Grant & Sandy Pt. 02

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Repercussions at work get Sandy stressed.
7.7k words
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Part 2 of the 4 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 04/18/2018
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Drivers
Drivers
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Sandy had already brewed a pot of coffee, and was moving efficiently around the kitchen in a short cotton bathrobe and hair still wet from her shower when I walked in, dripping from my morning run. She blessed me with a big, quick smile before closing the fridge with ham, cheese, and Miracle Whip in hand and returning her attention to assembling the kids' Monday lunches on the marbled stone countertop in front of her. I retrieved a cold bottle of Gatorade from the refrigerator, cracked it open quickly, and drank half the contents in a few big gulps. It was still cool and dewy in the early morning when I started my run, but we'd been experiencing unseasonably warm weather for the past week, and I was feeling it by the time I returned home each day. You're slowing down, old man, I thought to myself, face flushed from the exercise. Maybe, but that's why it's even more important to work out, came the ready internal reply as I downed the rest of my drink.

"I don't know how you do that without cramping or wanting to puke," Sandy said after glancing up as I finished the bottle.

"A long history of drinking, eating, and sleeping whenever possible, as quickly as possible," I replied, followed by a belch as I tossed my empty bottle into the recycling bin.

My wife shook her head as her hands cut the sandwiches. My eyes were drawn to the hem of her bathrobe as it shook slightly with her movements. Man, those legs look smooth. And the ass moving under that robe... I glided in behind my lady and drew my fingers up the back of her thighs to cup her perfect bare cheeks in both my palms.

She squirmed sideways and out of my grip. "You're all sweaty. Ick."

I reached out and wrapped a wet arm around her waist from behind, drawing her back into my chest as I leaned down to kiss the side of her damp neck and press the front of my shorts into her delectable rump. I was rewarded with a sharp "eek" and more wriggling to escape. "Grant, I've already showered and...no, you're dripping on me...NO!" She wrestled in my grasp to turn and bring both forearms up to my chest. "We don't have time. I still have to get the kids up and dressed, and get myself out the door. And don't you have a meeting this morning?" I leaned down to touch my nose to hers before releasing her, and she immediately swiped her sleeve across her face to wipe away my sweat.

Sandy ducked past me to the fridge, and pulled out a freshly made protein shake, shoving it into my hands before I could reach for her again.

"OK, I'm headed up to shower," I conceded before chugging back my shake. Sandy was all business as she turned away again and popped lids on the sandwich containers. How the hell am I supposed to stay away from her when she's wearing a square metre of cotton robe and nothing underneath? I climbed the stairs and pulled my soaked technical shirt off as I entered our bedroom, shutting the door behind me and crossing the room quickly to our ensuite. The rest of my workout gear was stripped away quickly, and laid roughly flat in the jacuzzi tub in the corner. Sandy didn't like that, but I knew from experience that she absolutely hated finding damp and moldy shorts and socks in the bottom of a laundry hamper a week later even more, so I chose the least bad option by leaving them in the bottom of the tub for a day to dry. I swung the glass shower door open, and started to run the water before stepping in.

My mind skipped quickly to my upcoming meeting as my hands went on autopilot with soap, shampoo, and razor. I was leading the review of a "site and process audit" my team had performed for a client, and there would definitely be some sensitive areas to cover that would require a delicate touch. I wasn't gifted with a surplus of tact, but the fact was that I was better at diplomacy than any of the rest of my team, including my partner Svend. We don't want to eliminate your individualism. You were recruited for your individual gifts and talents, whatever those might be. No, we simply want to direct those talents towards a greater goal - a TEAM goal. I smiled into the stream of water rinsing my face as I remembered the words of my first commanding officer. I used the same ones with new employees at our firm. If it ain't broke... That was why I was the one tasked to tread carefully when client feelings were at stake: I was the best we had for that job.

