by A. R. Torre
A week later, I squeezed through the Winthorpes’ bushes at their thinnest point, jogged across their beach-pebble border, around the perfect planters, and hit their driveway at a run. Sprinting up the side steps, I unlatched the courtyard door, moved into the small garden, and breezed past the hibiscus blooms and bench. My first time in the space, I had inwardly burned at the arched openings, the water feature that cascaded down the far wall, the white brick floor. Our side entrance had a broken screen door and a pot of geraniums that hid an extra key. I’d been meaning to change the locks to one like Cat’s, a touch keypad that had a camera, held a hundred combinations, and could be remotely locked and unlocked from her phone. All useless, considering her remarks that she never locked her doors.
I’d tucked away that tidbit for later. One day. Someday. I pressed the doorbell and knocked urgently on the glass window of the door. Waiting, I looked down at the monogrammed “William & Cat” mat, then wiped my shoes on it, right on top of Cat’s name.
I was growing closer to both William and her, my patience almost ragged from the tap-dance routine that it took to arrange casual get-togethers. Still, I was getting there. I’d finagled our double dinner date, last weekend’s pool day, and yesterday, a private brunch with just Cat and me. It had gone well. She’d laughed at my jokes, empathized with my early struggles, and seemed interested in becoming friends. I had big plans to use that naivete to my advantage.
“Neena?” Cat opened the door. “Is everything okay?”
“Sort of.” I wrung my hands together. “Can I borrow William really quickly? There’s a bird in the house.”
“A bird?” Cat gave me a blank look. “Can’t you just shoo him out?”
William appeared in the doorway behind Cat. “Morning.”
Damn, he sounded good. Husky. The kind of voice that could be on whiskey ads or staff a 900 number. I smiled at him, then quickly pinched my features into a worried frown. “Can you come over real quick? There’s this bird—it’s terrifying.”
“Of course.” He turned away. “Come on in. I’ll put some shoes on.”
Cat stepped back, opening the door. “William,” she protested, “send over one of the staff. You’ve got that call.”
I peeked past her, surprised to see their kitchen empty, no staff in sight. Maybe they let everyone off on the weekends. So kind of Queen Cat.
“I can be quick.” William pulled on a sneaker and yanked at the laces, quickly tying a knot. “Where’s Matt?”
“At a job site.” I sniffed the air. “Is something burning?”
“No,” Cat snipped, at the same time as William said, “It’s toast.”
“He likes it well done,” she explained, then shot William a look that dared him to argue.
“I do.” He grinned and bent over, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “The crispier, the better.”
That was bullshit. At our joint dinner date, he’d gotten it lightly toasted. I’d watched as he had spread butter on it, noticing how he’d done it one-handed, the other arm hanging over Cat’s chair, his fingers gently rubbing along her bare shoulders.
“If you give me a minute, I can get dressed.” Cat looked down at her silk pajamas, the shorts and tank top set barely appropriate for this conversation, much less a jaunt across their property and over to ours. In contrast, I was dressed for a workout in skintight leggings that lifted my ass and a low-cut bra top that always attracted attention at the gym.
She’d probably just gotten up. Took her dear sweet time rolling around in bed before strolling downstairs and burning her hardworking husband’s toast.
“I’ve got that call, remember?” His hand ran down her side, and I watched as he gently slapped her butt, the connection of palm against flesh loud. I flushed.
She glanced at me, then smiled up at him. “Okay, but be quick. You’ve only got fifteen minutes.”
I fought the urge to loop my arm through William’s and pull him toward my house. “We will,” I promised.
I eased back through the bushes easily, William’s journey a little rougher, given his size. He batted away branches and came loose, brushing off his T-shirt and jeans. I waited for him, bouncing softly on the toes of my shoes.
“What kind of bird is it?” He strode toward the house, all business, but I could see his excitement in the hunch of his posture. I could have smashed the bird against the wall with a broom but had seized the opportunity to get William alone and boost his self-esteem.
