Every Last Secret

by A. R. Torre

  “I want you to fire her.” I straightened in the seat, surprised a little by my own suggestion, one I’d fantasized over for weeks but had never intended on broaching. “She isn’t healthy for our marriage.”

  “I can’t fire her,” he argued back. “We’re within weeks of FDA approval. We’re getting bombarded with requests and offerings—I need to have the team cohesive. I can’t rip Neena away from them now.”

  “She cheated on Matt. Why in the hell would I want her anywhere near you?” I lowered my voice, aware of the close proximity of the waiter, our bananas Foster almost complete. “Don’t put the company before us.”

  “Don’t put your insecurity in the way of something I’ve worked four years on.” He reached for my hand and gripped it, leveling me with a stare that would intimidate anyone but had never worked on me.

  “We’ve worked four years on,” I corrected him. “I was right there beside you. Supporting you. And if I thought Neena’s presence had a single iota of an effect on WT’s success, I—”

  “She has an effect. It doesn’t matter if you don’t see it.”

  I pulled my hand free, looking away as the waiter set the sizzling presentation before us. She didn’t have an effect, not on Winthorpe Tech and not on him. Three months of team building and employee quizzes didn’t replace thirteen years of marriage.

  “Cat, let’s focus on what’s important. We’re about to get the device in a marketable place, and then I can work less. Focus on our family. A family I want to move forward with, even if it is through adoption.”

  Even if it is through adoption. A substandard solution, but acceptable in order to achieve his end result. He was always a businessman at heart and oblivious to the knife he wielded with such careless accuracy. Was I a crucial element to this equation, or a component that could be easily replaced if faulty? I used to swear on our allegiance. Now, with his refusal to fire Neena, his constant attention to his phone, his increasing detachment from me . . . I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything.

  I smoothed my napkin on my lap and tried to fit my thoughts into neat boxes that would make sense.

  “William, I’m excited that you’ve warmed to the idea of adoption, but I feel like you’ve been growing apart from me. Neena is wedging herself in between us. You think it’s all focused on Winthorpe Tech, but it’s more than that. Her interest in you . . . it’s unhealthy.”

  “That’s your insecurity and paranoia talking. She gives the same amount of focus to every other team member.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Really? She’s jogging with the biologists? Is she popping into any other employee’s house with their favorite cookies? You don’t understand. She’s going after you.”

  “Just stop.” His voice was louder than it should have been, and I glanced sharply at the other tables, worried his voice had carried. “Can you focus for a minute? I’m trying to talk to you about our future.”

  “Look, if you want to start the adoption process, then I’m in.”

  His features calmed, and I hurried to finish the thought.

  “But the minute we have FDA approval, Neena’s done at Winthorpe. Give her a big parting bonus if you have to, but I want her desk cleared and her security badge returned. I want to go back to a normal relationship with my neighbors, one where she stays on her side of the hedges and we stay on ours. Okay?”

  He beamed at me. “Sure.”

  “I’m serious,” I warned. “She’s gone after FDA approval.”

  He laced his fingers through mine and pulled me in for a kiss. “Deal.”

  It should have felt like a win, but it didn’t.

  CHAPTER 31

  NEENA

  Something had changed with William. I sensed it in our morning team meeting, the way his gaze stubbornly stayed at different points around the room but never in my direction. I saw it in his doodle along the edge of his notebook during my group visualization exercise. I felt it in the silence that followed my text messages, his chatty behavior suddenly reduced to a stony quiet.

  I watched him warily and tried to understand the source of the chill. Was it Matt? Guilt over our kisses? Cat? I pulled up her social media profiles and scanned the posts, looking for a hint. Club events. Charity galas. Professional-quality photos of her morning coffee, their gardens in the back. A new pair of heels, the angle not-so-innocently including a glimpse of their walk-in closet, the racks of color-coordinated shoes lit and displayed like jewels on velvet shelves.

  “I need to see you in the boardroom.” William spoke from my office doorway, his tone curt. Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked down the hall, heading for the private conference room.

  Closing the internet browser, I grabbed my phone and notebook and followed. I glanced both ways down the hall, making sure no one saw me, then went in.