I shut down the water flow, opened the door, and grabbed the soft, thick bath sheet hanging from my hook beside the shower. Stepping out of the oversized stall, I gave myself a quick rundown in the mirror as I toweled off. At thirty-nine, my body wasn't what it had once been. It's not the age, it's the mileage. Still, other than an assortment of scars, a sprinkling of grey hair mixed in with the auburn on my chest, and a bit less...what? tightness?...to my skin, I wasn't looking half bad. At five-foot-eleven (180cm on my ID), I still had a thirty-two inch waist and abdominals you could see. I remembered when that hadn't required any real discipline at all, when a hangover was banished with a quick 10K and a breakfast of half a dozen eggs, bacon, and fried potatoes. Not anymore, buddy-boy. It's salads and chicken breasts and Michelob Ultra for you. My physique was more ropy muscle than bulk, but that had been the case for most of my adult life - ever since I'd realized that beyond a certain point, humping all the extra mass of a body-builder around just wasn't worth the trade-offs in endurance and agility. My forearms and calves were the only areas of my body that stretched fairly standard athletic proportions, and that was as much lucky genetics as it was hard work. I leaned in over the counter to get a closer look at my face in the mirror as I ran a hand over my jaw, checking the quality of my shower-shave. I hadn't missed any spots today. Scraping a razor across my skin daily was a pain in the ass, but I'd worn a beard for a number of years, and had never really liked it. Neither had Sandy, although she had understood why it was necessary at the time. I was getting close to needing another haircut, but the reddish curls were still above my collar at the back. A lot more white mixed in with that red than there used to be, eh Grant? I ran both hands along the sides of my head, combing the short hair back with my clawed fingers. It would do for now. My face didn't bear the ruddy tan-burn that had been semi-permanent in years past, but the lines around the corners of my eyes and my mouth were now present even when I wasn't squinting or smiling. Oh well, you were never pretty in the first place - no big loss. As long as Sandy was OK with it, I was too. That epiphany had been a surprise: after so many years of being fiercely proud of my fitness, of having women look at me at the beach or the pool, I really had very little personal vanity left in me. I just wanted to be wanted by my wife.

Pit-stick, a couple of spritzes of cologne, and a quick brush of the teeth were next on the morning routine, then picking out a shirt and slacks for the day. Custom shirts were my one fashion indulgence, and I had a couple dozen of them. My tailor had my measurements on file, and twice a year I'd visit him and pick through fabric swatches for the body, choosing complementary ones for inside the collars, cuffs, and plackets. Today I chose a light blue and white pinstripe with grey and white herringbone detail to go with navy dress pants, and oxblood leather belt and brogues. Mother-of-pearl cufflinks that had been a Hawaiian Christmas present from Sandy before the kids were born came next, and finally a rather battered Omega Speedmaster that had been a commissioning gift from my parents even earlier than that. Wallet, keys, and pass-card went into my pockets, followed by a quick mirror check before heading downstairs.

Charlie and Rachel were still in pajamas, but they were up and sleepily spooning cereal into their mouths at the kitchen table when I swept back into the kitchen. Sandy was dressed in a simple blouse and skirt for work, but her hair and makeup hadn't yet made it to the top of the to-do list this morning. Tick-tock, hon. That's not fair, I reprimanded myself. You haven't done a damned thing to help her or the kids get ready this morning. I ruffled each of the kids' hair as I walked over to the coffee maker, pulled my travel mug out of the cupboard, and filled it to the brim.

"I should be home in good time tonight," I told Sandy as I leaned in for a quick peck goodbye.

"Good. I could use an early night," she replied hastily. "Good luck with your meeting." My wife flashed me a quick smile and held up double crossed fingers.

"Thanks. This is supposedly what I get paid the big bucks for, or so Svend tells me," I grimaced. A chuckle from Sandy turned into a grimace of her own as I added "And good luck to you at work today after that debacle at the conference Friday night. Let me know how that goes with Christine, Dani, and the boys." Sandy's own team was thankfully not involved in any of the drama, but tension in the office was never fun.

I strode through the front hall, hefted my briefcase, and headed out the door.

***

"Oh, you're a darling," my wife gushed as I handed her a very full glass of sauvignon blanc. She had asked for one, and I'd delivered upon her return to the living room couch from putting the children to bed. That was after my first attempt had ended in dismal failure.

"Not really," I replied. "I'm just trying to keep up with Superwoman here." We clinked glasses in a silent toast and enjoyed our first chilled sip.

"How did your client meeting go? I didn't get a chance to ask when you got in tonight," Sandy prompted.

