by A. R. Torre
“Cynthia Cole. We’re just down the street, on Greenoaks. Cat says you’re in the old Baker place.”
I wasn’t sure if she meant old in terms of age or prior inhabitant, and my smile grew thin. “That’s right.”
“Well, I hope you join the club. We’d love to have you and Mike as members.”
“Matt,” I corrected her. “And we’re looking at the club now.”
“Oh, good.” She leaned in, and I watched as her mojito tipped to one side, a bit of it sloshing out. “You know, it’s hard to connect with people otherwise. We just moved into the neighborhood a few years ago, and I’m not going to lie, it was a little cold at first. I told Bradley—that’s my husband, Bradley Cole.” She pointed to a man by the back doors. “I told him that I wanted to move, to find another neighborhood, and he said, ‘Cyn-thi-ah, just join the club.’” She lifted up her hands in a shrug. “And he was right!”
“That’s wonderful.” I nodded, unsure of where this sales spiel was headed but 100 percent certain that I would not be able to convince my cheap husband to drop the quarter of a million dollars for the initiation fee. Buying this house had already been out of his wheelhouse, and he was shooting down my renovation ideas the moment they were brought up.
“Anyway”—she patted my arm—“if you need a cup of sugar or anything, just call me. I’ll have one of the staff run a bag down to you.”
I hesitated, unsure if that was a joke, and when she laughed, I joined in, feeling like a caricature. I caught a glimpse of William, moving into the house, and stopped. “Cynthia, excuse me. I just saw someone I need to say hi to.”
“Sure, sure.” She lifted her mojito, and there was an edge of annoyance in her tone, as if I had beaten her to the punch of leaving. “Go ahead.”
I moved through the house, ignoring the clusters of conversations that I stepped around. William wasn’t in the front foyer, and I passed the coat check and pulled open the heavy front door, peeking out.
It was peaceful and quiet, and through the twitter of birds, I heard the faint sound of arguing. Stepping out, I eased the door closed, blocking out the sound of the party.
“You need to leave. You’re embarrassing me and yourself.” William’s deep voice carried, and I walked down the front stairs of the home carefully, keeping my steps soft. I paused in the shade of the porch, surprised to see William toe to toe with Harris Adisa, his hand gripping the front of the scientist’s baby-blue collared shirt. They were almost identical in height, though William was toned and athletic, his biceps developed, his shoulders strong. Harris sagged before him, his smile slipping as he stumbled to one side and said something too softly for me to catch.
William shook his head, and Harris shoved at his chest. The men broke apart, and William glanced over his shoulder toward the valet, then swung in my direction. I stepped back, hiding behind the pillar, and held my breath, hoping he hadn’t seen me.
“Get in the car. The driver will take you home.”
I moved deeper into the shadows, trying to get another glimpse at the men, and almost fell, my brand-new sandal catching the edge of the steps. I grabbed the column for stabilization and glanced up, my gaze connecting with William’s. Crap. He grabbed Harris’s shoulder and squeezed, then pushed him down into the open door of the Town Car.
I turned, suddenly anxious to be away from their private conversation and back in the party. While our grilled-cheese lunch early this week had certainly improved our dynamic, I was still wary of crossing him when he was on the warpath.
“Neena.”
I climbed the steps toward the front door, hoping it wouldn’t be obvious that I had heard his call.
“Neena!”
I stopped.
“Come here.”
Come here. He was a man of few words, but they carried the weight of stones. I turned and retraced my path down the steps.
William’s face was dark. “You make a habit of spying on people, Neena?”
“I wasn’t. I—um—just stepped out for some fresh air.” I looked back at the house, the doors closed, no one privy to our conversation.
The shiny sedan passed, and I imagined Harris watching us from inside. I glanced back at William, who settled against the side of a Lamborghini as if he owned it. My tension eased as he sighed, his head dropping back, his strong profile looking to the sky.
