Every Last Secret(10)

“What’s this?” William approached, his stride lazy, his smile wide, and my insecurities grew deeper. He had jeans on, his feet bare, a white T-shirt sticking to a torso that was still damp from his shower. “Are we celebrating?”

Cat lifted a shot glass and held it out to him. “We are celebrating and commiserating. To new neighbors and the headaches of California storms. Cheers.”

Glasses clinked, and over the rim of his glass, William’s eyes met mine for a brief moment. I held the look and tilted back my glass.



Three drinks later, we were lounging around the fireplace, Cat and William on one sofa, Matt and me on the other. I relaxed back on the soft leather, settling into Matt’s side, and put my bare feet up on the ottoman, careful not to disrupt the mirrored tray of lit candles in its center.

“I swear, Neena could give Tiger a run for his money,” Matt protested. “She’s a freak of nature with a putter in her hand. It was the worst place I could have possibly tried to impress her.”

I smiled at his recollection of our first date. “You should have known better, given that my father was a course superintendent.” I lifted the glass, needing a drink at just the mention of my father.

“You grew up playing?” William ran his hand over Cat’s knee, his fingers caressing the joint through the thin fabric.

I pulled my eyes away from the motion. “Yeah. My father wanted a son, so he tortured me with the burden.” I laughed in an attempt to hide the bitterness that crept into the response. Tortured had been an apt description. Hundreds of hours in the sun, sweat dripping down the back of my legs, the sound of his voice raised in frustration at each inaccurate drive. The yelling had been rough, but when he’d picked up the switch, things had turned bad. I’d worn jeans my entire freshman year to hide the welts on the backs of my calves. I still couldn’t sit in a foldable chair without thinking of him settled back in his, boots crossed on the grass, the switch waving through the air in anticipation of my failure.

“She’s really great,” Matt said proudly. “Almost won state her senior year.”

“Further proof that putt-putt was the worst idea of a first date,” I pointed out.

He shrugged. “It worked out for me in the end.”

“So . . . high school sweethearts,” Cat cooed. “I love that.”

“Where did you two meet?” I asked, anxious to move off the topic.

“I was an intern at an investment firm that William led. This was before Winthorpe Tech.”

“Or Winthorpe Capital,” William added proudly. “She fell for me back when I was a pauper.”

“Well,” Cat chided, “not exactly a pauper.” She laughed. “I was the pauper. I was impressed by anything fancier than a TV dinner or ramen noodles.” She kissed his cheek. William beamed at her, then glanced at me.

“Do you still play golf?” he asked.

I fought the urge not to respond too eagerly. “Absolutely. Once a week, if I can. Not that I’ve found a course since we moved here.”

“You should teach Cat. I’d love to be able to play with her.”

My enthusiasm waned at the suggestion.

“Oh, please.” Cat waved off the possibility before I had to respond. “I’ve tried. I can’t even connect with the ball. It’s embarrassing.”

I liked the idea of an inept Cat Winthorpe but didn’t believe it. “I bet you’re not that bad. Maybe you just need a few pointers.”

“No.” She set down her glass on the flat arm of the couch and shook her head. “Honestly, I’m terrible. I don’t have the patience and temperament for it.”

William grinned. “It’s true. And it doesn’t help that she’s competitive. She once threatened to divorce me over a foosball game.”

She shrugged. “I don’t like to lose. Which”—she turned to me—“is why I won’t try golf. It’s setting myself up for failure.”

Her psychology was interesting. She was overly confident but also just vulnerable enough to be likable. What I had yet to figure out was if the vulnerability was calculated or authentic. It was certainly annoying. Everything about her was annoying, though I was self-aware enough to understand that my jealousy played a part in my irritation.

The lights dimmed, then relit. Cat straightened up, off William’s chest. “Oh! That’s the power coming back on.”

“Well, that wasn’t too long.” Matt clapped his hands together and pushed to his feet. “Neena? Should we let them get back to their night?”

He was too polite for his own good. I followed him reluctantly, searching for something, anything, to prolong the conversation. I drew a blank and exchanged a stiff hug with Cat at the door.

“So, dinner on Thursday, right?” Cat held open the door, all but pushing us through it.

“Sure.” I stared at William until I caught his eye. “See you on Monday.”

He nodded with an easy smile, and I tried to understand where the intense dislike from his employees came from.



“There’s something off about Cat.” I dabbed on eye cream as I leaned over our master-bathroom vanity, struggling to see in the dim light. I glanced up at the light fixture above me; only one bulb of the eight was working.