The Chauffeur [Complete]

Chapter 1

After pouring myself a cup of coffee, I walked around my island and slid into the seat of my barstool.

I cupped the solid white mug with two hands and took a sip. A satisfied moan escaped me in response to the warm, bitter drink. I had an unhealthy obsession with coffee, which probably needed to be evaluated by a psychologist.

Without my morning coffee and some kind of pastry to munch on, -I love my sweets- I become a monstrous beast. And no one in my family or very small circle of friends likes bearing witness to such a creature. Especially because they usually end up taking the brunt of all my hangry-ness.

Golden rays of sunlight shone through the many windows in my home, the natural light bright, warm, and welcoming. It made waking up each morning worth enduring such restless nights.

I honestly don't remember the last time I actually had a good night's rest. When Sam's not snoring like a bear in hibernation, we're arguing about his late night shifts at the office, the lack of affection he shows me, or about yet another failed attempt to conceive.

Last night had been about me wanting to go to a doctor to see why we haven't been able to successfully conceive in over a year, and Sam not wanting a doctor getting in our business. He claims that his soldiers march fine, and now I'm wondering if I'm the problem.

I set my coffee cup down to pick up the glazed donut I retrieved from the pantry while my coffee had been brewing. I took a bite of the sweet treat, doing a little wiggle in my chair at the delightful taste.

Placing the donut back on my napkin, I brought my attention back to my coffee. I was in the midst of taking a sip when my husband walked into the kitchen clad in a gray suit tailored to fit his slim, somewhat muscular physique.

He's never been the Henry Cavill type. I've always felt he was more of a Robert Pattinson type instead. You know, and hairy but still had a hot six pack to show off.

Sam's always kept his appearance neat and business-like. Aside from the suits he wears for work, his medium, short blond hair is never out of place. Every follicle is gelled down to fit his "Ivy League" hairstyle. Which I found fit him perfectly considering he went to an Ivy League school. The top is styled with a side part while the sides are kept relatively short. 

Everything about him from his attire and hair to his clean shaven face is kept annoyingly perfect. And no matter how many times I've torn off those clothes or messed up his hair during sex, it's put back into place as if I never touched him. 

He's as pristine as a Ken doll.

Sam set his briefcase down on the counter and turned to fix himself a cup of coffee. I could tell he was still fuming from our argument last night. He was hardly making eye contact.

I sighed loudly, causing him to turn back around to face me. I eyed the silver wedding ban resting against his mug. We got married really young. We were eighteen and madly in love with each other. 

And instead of going off to college to pursue a career in medicine like I'd dreamed my whole life, I got pregnant and put my dreams on hold while my husband climbed the corporate ladder to become COO of a stock company by twenty-six.

"I'm going to be working late tonight. He took another sip of his coffee before adding, "so don't wait up."

I simply stared into those ocean blue eyes. Sam always works late, so it wasn't a surprise to me. He's been an ambitious workaholic ever since I can remember. Besides our daughter, nothing lights up his face and gets him talking like his job.

He gently set down the half-drunken cup and grabbed his briefcase. He never finishes his coffee. And he never stays long enough for breakfast. So I stopped making breakfast for him because I got tired of all that food going to waste.