"Better than expected," I began, raised eyebrows indicating the fact was still something of a surprise. "They were very receptive to what we had to say. Didn't seem to be any noses out of joint, although who knows - that could come out of the woodwork later. But yeah, by the end of the meeting, we were asked to table a full slate of recommendations and implement them. Big win."

Sandy's legs were tucked beneath her, but she leaned forward to touch her glass to mine again. "Congratulations!"

"Thanks. It's going to mean I'll be gone for a few days next week, but the fees are really going to help us hit the mark this quarter. How about you? What was the fallout like from the conference?"

My wife's face darkened a shade and she took another deliberate sip of her wine. I could tell she was trying to calm herself before answering. "Big changes. All the team leads were called into a management meeting as soon as we got into the office. Neil had Christine deal with the elephant in the room - everyone who wasn't there on Friday had already heard the story, but she retold it anyhow. Then Neil jumped in. Christine called him Saturday morning to bring him up to speed and make sure he didn't get blindsided at work on Monday morning." A flicker of raw emotion crossed Sandy's face as she gave faint emphasis to the word 'he'. What's that about? "Neil apparently got off the phone with her and immediately called the underwriter's boss' boss' boss - the Executive VP of Commercial Lines or something like that. Tore a bloody strip off him about his employee's performance. So the guy that started the whole mess is done - the personal belongings on his desk were supposedly boxed up and couriered to him this morning. The whole commercial lines department at that company is falling all over themselves apologizing. Our office has $45M in premium with them, and they really can't afford to have us move it to a competitor."

She took another sip as I let out a low whistle. "So it turned out well for you guys?"

"Oh, for the firm overall, sure. We get some good leverage with them for the next few months. But I haven't finished my story yet," she continued ominously. I rose from the couch to retrieve the wine bottle and top both of our glasses up.

"There was still the question of what to do with Tim and Phillip. Everyone could see they were trying to do the right thing by standing up for Dani, but the truth is that trouble seems to follow them around. Heaven knows they work their asses off, but they party their asses off too, and they don't seem to be able to find the line between work and play."

I nodded my head. I was more than passingly familiar with that particular type of character myself.

"At this point, Neil said he needed to split them up to see if that could straighten them out a bit. Show them how seriously the firm takes their conduct, give them a last chance before they're shown the door, et cetera, et cetera..." Sandy's free hand traced quick circles in the air in front of her to reinforce her point.

"And then he dropped the bombshell." My wife paused to take a big gulp of her wine. "He said Tim was going to move to Paul's team in exchange for Priya, and Phillip was going to move to my team in exchange for Carla." Sandy sat up straighter, her eyes fiery as she went on. "For CARLA! I've just gotten us caught up after all the crap we went through last year, and Carla's my best associate! So I'm listening to Neil, and I look over at Paul, and he's fucking LIVID. And then I look at Christine expecting her to be shocked as well, and she's sitting dead still, looking down at her lap." Sandy couldn't sit any longer, and jumped up from the couch to start pacing in front of the coffee table. "Fucking bitch KNEW what was going to happen and didn't tell me. After all the help I gave her last year when I was up to my ass in alligators myself, when she fucking well knew EXACTLY what I'd gone through to get my group functioning again. And she poaches Carla."

I had to actively and instantly suppress my almost overwhelming reflex with an internal pre-emptive chewing out. You are here to LISTEN to her, NOT to fix her problem. If she wants your input, she will ASK for it. Nod your fucking head and look sympathetic, asshole. Sometimes I need to have very forceful, pointed conversations with myself. I nodded my head and put on what I hoped was a very sympathetic face. I wanted to punch Neil. I didn't want to punch Christine - I figure Sandy wanted to punch her enough for both of us - but I would have said some very unkind things to her had she been in front of me at that moment. The guard dog inside me was growling, looking to protect my loved one, who was obviously hurt by this turn of events.

"So what happened then?" I urged Sandy to continue her story.

"So the meeting wrapped up, and Christine just bolted for the door. Neil called me and Paul over before we could follow Christine and gave us some bullshit line about how he'd given us these two guys because we were the strongest team leads in the company, and he knew if anyone could turn them around, we could. What the hell can you say to that?"

