It happened at 9:14 AM, and Richard didn't even know.
Annie found out about it later, in pieces. She'd been at home, wrestling the twins into shoes and bouncing the baby on her hip, when Richard's laptop betrayed him in front of the three most powerful men in his professional life.
He'd been fumbling with the projector, trying to pull up a spreadsheet, and clicked the wrong file, and there on the boardroom screen was Annie, shirt hanging open, thighs spread, two fingers buried in her cunt, breathing his name.
The three investors had gone very still.
Marcus, the crude one, had actually leaned forward. "Rewind that," he'd said. And Richard, red to the ears, had obeyed. And they'd all watched it again, twice, in silence, while Annie was wiping applesauce off a five-year-old's cheek.
"Br
