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overwhelmed with marriage and that I needed some type of escape.”
    “Marriage counselor!  How long have you two been going to counseling?” she spat and Marcel looked chagrined.
    “A couple of months,” he admitted.
    “Does she know about me?”
    “Of course she does!”
    “And she still wants you back?”
    “Yeah.”
    Larkin placed her hands on her hips.  “What is this really about?  I know that you don’t love her so why get back with her?”
    “I do love her,” he said.  “But it’s not the exciting, tearing my clothes off kind of love, that type of love is good for a minute, but eventually it burns out.  I don’t expect you to understand,” he said.  “But our love is always smoldering, lasting a lifetime.”
    “Oh how sweet,” Larkin drawled.  “I’ll see it when I believe it.  I bet you ten thousand dollars that you have somebody else in six months.  But this time you’ll stay with your wife and keep everything on the down low.”
    “You crazy bitch.”  He looked down at his diamond encrusted Rolex.  “You’d better hurry up; whatever you can’t take with you is staying.”
    “Asshole,” Larking hissed.  “And to think I was in love with your sorry ass.” He wasn’t good-looking and calling him attractive was generous, but he did have a nice physique.
    Marcel rolled his eyes.  “The stairs is that way.”  He gestured past her to the door.  Larkin stomped out of the room, through the great room then finally made her way up the spiral staircase.  “The lease on the Range Rover ends at the end of December.  My assistant will be following up with you,” he called after her.
    Larkin froze then raced back down the stairs.  “I thought you said it was mine,” she said, breathlessly.
    “It was, until the lease ran out.”  The doorbell rang.  “Who’s that?”  He knew that his wife wouldn’t be ringing the bell.
    “Oh shit, that’s Monique, my hair stylist; she was stopping by to do my hair for tonight’s gala.”
    “Tell her to leave,” Marcel ordered.
    “What am I supposed to tell her?”
    “That you’re not going, that’s truth enough.”
    “Come on Marcel, let me at least have this,” she said thinking quickly.  There would be a lot of rich men there; she could easily snag one that will take care of her for a couple weeks or so until she got herself together.
    Marcel shook his head.  “No, this is it.  Go tell her.”
    “Asshole,” she spat before going to the door.  Five minutes later she was back.  “She’s charging you for the visit,” she announced.
    Marcel glared at her and it looked like he was about to dispute it, but changed his mind.  “Just hurry up the clock is ticking.”
    Larkin raced up the stairs to the master suite.  She grabbed their sets of Louis Vuitton luggage and threw her clothing, makeup, shoes, jewelry in it.  Between his luggage and hers she was able to stuff everything in it and then some.  This time she didn’t leave anything behind.  She also grabbed some of his jewelry that she knew he wouldn’t miss.  “I’m going to pawn this shit,” she muttered before tossing it all in the luggage. 
    The two maids who hated her were standing outside the door when she shoved it open.  And they laughed at her while she struggled to carry her bags down the stairs, neither offered to help.  And when she almost fell on her third and last trip down, both watched with bated breath, to see if she would tumble down the stairs, she didn’t. 
    She tossed the last two pieces of luggage in the Range Rover, after much pushing, tugging, and jiggling she managed to fit everything in the truck.  She strolled back inside to appeal to Marcel one last time.  “Are you sure?” she asked, while batting her eyelashes at him.
    “Positive.”
    She touched his arm. “Marcel, I—”
    “Bye Larkin,” he said meanly.  He crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps bulged menacingly.  This was the same man who murmured