“Harris is a little on edge,” he said quietly. “Unfortunately, he chose to relieve that stress at this party.”
“He seemed okay. A little tipsy, but”—I shrugged—“everyone in there is drinking.”
“It’s not that. He . . . ah . . .” He scratched the back of his neck, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was embarrassed. “He’s drunk and beelining straight for any blonde in sight. Waitstaff, wives . . .” His gaze settled on me. “Potentially fellow employees.”
“Oh.” I turned over the information, warming at the protective look in his eye. “I thought he was married.”
“Come on, Neena. You’ve been around long enough to know that a ring on a man’s finger doesn’t mean much. Especially not in this world.” He studied me. “I want you to be careful when working with him. Skip any one-on-one meetings.”
I moved closer, crossing my arms over my chest in a gesture that would press my breasts together and up against the low neck of my wrap dress. “That’s fine. To be honest, we haven’t exactly hit it off.”
His eyes found my enhanced cleavage, and there was a moment when the powerful William Winthorpe lost his train of thought. “Well, I—”
I waited, and he fell silent, visibly struggling to pull his gaze away from my breasts. I laughed, and he winced.
“I’m sorry. I blame it all on Kelly’s mojitos. They’re almost straight rum.”
“Yeah, I’ve stuck to wine. And no worries. I’m honored.” I blushed and fought to keep the victory from my features, my heartbeat increasing at the cat-and-mouse game. “They’re a little, uh, neglected at times. The attention is nice.”
He didn’t respond, but I could see the processing of information. It would be stored. Cataloged. Referenced every time he got a glimpse of my cleavage. He’d start thinking of them in terms of being needy. Sensitive. Craving. I had studied personality profiles until I knew each by heart, and he wasn’t the sort of man to go after the slut. He’d want a conquest. A discreet housewife who wasn’t sexually satisfied. One who would worship him while keeping her mouth shut and her knees parted—but for him and him alone. If I decided to take this risk, I could play that role with the best of them.
“Look.” He glanced toward the house. “I’d prefer you keep this to yourself. I’d like to keep the Winthorpe Tech reputation as clean as possible during—”
I placed my hand on his arm. “Don’t worry about it. I’m good at keeping secrets.” I held his gaze and hoped he saw the opening in the words.
“Are you?” His gaze dropped to my lips, then flipped back to my eyes.
My stomach tightened in anticipation. So close. Chess pieces, moving into place. But I had to be careful. Very, very, careful. “My loyalties are with you. If you want something to stay between us, it will.”
“Good to know.” He straightened, and I backed away before he had a chance to.
Halfway up the porch, I paused, turning to face him. “You know, I’ve been working with every employee of Winthorpe, except for you.”
A lock of hair fell over his forehead, a break in the precise exterior he always presented. “There’s a reason for that. I don’t need any help.”
“Well, just think about it.” I held his gaze. “Some one-on-one sessions might do us both a lot of good.”
The front door swung open behind me, and I turned, flinching when Cat Winthorpe stepped out on the porch.
“Oh, Neena.” She brightened and gave me a sunny smile. “Have you seen William? Teddy Formont is looking for him.”
I turned, but the Lamborghini was alone, her husband gone. I shrugged. “Haven’t seen him.�
��
“Damn.” She turned back. “I’ll head upstairs. If you see him, will you tell him to find Teddy?”
“Absolutely.” I smiled as she turned, her dark hair bouncing as she breezed through the door, off to find her husband.
Compared to me, she was bland. A pretty face with nothing behind the facade. William saw it, just as I did.
It was why he was edging toward me, calculating the risks and weighing them against the temptation.
Her blandness was why I would win.
NEENA
Now
The detective peered at me over the edge of her black notepad. “I must say, in the last two years, you’ve become one of our most interesting residents. Your husband and you started in a conservative three-bedroom in Palo Alto but eighteen months later made a sizable upgrade and moved into Atherton. Is that correct?”