It was a Bicknell’s thrush, but I shrugged, feigning ignorance. “I don’t know. Something small? A pointy beak. Beady eyes.”
He headed toward the side entrance, and I hoped he wouldn’t compare it to his own. “Where is it?”
I pulled him to the right. “In my bedroom. Let’s go in the front door.”
Inside, we climbed the curved staircase in silence. At the top, he glanced toward the wall of closed windows. “How’d he get in?”
“I had the balcony doors off the living room open. He must have flown in and found his way upstairs.”
I pulled the handles of the double doors, unveiling our master bedroom in its perfectly staged condition. Messy sheets. My perfume still in the air. A lacy bra hanging from the arm of the lounge. I reached for the bra and yanked it off as if I were embarrassed by it. “Sorry. I didn’t have a chance to straighten up.”
“It’s fine.” He closed the door behind him, and our eyes met. Time suspended. He cleared his throat and looked away, walking slowly around the room. His brows rose in surprise when he spotted the bird, perched on the top of a lamp. “Oh. He’s a little guy. Looks like a thrush.”
I shrugged in mock ignorance. “Is that what he is?”
He turned his back on the bird and worked the lock on the balcony doors, swinging them fully open. Ignoring the view, he used his foot to turn down the braces and locked the doors in place. “I’m surprised he flew all the way up here.”
I wasn’t. I’d spent twenty minutes chasing him up that staircase and into this room.
“Next time, just open these doors. If you had, he’d have flown away by now.”
I nodded somberly. “It’s just . . . birds terrify me. I have visions of them pecking my eyes out.” I shuddered and moved to the farthest corner of the room, away from the bird. It twittered.
He chuckled and took a step toward it, raising his arms and creating enough motion to scare the thrush into flight. It immediately went up and out the door. Problem solved.
“Oh.” I snorted. “Well, that was easy.”
He stepped out on the balcony and loosened the first door, then the second, pulling them closed.
“Talk about embarrassing.” I pulled at the ends of my ponytail, tightening it. “I should have just done it myself. It’s just, he was way over there when I saw him, and . . .” I pointed to the far end of the room, then covered my face with my palms, hoping he would come over and comfort me. “I’m sorry.”
Ned Plymouth would have had his pants unzipped by now. William Winthorpe only grunted. “It’s fine.” He touched my shoulder on the way to the bedroom door, which wasn’t the warm embrace I was hoping for but was apparently all I would get.
He opened the bedroom door and glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get to that call.”
So much for my powers of seduction. Not a whiff of hesitation about heading back to Cat. I followed him as he jogged down the stairs. “Thanks for getting it out. I couldn’t leave to work out with it up there. I’m heading to that gym they opened on Alma Street. Have you been there?”
He paused. “Uh, no. We have one at the house. Cat has a trainer who meets me there.”
“Oh.” I frowned. Of course. A private trainer, and here I was, schlepping to the public gym like white trash. “Does Cat ever run? I used to have a jogging partner in Mountain View, but ever since we’ve been here . . .” I shrugged.
“Cat?” He laughed. “Not unless she’s being chased by something.”
“Oh.” I let the bait dang
le and watched to see if he’d bite.
“But I do. There are some trails in the neighborhood, ones that lead up into the canyon. I can show you them sometime. It’s a nice long path if you have the stamina for it.”
I struggled to stay aloof, my body humming as our eyes met in the dim foyer. “That’d be great. Stamina isn’t a problem. I can go for hours.”
“Huh.” His gaze fell from my eyes and slowly wound down my body before he snapped back into place. “Tell Matt I said hello.”
“Will do.” I held open the door. “And thanks again.”
There was a final moment of eye contact, and then he was gone.
One pawn, taken.
CHAPTER 14
CAT
The days passed, and my unease with Neena Ryder grew. Wednesday, I stood on our upper balcony and watched my husband and Neena sit by her pool, their chairs turned toward each other. I glanced at my watch, irritated. They both should be at the office, yet they were there as if settled in to stay.