"Nothing, you can't say a damned thing," I answered her rhetorical question. Well played, Neil. I still want to drive my fist into your chin.

"Then Paul storms off, and I head back to my office. I haven't even sat down when Phillip shows up. No, I am not shitting you." Sandy answered the incredulous question my raised eyebrows posed as she sat back down again. "He says Christine hasn't said anything to him, but he still knows what's going on somehow. Like the whole frickin' office knew what was going to happen this morning before I got out of my car. I was still really pissed off, but he looked so nervous, I almost felt sorry for him. So I told him we'd figure it out later. I told him to disappear for the morning and let me think. He took off pretty quickly." Sandy shook her head. "He looked spooked. I hope he understands how close he is to being out of a job. I hate having to fire people, but I will NOT have him fucking up MY team." THAT's my girl! Fierce and fiery! I nodded again, trying to keep it slow and sober, and not get her any more worked up.

Sandy's head suddenly snapped sharply up and her wide eyes drilled holes in the air between us. "And I have a bone to pick with YOU, mister."

My body went stock-still. What the ever-loving hell did I do?

"Guess who heard about the changes and came by at lunch to take me out so I could vent?" My mind raced, but came up with nothing. "Dani," my dangerous wife said with a tone of quiet accusation.

Oh shit.

"You didn't think it was important to tell me that a junior co-worker of mine and her husband watched me go down on you at a stop light?" Sandy hissed at me.

Another rhetorical question? Nope, the pause is too long - she actually wants an answer here.

"Uh...to be fair, I don't think they could actually see you, just me," I prevaricated. Wait, could they have seen her? I mean, not her head, of course, but was her ass squirming high enough for them to see her cumming at the same time as I did? Whoa, unproductive sidebar - focus, asshole.

"That's NOT what I mean, and you know it," she replied.

And that's when my mind, tires spinning frantically, finally found some traction. "OK, you're right, I should have told you," I conceded. "But there was no opportunity to say anything after we got to your parents' place that night, and with soccer and swimming lessons on Saturday morning, by the time we had a moment this weekend, I'd forgotten about it. I'm sorry." I tried to put as much sincerity into those last two words as I could, and not the defiance I wanted to. I'm the only one who has your back and you're mad at ME?

"How were we even still anywhere near them? Were you following them?" Sandy asked.

"No, no. Geez, no. You had my head spinning, and I lost track of them pretty quickly once that started. I was watching you at one point, and when I looked up, they were stopped really close in front of us, so I swerved to the side to miss them. And then...we finished. And then they turned left when the light turned green, and we just went straight through."

"Dani said she saw your face when you came," my wife relented with a hint of a smile. Relief washed over me. She's not THAT pissed off - just giving me the gears now.

"Yeah, well, I saw her face too. With Donovan's cum all over it," I confided.

"What?" Sandy exclaimed.

I shrugged. "When I opened my eyes and looked over at their car, Donovan was leaning forward to see past her, and she was sitting up, looking at me with cum all over her lips and chin. So it's not like she has anything to hold over you," I added.

Sandy flicked her hand dismissively. "Oh, I wasn't worried about that. I just don't like being blindsided. Twice in one day, in fact." Her frown had returned.

"Again, sorry." We both took a long, quiet sip of our drinks.

"Was she trying to wipe it off, or hide it? Did she look embarrassed at all?" Sandy's curiosity finally got the better of her anger.

I shook my head. "Nope. She just stared at me, and looked like she was giving me a whistle - although there's no way she could have with that much cum on her lips. I mean, it was dripping off her," I finished a bit huskily.

"No, of course she didn't," Sandy said absently to herself. "Girl has no shame." My wife looked up at me and arched an eyebrow at what she saw. "Hmm. Dripping, you say."

"Yeah. It was...pretty hot," I ventured.

The temperature in the room seemed to jump a few degrees instantly as my beautiful wife became obviously intrigued. Her cheeks and neck flushed prettily, her eyes closed slightly and she looked at me through her lashes, her chin tucked ever so slightly to her chest.

"You liked that? Seeing it on her face?"

"Uh...yeah." Can't deny that with with any credibility. Where is she taking this?

Drivers
Drivers
21 Followers