The Chauffeur

Episode 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 s*x, 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.

"Wait," I spoke up, not wanting him to go off to work without us resolving our issues first. He slung the handle of the black bag over his shoulder and paused, halting his exit out the door.

He glanced at the silver wrist watch I gifted him for his birthday last year, a sense of urgency in his gaze as he looked back up at me. "I don't have time for this, Celeste."

Not "baby", "honey", or "sweetheart". Just "Celeste." He hasn't used a term of endearment with me since we were in high school. The only one who gets the privilege of that is our six year old daughter, whom we both occasionally refer to as "bunny."

"Just a minute. That's all I need." He sighed, clearly agitated. "I'm sorry about last night. I should've been more considerate of your feelings in all of this."

We've been unsuccessful for over a year now, and things have been quite stressful as a result. And that stress has been taking a toll on our relationship.

His gaze softened. "It's okay. I wasn't exactly defusing the situation either. So, I'm sorry as well."

I smiled. "So we're good?"

He nodded. "We're good."

Still smiling, I leaned forward to kiss him. He kissed me back, the action short and sweet. "I have to go."

"Wait, one more kiss."

Sam shook his head, his agitation growing. "I'm already late, Celeste."

I sat back in my chair with a disappointed expression on my face. "Okay," I said softly. "Sorry. Have a great day at work. I love you."

"Love you too," he rushed before heading out the door.

Bored and feeling alone in this big empty home, I sat in silence as I proceeded to finish drinking my coffee and eating my donut.

I still had an entire hour left to myself before I had to pick up my daughter. My best friend Andi also has a six year old daughter, so the two often have sleepovers.

Andi thinks she's doing me a favor by letting Everly spend the night over at her house. She thinks it will give me and Sam time alone to do what married couples do.

Except that barely happens. Sam's always too tired for s*x. And when he is in the mood, he doesn't last long enough for me to reach climax. So I'm left having to finish what he started in the shower.

Picking up my phone, I decided to give our chauffeur, Harvey, a call. Sam hardly ever uses Harvey, so I usually have him all to myself. Plus, Sam usually drives his own car while I only have Harvey to help me get around.

It was Sam's idea. Said I deserved to be treated like a princess. So Harvey's been at my side hand and foot for about five years now. I go to him for everything, the old man more like family than a driver.

He picked up immediately.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hendersen," the sixty-five year old man chirped, his raspy, aged voice exposing how old he was despite looking ten years younger.

"Harvey, how many times have I told you to just call me Celeste?" It was a rhetorical question. The sweet old man is always so formal and has never felt it appropriate to address me as anything other than my surname. "We've been friends for too long for you to address me as anything other than Celeste."

"But I call Mr. Hendersen by his surname."

"Yes, I know." My husband likes to keep things professional between him and his employees while I've always hated such formalities. "But calling me Celeste would make me feel less guilty about having you drive me around everywhere."

"That is my job, ma'am. But, I will try."

"Thank you. Now, do you think you can pick me up and take me to that bakery I like so much?"

I can never remember the name. I just know I love the sweets they have there. Their lemon bars are to die for.

"Sure. I'll be there in five minutes."

"Five minutes?" I questioned in surprise because Harvey lives almost fifteen minutes away from here, and the Chicago traffic is terrible, especially in the morning when everyone is heading off to work.

"Yes. I'm already on my way to you, ma'am. I know how much you hate being stuck in the house all day."

My lips lifted into a smile. "You know me so well, Harvey. Just for that, you can get something at the bakery as well."

I was already going to get him something. He really likes the blueberry danishes they have there.

Harvey chuckled. "I can't wait, ma'am."