The Not So Invisible Woman Read Free

big house to store all my shoes in,' I joked. I'd had to pay my husband a quarter of a million to keep the place after our divorce, but it had become my refuge. During my marriage, the house often reminded me of my role as hausfrau. Now all mine, it was worth the long hours I put in at my day job at an entertainment company in order to keep it.
    'So, doctor, what's your real job?' I asked.
    'I run a small hedge fund and work from home about a mile from here.'
    Money. Big cock. Local. Does it get more perfect than this?
    The only other time I'd met a hedge fund guy was when I went to a party full of them, hosted by Trader Monthly magazine and organised by a party-planner mate of mine, Andrew. When Andrew mentioned the event sponsor was Chivas Regal, I decided to go for the drinks. At the last minute my then boyfriend, Karume, insisted on tagging along, on the pretext of making some 'business connections'. He didn't have a job at the time, so I suspected his coming had more to do with his not wanting me to be in the same room as a lot of men with a lot of money. I was his meal ticket. In the four months he lived under my roof, he never brought anything to the table, not even a bottle of cheap wine.
    That night, I schmoozed with a dozen multimillionaires at Il Bottaccio, an elegant Georgian mansion turned private club on Grosvenor Place. Karume kept one eye on me and the other on the undernourished models shipped in for the evening as eye candy. As I later realised, juggling a number of women was second nature to him. When I eventually kicked him to the kerb, shortly after the trader party, it was because I discovered he had been sharing his bed with another girl. I wouldn't have minded that, but he had made me give up my own harem when we got together, saying he was 'a one-woman man'.
    I was one of the few women at the Trader Monthly fete who had a nine-to-five job and sizeable boobs, so was a novelty for the traders, at least those who were actually as interested in brains as in beauty. I learned that, in addition to being loaded, traders could be fun, especially after half a dozen free Chivas cocktails. I picked up the business cards of a couple of attractive guys, before they were snatched away by Karume on the pretext of 'research'. His research never panned out, and I never met another trader until my doctor came calling. After Karume and I broke up, I swore I'd never support another guy ever again and I didn't.
    'I have to get to work,' I said.
    'Me too.'
    Dr Donny and I stood up and began dressing.
    I was debating whether to suggest we schedule in another doctor's appointment, when suddenly the doctor beat me to it.
    'Listen, I'm going to Monaco in a couple of days for the Grand Prix. Why don't I fly you out for the weekend? We can fuck our brains out there.'
    This could be a keeper, I thought. I'd only just met the guy and already he was talking about taking me away somewhere warm and expensive and exotic. Maybe I'd been right about the brain and body connection.
    'I'll see if I can move a few things around,' I said. My kids were going to be with their father that weekend, so that wasn't a problem, but I had a client meeting on Friday afternoon that I'd have to rearrange. 'Let me get back to you.'
    'Just let me know,' he said. 'I can always book a late ticket.'
    We walked downstairs and out onto the street. Dr Donny kissed me on the pavement outside my house. 'Call me,' he said. 'We'll have fun.'
    And we would have done, had I ever been given the opportunity to see him again.
    I got in the car, put on my Bluetooth, and rang my best mate Nadia, who loved hearing of my exploits.
    Nadia is a 43-year-old Lebanese chick with wild dark hair that falls to her shoulders in corkscrew ringlets and a petite, almost boyish body. Thanks to her beauty and olive complexion, she looks a decade younger and often ends up with sexy men who actually are. We met through Karume, whom she fucked before he took up with me. Nadia dated him only