I nodded.
“And you work at Winthorpe Tech—or rather, used to work at Winthorpe Tech.”
“That’s correct.” I fought to keep my mouth from twisting into a snarl.
“And prior to Winthorpe, you were at Plymouth Industries.” She paused, and I kept my mouth shut. “You started out as the executive assistant for Ned Plymouth, but were promoted to”—she flipped through her notes—“team business coach after a few months.” She pronounced the title as if it were distasteful. “Is that correct?”
“Yes.” If she thought I was going to elaborate on that, she was wrong.
“Did you receive a raise when you were promoted?”
“Yes.” I pulled at the neck of my shirt, irritated with this line of questioning and well aware of what she was about to imply. The promotion had been quick, my raise substantial. Detective Cullen hadn’t been the only person to draw jagged lines between the actions—she was just the first one uncouth enough to verbalize it.
“Neena, this is going to take a lot longer if you keep giving me single-syllable answers.” The detective sighed, as if this investigation was taking up too much of her time.
She probably had a granola bar to finish eating, or a lesbian wife in cargo pants who was waiting for her at a coffee shop, expectantly tapping her Mickey Mouse watch.
“Elaborate. How much did your salary increase when you were promoted?”
“I don’t know offhand.” I shifted in the hard plastic seat. “I would say that my income doubled.”
“More like tripled,” she mused, scanning a document that looked like my tax return. “And you maintained that level of salary when you moved to Winthorpe, correct?”
“It’s industry standard for motivational coaches. We’re well paid because we deliver results.”
“Yeah, I’m worried that wasn’t the only thing you were delivering.” She closed the folder on my financials. “Why did you leave Plymouth Industries?”
I warred over how to respond, unsure if she knew the full story or if she was fishing. “I wanted to move into the tech sector. Experience new things.”
“Interesting . . . because we spoke to Ned Plymouth.” She crossed her arms and set the scaly nubs of her elbows on top of the papers.
Of course they did. Beneath the table, I dug the toe of my sneaker into the floor.
“Ned says that you were fired.”
“I have a recommendation letter from Ned that raves about my job performance.” It was a weak attempt in a battle that was already lost, but I still stood my ground.
“Ned says that it’s a lie. Ned, in fact, had a lot to say about you, Dr. Neena Ryder.” She raised one bushy eyebrow with a confidence that I hated.
Yeah, I bet ol’ Ned did.
PART 2
JUNE
THREE MONTHS EARLIER
CHAPTER 12
CAT
“I just don’t understand where they’re at.” Neena craned her neck, trying to see around a sunscreen-covered family who had stopped right beside our cabana.
“Are you worried they’ll get lost?” I kicked the towel loose, letting my feet get some sun. “Relax. William has a homing beacon to me. Plus, they’re big boys. They can manage themselves at the pool.” Though, if any pool was a danger zone for wealthy men, it was the Menlo country club’s. William was easily recognizable and understood to be off-limits. Matt was a fresh face, and the single vultures scattered around this pool wouldn’t care if he was balding and a little chubby. What they would be scared off by, and why Neena had absolutely no need for concern, was the guest wristband he had on. Neena was displaying hers proudly, unaware that it was a giant “Not Rich Enough to Be Here” red flag.
She rattled her drink, the ice clattering against the glass, and I tuned out the sound, focusing on the music that floated by on the cool breeze. I reached out and turned the flame of the tabletop heater higher.
“There!” Her chair banged against mine, and I cracked open one eye to see her at the edge of the cabana. “They’re by the towel stand.”
“Good for them,” I mumbled. “Maybe they’ll grab you another drink on the way back.”
“What are they doing over there?” She cupped her hand over her eyes, shielding the sun. “Oh my God.”
The dread in her voice spoke of plagues and famine, nothing that could possibly be happening inside the gates of the country club. I took a sip of my apple-and-spinach juice and considered the lunch options on today’s pool menu.
