Every Last Secret(4)

“Oh no.” He shook his head quickly. “We can’t afford to rebuild, not to the neighboring standards. We’ll renovate, then decide what to do.”

Sinking a single dollar into that heap would be a waste. It needed to be bulldozed, the pool yanked out, and a fresh foundation poured. I smiled. “Well, if you ever want to make a quick buck, we’ll take it off your hands. I’ve had my eye on that lot for years. I’d love to expand our pool deck all the way to the edge of the view.”

“I appreciate the offer,” he said, running a hand through the sparse hair crowning his head. “But Neena and I are pretty set on the house, especially with Atherton’s proximity to her new job.”

“I can’t tell you how excited I am to work with Winthorpe Tech’s team.” Neena glanced at William, and I didn’t miss the appreciative linger in her eyes. Then again, there wasn’t a woman in town who hadn’t given my husband a second look at some point or another. His looks and charm were one draw, the dollar signs that kept multiplying beside his name, another.

“And what is your position exactly?” I glanced at William, trying to remember how he had referred to the hire. Something odd.

“I’m the director of motivation,” Neena supplied.

“I’d never actually heard of that before.” I kept my tone mild, not wanting to ruffle her feathers. “Is it in the personal-coaching sphere?”

Her lips thinned, an almost imperceptible adjustment that pulled at the skin around her mouth. “It’s not exactly coaching. I’m responsible for keeping the energy and motivation of the team high. I’ll work with the team to help them achieve their goals, overcome obstacles, and eliminate workplace issues that may hamper productivity. It’s amazing how small changes and shifts in a person’s life can lead to huge results.”

“Dr. Ryder comes highly recommended, from Plymouth Industries. We were lucky to steal her away.” William lifted his drink in the doctor’s direction, then took a sip.

“And you should have seen her parting bonus!” her husband said heartily, his head swiveling to follow a platter of crab cake bites that passed by. “Excuse me,” he said quickly, then darted after the waiter, leaving us alone with his wife.

A parting bonus? Did those even exist? I watched as Matt hustled through the crowd, calling out to the crab-toting waiter. “What are you a doctor of?”

“Mental health and psychological studies. I’m a PhD, not a medical doctor.” She brushed over the designation with a shrug, her wine almost sloshing over the lip of her glass and onto the white sheepskin rug—a 1940s piece we’d gotten in New Zealand.

“Well, it’s wonderful to have you on the team.” I smiled, and her eyes sharpened.

“Do you work for the company, Cat?” She glanced at William. “I thought you stayed at home and handled the, ah . . . foundation? Is that what it’s called?”

I laughed, and if she looked at my husband like that one more time, I was going to stab my crab-cake fork through her jugular vein. “You’re right,” I admitted sheepishly. “I don’t work for the company. But I do own half of the preferred stock of Winthorpe Technologies, same as William. So I’m heavily invested in its success and our employees.” Employees like you. I pinched my brows together in a regretful frown. “William, it looks like the Decaters are leaving. I promised her an introduction to you. Would you mind me stealing you away for a bit?” I turned back to Neena without waiting on William’s reply. “It was such a pleasure to meet you and Matt. Best of luck with the property next door.”

“I’ll see you on Monday,” William interjected, lifting his glass in parting. “Tell your husband it was a pleasure.”

Her eyes darted from William to me, and I could almost see the gears turning behind her blue eyes. Taking a step back, she gave a tight nod. “Thank you again for inviting us.”

I placed a possessive kiss on William’s cheek as we walked away, my arm tucked into his. We passed Matt, who was scurrying back in Neena’s direction, a fresh drink in hand. He beamed merrily, and I struggled to connect his friendly demeanor with her ice.

“Was it just me,” William said carefully, “or did that feel a tad territorial? I thought leading with your stock options was a bit on the aggressive side.”

“It was a wee bit territorial,” I admitted, coming to a stop along the railing, out of the cover of the veranda, under the brilliant night sky. Before us, the pools and lit gardens extended out like a glittery array of jewels. “I don’t like her.”

He groaned, pulling me closer. “Don’t say that. I’m drowning right now in grouchy doctors and engineers. I need someone to babysit them or I’m going to go postal and fire everyone.”

“Okay, don’t do that,” I instructed firmly, then smiled at the pained look he gave me. “I’ll try to like her, okay? I’ll be nicer.”

“Pull out that prom-queen smile,” he urged, lowering his voice. “Only no poison this time.”

“Ha.” I scowled at him. “Don’t even joke about that.” I’d spent years running from the Mission Valley High rumor that I’d spiked my prom-queen competitors’ drinks with laxatives. The rumor had hit William’s ear at my tenth high school reunion, spilling out of the drunk mouth of Dana Rodriguez, one of the diarrhea-ridden candidates who had peaked in high school and now clipped grocery coupons when she wasn’t driving three kids around in a Chrysler minivan. I had laughed and wrapped Dana in a hug, hoping that William would forget and dismiss the rumors. He hadn’t, and Dana had paid for her loose lips with an accidental electrical fire in her she shed, followed by a well-timed Great to see you again, hope all is well note on embossed Winthorpe stationery.