  “Close the door behind you.” He stood by the windows, his hands in his pockets.

  I did, then moved hesitantly into the room, preparing for whatever he was upset about. My best defense, I decided, would be to blame everything on—

  “Cat told me you’ve had an abortion. Is that true?” He turned to me, his gaze sharp, and I floundered, the accusation one that I hadn’t anticipated.

  “Uh—yes.” Out of everything I had done, the procedure had barely registered in my history, and I tried to piece together what he must be thinking and how that nosy bitch had found out. “I—”

  “I don’t care about the abortion. Do what you want with your body, but it does bring into very clear focus that you’re a disloyal wife. I don’t need to be romantically seduced, Neena. We’re two adults here. If you want me to have sex with you, just say so.”

  I cleared my throat, trying to understand the stiff brace of his shoulders, the curtness in his words. He was an alpha male. He should want the chase, the game. I looked at the floor and tried to readjust my strategy. “I’m . . . not sure what to do. I’ve never felt—”

  He moved closer until he was directly before me and forced my chin up, my eyes on his. “Cut the crap, Neena. I don’t buy your sweet-and-innocent routine. Either you want this or. You. Don’t. Which is it?”

  “I want it,” I whispered.

  “Fine.” He dropped his hand from my chin. “Skirt up. Panties down. And if you feel the need to scream, don’t.”

  CHAPTER 32

  CAT

  I perked up at the view of delivery trucks and vehicles at the Vanguards’ house, ready for my summer of isolation to end. Turning into our driveway, I waited for the gate to open and placed a call to Kelly.

  It was answered midyell, her voice rising as she lectured her son on sunscreen, then huffed out a hello.

  “Looks like they’re prepping the house for you. When are you coming home?”

  “In six days, and I tell you, Cat—I’m looking forward to it. I’m done with South America. Next year, I told Josh, we need to go to Paris. Don’t they always say Paris in the summer?”

  “I thought you hated Paris.”

  She blew out an annoyed breath. “Whatever, we’re just not coming back to Colombia. It’s like they’re unfamiliar with the concept of flat steamed milk.”

  “Sounds like a rough life.”

  “Oh, shut up. You’re as spoiled as the rest of us; you just hide it better. But yes, we’re coming back Friday and shipping the horses over tomorrow. Don’t say anything snarky, but one of them has my name on it. I just couldn’t resist his big doe eyes.”

  I laughed, and the cold rock in my chest warmed slightly at the idea of her return.

  “Once we get back, I’m thinking a party is in order. Something casual, maybe just a few couples over for the Stanford game.”

  “Count us in.” I pulled down the drive and parked in front, leaving my key in the ignition. Once I was inside, someone would move it into the garage after doing a top-to-bottom detail. Was Kelly right? Was I as bad as all of them, or even potentially worse? I hadn’t visited a gas station in a decade, hadn’t set foot in a grocery st
ore for close to as long, and thought nothing of freshly ironed sheets, a bath already drawn for me when I returned from tennis, or of having a social assistant on salary.

  “What are you doing for tonight’s game?”

  I groaned and pushed open the front door, stepping into the quiet interior and setting my purse on the large round entrance table, next to a towering arrangement of fresh-cut daylilies. “Going to Neena and Matt’s. Apparently our husbands have bonded over football.” Another association formed while I was trying my best to yank our two couples apart.

  “How are things with the little blonde? Was I right? Social leech?”

  “You were right about that . . . and more. She’s become much closer to William than I would like.”

  “You’ve got to nip that in the bud before it becomes a problem. Remember Josh and that nanny? Best baby nurse I’d ever seen, but I wasn’t about to let that fresh-faced girl live in our house, not with everything she and he seemed to have in common. I mean—fantasy football? How did I end up with the only woman on earth who enjoys fantasy football?”

  I put her on speakerphone and settled down on the couch, checking social media and then my email. My thoughts slowed upon seeing the email from Beck Private Investigations. “Kelly, I’ve got to run. The game is at six, and I haven’t even showered.”

  “Okay, but listen—bring Neena over to next week’s game. Josh wanted to talk more with her husband anyway, and I’d like to spend some time with her.”

  I clicked on the email. “Why does this sound like I’m leading her to slaughter?”

