"That fucking bastard!" I screamed at my computer as the Find My iPhone app confirmed my darkest suspicions. "That lying sonofabitch!"
"I'll be working all night on that merger project and just be able to catch a couple of hours sleep at the office before my 9 a.m. meeting," my husband had said so convincingly a few minutes ago. He didn't know I had activated the GPS tracker on his iPhone. This was the third time this month he'd pulled this shit, but this time I had the new Find My iPhone app to see where he really was. How stupid did he think I was?
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