My Sales Champion Wife's Secrets - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

I peeked out the window and did a double take—Sophia's husband was passed out cold on the balcony daybed. No wonder she was getting bold tonight.
Turning back to Lillian, I gave her my best puppy-dog eyes. "Babe, can I plead the fifth on this one?"
"Ask Sophie. You lost fair and square," my wife sing-songed, clearly loving my squirming.
Sophia's smirk could've powered a small city. "No take-backs. Spill."
With a dramatic sigh, I muttered, "Nineteen centimeters. Measured it in high school like a weirdo."
Thank God the next round went to Lillian. Her question? Had I ever fantasized about another woman.
Easy mode.
"Obviously. Emma Watson, Margot Robbie, Scarlett Johansson—"
"You absolute horndog!" Lillian fake-scolded, punching my arm hard enough to leave a bruise.
By round four, I finally scored payback. Locking eyes with Sophia, I growled, "Can I ask anything I want?"
She flashed me a shit-eating grin. "Absolutely. Oops—that was your question! Better luck next round!"
"Son of a—you tricked me!"
My protests fell on deaf ears. Those two were tag-teaming me like WWE wrestlers.
We played until well past ten. Sophia dominated—especially with Lillian feeding her ammo—until my entire life story was public record.
Later in bed, I whined to Lillian. "Your friend's a goddamn interrogator! And you enabled her!"
"Don't be salty," she giggled, snuggling closer. "Sophie barely visits. Maybe she's just blowing off steam."
"Fine. But you owe me big time."
I smirked, landing a sharp smack on her perfect ass before guiding her onto her knees.
Lillian's cheeks burned crimson, but she didn't hesitate.
Let's just say we didn't get much sleep.
Next afternoon, I'd just kicked off my shoes after deliveries when Lillian launched herself at me like a golden retriever.
"Ethan! I got it! Three grand base pay before commissions—starting tomorrow!"
"Real estate? You sure about this?" I frowned, realizing we'd glossed over this bombshell yesterday.
She pouted. "I told you! Sophie took me today. We'll be at the same firm. She'll mentor me. Please let me try?"
I caved, not wanting to crush her excitement.
Still—in this market? Selling houses wasn't exactly printing money.
Next morning, I was chugging coffee when Lillian strutted out in her new "uniform": a skin-tight blazer, white blouse that should've been illegal, and—
A skirt that barely qualified as clothing.
"Since when do realtors dress like Vegas cocktail waitresses?" I grumbled.
"It's dress code! Look—leggings." She hitched up the hem, flashing miles of creamy thigh.
The pose was straight out of a lingerie catalog.
I nearly bent her over the kitchen table right then.
"Ethan," she gasped, cheeks flaming. "I'll be late! Rain check for tonight?"
"Fine," I growled. "I'll pick you up."
5 PM rolled around. My phone buzzed.
"Sweetheart? I've got a night showing. Go home without me?"
"Night viewings?" My voice turned razor-sharp.
Silence. Then Sophia snatched the phone.
"Ethan Roland," she purred, "miss us already? Want me to swing by and... keep you company?"
My face went nuclear. "N-No! Just—be careful."
"Relax. Client's a doctor with weird hours. Your wifey's in one piece."
"Thanks."
Her laugh turned filthy. "Just words? Where's my proper thank-you?"
I hung up before she could elaborate.
9 PM. No Lillian.
I was debating storming their office when Damian's text lit up my screen:
Drinks. Two smoking-hot realtors. Already warmed up for you. Say the word.
Attached was a sneaky video and location pin.
My stomach dropped—that clip better not be Lillian getting eyeballed by creeps.
Hands shaking, I hit play.