Chapter 5: Riley

The months that followed were a misery for me; I loved Evan – and I was sure he loved me – but I couldn't reconcile that against the secrecy of his God-damned club. There was something going on at that terrace in Potts Point – something sexual, I was sure – and I felt that Evan had in some way been cheating on me, all the while giving me the best sex I would ever experience. I felt jilted and wronged and completely justified in my actions; but I also felt petty and small and ashamed of myself. Secret men's business; what's the big fucking deal?

If it was just about what I thought of as cheating, then dumping him should have been the end of it; but of course it wasn't. Hell, under the right conditions I probably would have considered swinging to spice up our sex life, so I couldn't afford to get too holy on the idea of cheating; not that I had any evidence anyway.

The problem was a simple one: curiosity. It wasn't so much that I didn't know his secret; it was that I wasn't allowed to know his secret, and that just wasn't acceptable.

After months of self-recriminations and soul searching, I resolved to continue my pursuit of the mysterious men's club by engaging a private investigator. I told him everything I knew about the club; its location and the night that it operated being the sum total of my knowledge, and one week and $2000 later he presented to me the following information, some of which I outlined earlier: it is called The Winsome Widow; it is not a registered business, nor does it appear to collect dues from members; bank searches of Evan and other members reveal no payments to a common and suspicious vendor; and the building is owned by something called The Adley Family Trust, although it is not the listed residence of any person.

He took photographs of several members and managed to trace the names of most of them; he surreptitiously interviewed their spouses and friends but came up dry; no new information. And that was it! I thought it was going to be a complete waste of $2000 until he went through the photographs with me; they were all unfamiliar – even with the names supplied – until the second last one: Riley Campbell, a senior partner at my very own firm.

Jackpot!

I wasn't immediately sure how this helped; I already knew the identity of one member – Evan – and that was no help to me. What I needed with Riley was some leverage; something I couldn't get from Evan ... a sex scandal with a junior associate perhaps. Most men wouldn't care, but a powerful man? A married man? Such a man might be prepared to part with one secret to keep another one.

My chance came barely a month later when the partners funded a celebration for landing a big new client at work. I had arranged several opportunities to bump into Riley in the office, smiling and flirting with him, making sure he knew my name and knew I was single. It wasn't actually that difficult; I found him attractive for an older man, and he was smart and witty and a good conversationalist. On one of our 'chance encounters' in the kitchen, I actually found myself giggling behind my hand and flashing my eyes at him, not because I was trying to seduce him, but because I was genuinely flattered and entertained by his attention.

On the night of the celebration, the partners had booked out the function area of a local venue that served nice beer and wine in quantities that spoke of their intentions to entice their clients in their range of cigars and premium scotches. I was one of the first to arrive and approached the barman on my own.

"A bottle of vodka, please," I requested.

"Sorry Ma'am," he smiled, "I can only serve drinks in glasses."

"I don't want you to serve it to me," I parried, flashing my eyes at him flirtatiously and placing a $100 note on the bar. "I want you to pour it down the sink, fill it up with water and then make me Bloody Marys with it."

A quick study, he understood immediately that I wanted to appear to drink all night without getting drunk. "I could save you some money by filling an empty bottle with water," he grinned.

"What's your name?" I leaned forward, smiling and giving him a superior view down my dress.

"Dan," he responded simply.

"Dan," I said. "I'm Alex. Come closer; I want to give my new best friend a kiss."

Dan leaned over the bar and I gave him a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"Now, Dan," I said in conspiratorial tones. "I would like a Bloody Mary, made with your finest vodka, please."

"Bloody Mary, coming right up, Alex," he replied in his efficient bar-tenderly voice.

I watched as he retrieved an almost empty bottle of vodka, tipped it out and filled it with water, and then made my Bloody Mary with it.

"My friends will be ordering me the same drink," I said, "and..."

"And you'd like me to make it with your personal vodka?" he asked.

"Dan," I smiled, "you are man of astute vision." I pushed the money towards him.

