Every Last Secret(19)

He glanced at his watch, and I turned away, striding up the hill and toward the building, my best asset showcased to perfection in my three-inch heels. “Come on!” I called out, not giving him the chance to decline.

By the time I reached for the door handle, he was there, his hand on the small of my back, ushering me inside with the manners of a true gentleman. I bit the inside of my cheek and tried to hold back my grin.



My father once held a drinking contest with me. Death in the Afternoon was the drink. Getting to leave the bar was the prize. Winning was accomplished by continuing to drink until the other passed out or vomited. I was thirteen, and the bartender liked my tits. He told my father that on our third drink, and a meaty grope of them paid for our fourth. I vomited ten minutes later, my hair held back by that same bartender as his hands squeezed each tiny breast as if pumping them for milk.

Breast implants were one of the first things Matt paid for, my second augmentation and size upgrade footed by Ned. I had lost all sensation in my nipples from the surgeries, yet I could still remember the rough pinch of that bartender’s hands.

“Did you want to sit in the bar?” William followed my gaze, which was stuck to the bar, the memories of the drinking contest still raw in my mind.

“Ah, no.” I ripped my gaze away from the dark space and quickly nodded at a table by the window. “How about that one?”

“Works for me.”

We settled in, an awkward silence falling, and I forced a self-deprecating wince. “I’m sorry. I’m nervous.”

“Nervous?” He laughed, the rigid tension leaving his posture, and smoothed down the front of his tie. “Why?”

“I don’t know. You’re very powerful. And, quite frankly, brilliant. I didn’t realize how much so until I had a chance to see you in action, at the office.” I picked at the edge of my menu, then blushed. “It’s intimidating.”

“We’ve had meetings before. You never seemed intimidated then.”

“Well, I don’t know.” I laughed. “It’s different outside the office. No glass walls to hide behind.”

He smiled. “The walls were actually Cat’s idea. She liked the open feel that they created.”

“The open feel?” I winced. “I’m not sure that’s how the staff sees them.”

He raised an eyebrow in question.

“There’s just no privacy. It feels like they’re under a microscope.”

“They’ve told you that?”

“Yes,” I lied. “Several have mentioned it. I’m sure Cat meant well, but it’s hard to develop a feeling of intimacy and trust when everyone can see what you’re doing, all the time.” I met his eyes. “Don’t you ever want to . . . I don’t know . . . relax in your office? Kick off your shoes? Loosen your tie?” I let my voice grow husky, and he dropped the eye contact, his focus moving to his menu as his jaw tightened.

The waiter approached, and I sat back in my seat, letting William off the hook as we placed our orders.



He liked the grilled cheese. I could see it in the way he relaxed into his seat, a grin widening across his handsome face as he ordered a beer. The sun streamed through the window, lighting up our table, and I felt, for the first time since we moved into the Atherton house, deeper possibilities. He could fall for me. This could be more than just a game. This could be real. This could be my future, the one I’d been dreaming of. For a moment, I let myself sink into the potential scenario.

Vacations in Tahiti.

Second homes in Aspen.

A full-time staff, dedicated to fluffing my pillows and fetching my coffee.

“I’m glad we did this. You were right. The grilled cheese . . .” He nodded in approval, and I fought not to wipe a crumb off the edge of his mouth. “It was amazing. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve had a grilled cheese in a decade, maybe longer.”

I stretched, sticking out my chest as I ran a hand along my flat stomach. “I know. It’s the butter they use. It’s lethal.” The buttered bread was one of the reasons I’d be vomiting it up as soon as I returned to Winthorpe Tech. The number of calories in that sandwich would take three hours of intense cardio to burn off. But for now, I played the cool and carefree woman, grinning playfully at him over my own bottle of beer, as if twelve hundred calories weren’t justifiable grounds for panic. “Sometime I’ll have to make you my french toast. It’s hard to say that it compares with that, but . . .” I tilted my head. “It kinda does.”

“Well—” His phone rang, and he glanced at the display, then swore. “I’ve got to take this. Here.” Sliding to his feet, he hurriedly pulled out his wallet and withdrew some cash and placed it on the table. “I’ll see you back at the office.”

“Sure, I—” I abandoned the sentence as he walked away through the tables, the phone to his ear, his voice too low to hear. Was it Cat? Irritation burned through me at the abrupt interruption to our meal, to the first real conversation we’d been able to have.

I stood and moved toward the bathroom, the grilled-cheese sandwich already fighting its way up my throat.

It didn’t matter. I had plenty of time.





CHAPTER 11

NEENA

Every wife in this neighborhood was the same. All spoiled girls who grew up with Daddy’s money, then married Daddy’s friends, then popped out future heirs like a Pez dispenser stuck to open. Rich all their lives and absolutely unspectacular.