Passion on Park Avenue (Central Park Pact #1)(3)

“I didn’t know,” Audrey was saying in a rush as she sat beside Claire and stared at her with a pleading expression. “I didn’t know until you picked up the phone that night that he was married. I swear to you, he told me his wife had left him, that he was separated . . . I never would have—You have to believe me. I didn’t know—”

“Oh, honey,” Naomi interrupted, half-sympathetic, half-horrified. “You’ve got to get it together.”

Audrey stopped her sniffling and gave Naomi what she probably thought was an icy glare, but the impact was diminished by the red nose and puffy eyes. “Respectfully, you don’t know the first thing about what’s going on here.”

“Well now, that’s the thing,” Naomi said, looking down at her manicure. “I sort of do.”

Both women were studying her now.

“Who are you?” Claire asked.

Naomi studied the other woman for only a moment before acting on the same instinct that had taken her from Bronx high school dropout to entrepreneurial superstar; she sensed that Claire Hayes was the sort of woman who deserved the truth. The full truth.

Naomi pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and looked at Claire. “I’m Naomi Powell. The other other woman.”

Audrey’s mouth fell open, but Claire didn’t react beyond a slightly too long blink. “What?”

Damn. She’d thought she’d been pretty clear.

“Your husband was putting his pickle into one too many sandwiches,” Naomi announced plainly. “Well, two too many if you count her.” She jerked her chin toward Audrey.

“Did you just compare . . . pickle . . . oh my God, sandwiches,” Audrey said, lifting a hand to her forehead.

Claire’s head dropped forward, her chin resting on her chest, and Naomi winced. Perhaps she could have phrased it slightly differently . . . sticking his noodle in the wrong casserole? Cucumber into multiple salads?

But Claire Hayes surprised her. Her shoulders were shaking, not with tears but with silent amusement. Then she tossed her head back and looked at the sky, letting out an audible laugh.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this,” Audrey told Claire, “but I don’t think he’s up there.”

Now it was Naomi’s turn to let out a surprised laugh as she realized she’d underestimated the brunette. She may look like a lanky Hepburn, but this Audrey had an edge beneath the sweet, doe-eyed appearance.

“Shouldn’t we be at the funeral?” Claire asked. Probably more to herself, but Naomi answered anyway.

“Nah. I mostly showed up to tell God not to allow that one through the pearly gates, and as Audrey pointed out, I think He probably already figured that one out.”

“I never thought I’d be here,” Claire said tiredly, lifting her fingers to her temples and rubbing absently.

“You mean sitting on a park bench with your husband’s mistresses while his funeral goes down just a couple blocks over?” Naomi asked.

Claire laughed. “Yes. That. I just keep thinking I know I should be sad, but instead all I can think about is how stupid I was, and that’s before I knew there were two of you. How did I not see it?”

“We were just as stupid,” Audrey said, setting a hand on Claire’s arm. “He was my boyfriend for a year. I just thought he traveled a lot.”

“Three months,” Naomi said, pointing at herself. “He told me most of his business dealings were in Hong Kong and that he had to work most nights. I totally bought it.”

They all fell silent, lost in their own memories of the man, and Naomi was struck that despite the fact that this was perhaps one of the weirdest meetings in the history of female encounters, it didn’t feel as odd as it should. Far from resenting the other women, she felt almost comforted by their presence. Claire’s and Audrey’s very existence was proof that Naomi wasn’t the only clueless one. That she wasn’t alone in being a victim of a heartless man’s games.

Who would have thought that strength in numbers applied to a dead man’s philandering?

Naomi straightened slightly and turned toward the others. “I have a confession.”

Claire lifted her eyebrows. “Worse than the fact that you were having adult sleepovers with my husband?”

“Who I didn’t know was your husband,” Naomi clarified, waving her finger at Claire. “But no, my confession is that while I’m really mad at Brayden, I’m even angrier at myself. For letting him fool me.”

Audrey nodded. “Same. I mean, it’s a little more self-loathing than anger, I guess, but . . . I just can’t stop thinking about how I didn’t see it. And if I didn’t see him being a snake, how will I ever spot another man being a snake?”

Claire looked down at her hands, running the pad of her finger along the small cuts caused by her own manicured fingers. “I’m not worried about it. After all this, I’m pretty dead set on turning into the old lonely lady with cats.”

“Nope,” Naomi said firmly. “We are not going to let him do that to us. I’m not really a long-term relationship girl, but I do like a male companion, and I have no intention of letting Brayden sour me on . . .”

“Pickles?” Audrey suggested.

“I was going to say sex, but yeah. That, too.”

Audrey’s smile was fleeting. “But I am the long-term relationship girl. I want the ring and the babies, and the—”