"You can hold onto that for the price of another kiss," he said, perhaps not feeling he had earned the money, having poured out only about five dollars worth of vodka.

Knowing a good deal when I see one, I leaned forwards again and gave him a softer, longer kiss; full on the lips with a little "Mmmm" at the end. Dan looked pretty pleased with it and I wasn't complaining either. I took my Virgin Mary and staked out a nearby cluster of armchairs and sofas around a low table from which I could watch for Riley.

It was easier than I expected; Riley arrived with one of the other partners and saw me sitting alone; I waved and smiled and they both came to sit with me, bringing me another not-so-Bloody Mary. They were possibly just being polite by not leaving a colleague to sit on her own, but I don't think the combination of the low chair, my short skirt and crossed legs revealing the embroidered tops of my stockings did any harm.

The place soon filled up with people and noise and between my skirt and Riley's charisma, we had a regular progression of visitors to our table, obviating the need for him to mingle in a more partnery fashion. I took many opportunities to cross and recross my legs, providing little glimpses of my red lace panties to keen observers, while also tugging at my hem in mock outrage at its inexcusable affront to my modesty as it continually rode up over the tops of my stockings.

As the evening wore on, I consumed six or more of my special Bloody Marys; adjusting my perceived level of drunkenness with each one. In one inspired move, I leaned over the table to pick up my glass – providing a long, sexy look down my cleavage – and then juggled the glass as I sat back, slopped a little over the edge and cried out as I spread my legs to avoid staining my stockings; holding them open for a few moments with my bare thighs and tiny panties on show while I laughed at myself and licked tomato juice off my fingers. Between the red lace knickers and my red lips licking the red tomato juice from my red-tipped fingers ... well if there was any guy there NOT thinking about sinking their purple prick into my pink pussy, then they're either blind or gay.

Finally at around 11pm, I caught Riley looking at his watch and then he drained his glass in what appeared to be obvious moves preparatory to leaving. Now was the time to make my play. I looked at my own watch and said "Oh goodness, is that the time?" and fished my car keys out of my bag.

"Early start for me tomorrow," I said, standing up. As I edged past Riley, I pretended to overbalance towards the table and then, overcorrecting, I tipped backwards, waving my arms and then fell directly into his lap to the raucous amusement of everyone at the table.

"Oh, my hero," I laughed, leaning sideways and kissing him on the cheek; making sure he had an excellent view down my top. "I think I'm falling for you, Riley."

Everyone dutifully giggled at my wit as I struggled out of his lap, allowing my car keys to jingle so that there could be no mistake that I intended to drive in my drunken state.

"You're not driving home, are you Alex?" Riley asked with a frown.

"I'm fine," I dismissed him with felt like a carefree, inebriated wave. "You can't get drunk on Bloody Marys," I smiled lopsidedly with sage wisdom. "The Worcestershire Sauce neutralises the alcohol." I winked at him.

"Well, I don't think the science on that one is quite final," Riley smiled. "I was just about to leave anyway; I'll give you a ride."

Bingo! "Don't be ridiculous!" I said with an over-expressive wave, which had me wobbling on my heels again. "I'm fine."

"It wasn't an offer, Alex," he said. "As of now it's a condition of your employment."

"Oh, well," I smiled. "Since you put it that way..." I held out a hand for him and although he took it politely, he didn't use it to help himself up; probably figuring I would finish up in his lap again. That was wise on his part; I felt a little electric pulse of excitement at his touch and dropping back into his lap felt like a distinct possibility.

"Bye, everyone," I waved with my free hand. I wondered if I was overdoing it; I didn't actually want everyone to think I was fucking Riley, I just wanted him to realise that they would believe my story when I blackmailed him into telling me The Winsome Widow's secrets.

When we got to Riley's car – something sleek and dark and German – he held the door open for me and I felt a little pang of guilt. He was a wonderful man; I could tell by the way he made me feel that fucking him would actually be my pleasure, but then I would have to use that against him. I didn't feel very proud of my actions at that moment, but I was still driven by my insatiable curiosity and couldn't help myself.