Hollis Beaumont the Third here and when Janelle gave me the look and bought me an extra dry martini, I knew we were meant for each other. That I was married to Reagan didn’t seem to matter to either of is. That’s what true love does, crowds out all those other pesky little thoughts like marriage that don’t really matter. Just as they say, love conquers all.
Janelle is so beautiful, and fun with that long blond hair and great shape. That she’s twenty-four and I’m forty-five is testament to how much of a stud I still am. I keep myself fit and trim and I don’t think Reagan appreciates me for the ruggedly handsome guy I am.
I have no idea why Reagan got so upset when she found Janelle and me doing the horizontal hula on my desk in the office last week. I mean, really, what did Reagan expect, that I’d be faithful to her forever?
This is the twenty-first century. Men need to spread their wings, explore, feel young. They need to be with someone who appreciates them and I got to tell you that having a great looking babe hanging off my arm is pretty sweet.
I can’t imagine why Reagan’s got her shorts in a bunch. She’s the one who signed the prenup that left her nothing in our divorce. She’s thirty-two and a little on the old side for me, but she’ll be fine. I gave her that old dump of a house in the Victorian district. I think that was pretty decent of me, don’t you. She can fix it up. She doesn’t have anything else to do, right!
Me? I’ve got Janelle to keep me busy.