To add to my unease, William never sat with employees. He paced. Threatened. Hovered over their workstations. Stood if in meetings. Years ago, his brother had pointed out that William only relaxed and let down his guard with me. He’d called me the William Whisperer, then asked if we could lend him some money.
“Mrs. Winthorpe?” I turned to see the newest maid standing in the doorway, the phone in her hand. “There is a call for you. Your sister.”
“I’ll have to call her back. Tell her I’m in a meeting.”
The woman nodded, and I rested against the railing and watched as William leaned forward, his elbows settling on his knees. His back was to me, and I made a mental note to invest in a pair of binoculars.
Neena was beginning to creep into our lives in a way that made me uncomfortable. We’d had an agonizingly long brunch where she’d made doe eyes at me the entire time. She was dead set on being my friend and had no issues with popping by unannounced or proposing events in front of Matt and William, where I had no opportunity to make an excuse or decline. And as our husbands grew closer, she kept swarming tighter, like a fly you constantly heard but couldn’t quite manage to smack.
I turned away from the view and forced myself to enter the house.
I moved down the stairs.
Sat down in my favorite chair in the reading room.
Picked up a magazine and flipped through the pages, struggling not to look back down at my watch.
Seriously, what were they talking about? I tossed the magazine onto the ottoman and stood. Pacing before the floor-to-ceiling windows, I cursed the wall of thick hedges between our lots. The privacy, while nice, was screwing with my sanity.
I eyed my purse, then dragged the side zipper open and withdrew the small white card Kelly had given me. I moved to the desk and picked up the phone from its base, punching in the number printed in gold on the front of the card.
Kelly was right. Neena was getting too close—both personally and professionally. It was only smart to know more about the woman who seemed to be systematically moving into our lives.
“Mr. Beck?” I paused. “This is Catherine Winthorpe. I have someone I would like you to investigate.”
“What was that all about?” I met William at the side door, a cup of coffee in hand, prepared just the way he liked it.
His eyebrows raised in surprise as he took the cup. “You’re done with yoga early.”
“I didn’t go.” I followed him into the kitchen, waiting for an explanation. Stopping at the counter, he pulled the paper toward him and flipped to the financial section.
“Well?” I pressed.
“Well, what?” He glanced up at me.
“What was that all about? Why were you over there?”
“Oh, I was going over some issues with team members. Neena didn’t want to do it in the office. Too public.”
“Uh-huh.” I studied him. “So why didn’t you meet here?”
The corner of his mouth twitched in a grin. “Are you jealous?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m annoyed. Since when do you scamper over to employees’ homes? It’s weird and rude.”
“I was over there anyway, talking to Matt about the new neighborhood bylaws they’re proposing. Neena asked if I had a minute to go over her feedback on the team, and I said yes.” He crooked a playful eyebrow my way. “Satisfied?”
“Not really.” I pulled a plate from the cabinet. “Want a biscuit?”
“Nah, I’m good.” He studied the newspaper page before him, that sexy brow furrowing in concentration.
“How are things going with the team?”
He shrugged. “It’s going well. Everyone seems happier. More relaxed. I’m hearing less complaining, or she’s insulating me from it. Either way, it’s what I needed.”
“What Winthorpe Tech needed,” I clarified.
He looked up from the paper. “Yes. But also me. I feel a lot less stress and more confidence in the company.”
I didn’t like that at all. Neena was what my husband needed? I felt an uncomfortable crawl of jealousy working its way through my chest and clawing at my heart. I gave him a warm smile. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”
I feel a lot less stress. More confidence.
It was official.
The newest member of Winthorpe Tech needed to be gone.
CHAPTER 15
NEENA
In the Winthorpes’ kitchen, I made dinner, stir-frying shrimp with vegetables and cauliflower rice. Outside, our husbands talked over the grill, the lobster and steak already prepped and beside them. I glanced across the spacious kitchen, getting a glimpse of them through the far windows, pleased to see smiles on both of their faces.