“They’re literally surrounded by women. Cat, look.”
“So?” I made a half-hearted attempt to see our husbands, then adjusted the pillow under my head and exhaled. William and I should have come here alone. I could be reading the latest bestseller instead of listening to the insecure ramblings of a semidrunk wife who would go into jealous territory in three . . . two . . . one . . .
Silence fell, and I was pleasantly surprised at being wrong. I risked a glance up. Neena was standing ramrod straight, staring across the pool deck, with her giant breasts almost hanging out of her skimpy red bikini. Muttering under her breath, she crossed her arms, shivering a little in her spot away from the heater.
“Relaxxxx,” I intoned, my patience running thin. The more time I spent with Neena, the more her insecurities were beginning to drive me crazy. Every move seemed to be a calculated attempt to thwart an opponent who didn’t exist. It was exhausting to be around her, and I was planning a slow withdrawal from the friendship I had carelessly begun. Our first solo activity—brunch last weekend—had been a painful process that had reminded me of why I had stopped taking on new friends. I could only listen to someone brag about themselves for so long before I needed to see a genuine side. Neena had yet to show me one.
“Matt’s coming back this way,” she announced. “William’s still talking to them.” She glanced at me with a look of warning.
“I honestly couldn’t care less.” I fluffed the pillow of her chair, 100 percent confident in William’s ability to thwart flirtation. “Sit down. You’re giving me a headache.”
She turned away from the view and cupped an insecure hand over her four-pack of a stomach as she sat down in the chair. “I don’t understand how you aren’t more concerned about William.”
“He’s not going anywhere,” I drawled. “And you have nothing to worry about, either.” I couldn’t see why, but Matt adored her. Doted on her. Spoiled her. It was sweet, if not a little sad. All that love, and I had yet to see her reward or return any of his affections.
I studied her as she pulled out a compact mirror and painstakingly applied a dab of moisturizing SPF cream to the soft skin under her eyes. “You guys have been married, what? Twenty years?”
She nodded, then ran her finger over her lips.
“Two decades is a long time. He’s obviously head over heels for you. What are you concerned about?” I kept my tone light, hoping not to offend her and genuinely interested in her response.
“I’m not worried about Matt. I was watching out for you. Are you telling me that William hasn’t ever looked at another woman?” She shot a dirty look toward a blonde mother of fou
r who turned onto her stomach two cabanas over.
I fought to ignore the bristle of irritation that ran up my spine. “William is loyal, always has been. You don’t need to watch my husband for me.”
She gave me a sharp look. “Cat, there’s nothing wrong with having an awareness of potential risks. If you tempt fate long enough, something will happen. It’s a biological fact that . . .”
I took a sip of my juice and tuned her out, biting off the urge to tell her what I thought of her opinions. She certainly had a lot of them. Maybe that’s what a life coach was. Someone paid to dish out opinions about every part of your, well, life. And, according to the whispers I’d heard, that’s what she really was. A life coach–slash–admin assistant who had somehow jumped the fence into corporate territory and greatly inflated her prices with the transition and title change.
I watched as Matt approached and wondered if she was as motivating with our Winthorpe Tech team as she was with him. Matt certainly seemed happy, his eyes glued to her large breasts as he skirted around the end of a chaise lounge and climbed the steps to our cabana. No side glances at Terri Ingel, who was slowly performing the backstroke through the heated water. No quick smile to the nineteen-year-old lifeguard.
He entered the cabana, and Neena snapped her fingers, then pointed to the empty lounger as if instructing a dog.
He sat.
I glanced at Neena to see her response, but her attention was on the other end of the pool. I followed it and found William, who was tugging off his shirt and wading into the pool, his abs well defined as he moved into the water.
“I think you’re right,” I said, setting my empty glass beside me on the table. “There’s no point in tempting fate. Not if you can eliminate the potential risks.”
CHAPTER 13
NEENA
