Every Last Secret(31)

But no, these printouts were all about my leaving. The text where he called me psychotic. The one where I told him I’d slit his throat while he slept. My demand for him to rewrite my recommendation letter and make it better.

The woman tapped on one text message. “I must say, Neena—I think a jury would find these very interesting. These texts paint a different picture than your polished exterior.”

Well, Ned could push a girl into violent territory. I’d like to see this woman fake arousal with Ned’s flabby body on top of her, his sweat dripping onto her face, his ugly mug grinning down at her. It had been exhausting, all my moaning and praise. Exhaustion that had needed compensation, and naive Ned had thought a new salary and an Hermès handbag would be enough.

He’d never even planned on leaving his wife. That’s what he told me, his voice dismissive, his attention back on his computer, our meeting already done in his mind. But I hadn’t seduced Ned Plymouth for an extra six figures a year, and being a long-term mistress had never been part of that plan. I deserved more, and the seven-figure check he’d given me at termination had proved it.

“And then there’s this.” She rearranged her collection of photos until the check with Ned’s angry scrawl glared up at me.

Ah. There it was. A million dollars. Could I have gotten more? Probably. Ten years ago, I would have taken it and run. Left Matt and used that money to start a new life with a wealthy husband. Ten years ago, a million dollars would have been all I needed. Now, it wasn’t enough. William Winthorpe would have given me more. William Winthorpe would have made me queen of Atherton or paid ten times that amount to make me go away.

William Winthorpe had been the right mark, targeted with a well-oiled execution, but I had made the horrible assumption that I was the smartest person in this game.





PART 3

JULY

TWO MONTHS EARLIER





CHAPTER 19

CAT

I sat in one of four Adirondack chairs halfway down our long front yard. Blue lanterns were hung between the trees, stretching all the way from us to the gate. I kicked up my feet on a bale of hay and watched as William and Matt stood on ladders and worked to position a giant HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY sign across the drive. To the right, on the landscaped lawn, the staff prepared the croquet sets and stage while A/V teams laid the wiring for the speakers and lighting. While the club covered brunch, our house always hosted the evening watch party for the Atherton fireworks.

“Mrs. Winthorpe.” A landscaper approached, cords of wood hanging from both shoulders and hands. “We were going to set up the firepit, if it doesn’t bother you.”

“Are you kidding?” I nodded to the stone enclosure before me. “Please. I’m dying for some warmth.”

Crushed shells crunched down the drive as Neena approached, a bottle and two glasses in hand. “I must say, you guys certainly take your parties to a whole new level. You’re making our front-porch flag look really pathetic right now.”

I waved off the compliment. “You should see our Halloween setup. And Christmas. But don’t worry—we’ll give you Thanksgiving.”

“Gee, thanks.” She sat next to me, passing me a glass and working at the wine cork. “What do you do for big holidays like that? I know you aren’t big on cooking.”

It was a jab at me and not her first. There had been several pleasant comments, all designed to point out my rudimentary cooking skills. I ignored it and held out my glass, holding it steady as she poured the red wine. “We always go to the Hawaii house for Thanksgiving.”

She stiffened. “Oh. I wasn’t aware that you had a place there. I’m surprised you don’t spend your summers there.”

“You see what it’s like for William. It’s hard for him to get away for any length of time. We sneak over there when we can. We’re heading there for my birthday, in two weeks.” I almost added a bit about needing some alone time but swallowed the temptation.

“Wow.” She poured her own glass, being generous with the portion. “You guys live the life. I could never leave work like that. You never know when someone on the team might need me. Plus, Matt’s workload is crazy year-round.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. She hadn’t seemed too concerned about her team when she’d been fighting for a spot on the wine board. And Matt’s workload? I could set my clock by the time he pulled in their driveway each night.

“So, it’ll just be the two of you in Hawaii?” She crossed her legs, and I noticed her new Uggs, a shade darker than mine.

“Yep.” I took a sip of the wine. At this point William would feel obligated to invite them. Neena’s inquisitions about our activities were typically followed by a hurt silence, which he would fill with an offer to participate. Screw that. This was my chance for some much-needed one-on-one time with my husband. She could take her uncomfortable silences and gorge herself until she puked.

“Mrs. Winthorpe.” Another man arrived, more firewood in hand, and I smiled in response to his greeting. The two stacked in tandem, creating a complicated pyramid of logs.

“I’ve never been there. Are you taking the plane?”

“Yep.” I ignored the blatant hint for an invite and watched as William hammered his end of the sign into place. God, he was a sexy man. Smart and strong. In his T-shirt and faded jeans, he looked like he belonged in a Hugo Boss ad. On the other side of the drive, Matt swatted at a fly.