaches the side entrance, pulling it up short, and shift it into park. Turning back to the two of them, I say, “I’ve got an idea…”

Final part next Tuesday!