“You didn’t have to cook.” Cat perched at the far end of the bar, a glass of wine in her hand. “Seriously. Relax. I can handle cooking the vegetables.”
I swallowed my opinion of her culinary talents and crouched, opening her lower cabinets until I found the organized rack holding her Hestan frying pans. They looked brand new, and I flipped the first one over to make sure it didn’t have the price sticker still on it.
“I just feel lazy, doing nothing,” she called out. “Besides, we have staff for a reason. Let them do the work.”
Oh yes, her staff. I couldn’t pop in for a quick moment with William without running into one of her uniformed minions. It would make an affair more difficult, which was a shame, because there was a unique power surge when you had a husband inside his own home. Being naked in Cat’s bed was a fantasy I was already entertaining, and I ran my hand along her white marble countertop, making a silent vow to christen that surface, also.
I glanced over my shoulder and gave her a friendly smile. “Are you kidding me? Cooking in this kitchen is a dream. I’m making notes for our future remodel.”
She made a face. “Kitchen remodels are horrible. We planned ours when we were on a cruise. If you can, get out of town when you do yours.”
I flipped on the front burner and dripped a line of olive oil into the pan. “Duly noted. Assuming I can get the vacation time off.” I gave her a coy smile.
“Assuming it’s after FDA approval, done.” Cat leaned against the counter, her silk pants shimmering in the light of the stove. “William seems happy with your work with the team. He told me everyone is working hard, that the prototype is close to acceptance.”
I kept my features neutral. “There are a lot of issues to work through. I haven’t done much more than ask the right questions. And everyone, including William, has been open to accepting the changes and feedback in their life.”
“Right.” She adjusted the diamond-studded Rolex on her wrist, then crossed her arms. “Though William doesn’t exactly need changes. Or feedback, for that matter. Wouldn’t you say that he’s succeeded just fine without your coaching?”
I paused, the spatula poised over the skillet. “It’s more than just coaching. It’s putting him on an easier path with the team. Making him a better leader.” Though ho
nestly, I still hadn’t had a chance for real one-on-one work with him. All our meetings had been spent with him viscerally critiquing his employees and me offering my best solutions on how to better address them. I’d been able to re-create our run-in and impromptu lunch once more—but any more surprise encounters would look suspicious. He had already raised one speculative brow upon spotting me again on the path around the pond.
“William has been a huge success without your help. Maybe it’s time you focused more on the team and less on him.”
“Do you think my methods haven’t been effective so far?”
“I think your focus is a little lopsided.” She delivered the criticism without cushioning, and I let out an awkward laugh.
“It would take time to explain the specifics of our motivational plan. But”—I shrugged and flipped on the faucet, pulling the heavy nozzle toward the bowl of cauliflower—“if you’re curious, just ask William.”
I could feel the irritation seep from her skin, even as her perfect white teeth flashed in a smile. “Of course,” she said smoothly. She lifted her wine and took a long sip. “I must say, it feels odd, the two of you getting all chummy.”
“Chummy?” I frowned, watching as the water lifted the clustered vegetables. “I wouldn’t call us chummy. If anything, most of our sessions are fairly dictatorial—which is another thing I’m working on with him.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t look convinced. I stole a longer glance at her, picking up on the contrast of her glossy dark hair with her sleeveless white sweater. She looked like a model, except for the steel in her gaze and the suspicion in her tone.
I flipped the tables on her before she gained the upper hand. “You’re not jealous, are you? Because you don’t have—”
“No.” She straightened and set the wine down on the counter hard enough for the delicate glass to crack. “I’m concerned. He has a lot going on right now, and all we need to do is get the team to the FDA goal line in one piece.”
This was interesting. Cat Winthorpe, the most confident woman in the world, was insecure. It was a power rush. Even if I hadn’t made much progress in breaking through William Winthorpe’s morals, I had nicked Cat’s world. And that was almost as sweet of a victory.