  She let out a laugh. “Oh, honey, you know me too well. But I’ll behave. After all, you’ve got to know your enemy before you can destroy them.”

  I smiled at the sentiment, one that echoed my thoughts exactly. “Fine, I’ll suffer through tonight’s game with them and extend the invite to your house for next week’s.”

  “Perfect. I’ll see you then. Give a hug to William for me.”

  I ended the call and scrolled through the email, which included a link to the invoice and a few photos. I expanded the images.

  William and Neena, on the neighborhood trail, half-obscured by a tree. They were standing by the overlook, her hand on his arm, his face tilted toward hers. Casually innocent, but the proximity sent a knife through my stomach.

  A photo of the Winthorpe Tech parking garage. Clearly at night, the exit sign glowing in the dark, only two cars parked beside the security guard’s cart. His Porsche and her BMW. I studied the photo with trembling fingers, finding the time stamp in the upper right-hand corner—8:44 p.m. It didn’t make any sense until I saw the date. July 14. My birthday. I thought of my solitude in Hawaii . . . his time alone at the office . . . and looked back at the photo. Not alone at the office.

  I sat down on the closest chair, my chest tightening in a sharp pain. I took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but this was too much. I heard William’s car pulling down the drive and quickly returned the items to the envelope, stuffing it into my back pocket.

  William knew about the abortion, but the rest . . . I quickly checked my face in the mirror beside the door, making sure that my eyes were dry, my expression calm. I needed to be smart with this information, and with everything in Beck’s report. Play my cards closer to the vest. Line up the dominoes and then let them fall.

  I’d already tapped the first one, but no one knew that yet. I opened the front door and beamed at my husband, admiring his strong profile as he strode around the front of the glossy car and up the steps toward me. He planted a quick kiss on my mouth, then lifted me up and swung me in a small circle. Gripping him fiercely, I looked across the dark-green lawn, the tip of the Ryders’ roof just visible above the row of cypress trees, squatting on the low lot like a bad child in time-out.

  CHAPTER 33

  NEENA

  In my kitchen, I adjusted a stack of cardinal-red napkins and topped off a glass of wine. “Can you turn that down?” I snapped. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

  Dutifully, Matt raised the remote and adjusted the television’s volume, not moving from his place in the living room.

  “And put these items on the buffet. They’ll be here any moment.”

  He lumbered out of the recliner and to his feet, making his way slowly toward me. “The food and the drinks?”

  “Just the food. Use a hot pad underneath them.”

  I glanced over the dishes with a critical eye. Glazed meatballs. My famous chili. Steak and blue cheese bruschetta. I might not have a private chef, but there was nothing here for Cat to turn up her nose at. I opened the fridge, verifying that a dozen bottles of William’s favorite beer were lined up and ready. At the counter, Matt struggled to lift the heavy chili pot with his good arm, and I sighed, batting him away. “I’ll get that one.”

  It’d been four days since our sex in the boardroom. Four days when William had stayed in his office and away from mine. Our Wednesday and Friday meetings had both been canceled by him, his assistant emailing me the update without an excuse. I’d almost expected a no-show today, but Cat’s texts had been bubbly, friendly, and cancellation-free. My texts to William had gone unread.

  Postsex was normally the time men hounded me, desperate for reassurances of their sexual performance. William had zipped up his pants, tucked in his shirt, and walked away without a word—then completely ignored me. I’d blame it on the unsatisfying sex, but while he had neglected my pleasure, he certainly seemed to have had enough of his own.

  Or maybe I was wrong. Maybe he’d hated it. Maybe his quick finish had been a hurried attempt to bail out on a mistake. My insecurity warmed to the idea, then panicked, offering up suggestions and criticisms in chaotic repetition. I had to fix things before the self-doubt became a permanent obsession.

  I set down the pot of chili, centering it on the hot pad, and took a deep breath. It was normal, I reminded myself, to have a period of cold feet after a big action. It had nothing to do with the dimple of cellulite I’d seen when pulling up my panties, or the believability of my faked orgasm. It couldn’t have. William had an addictive personality, and addicts were a very predictable breed who followed a standard pattern.

  Act.

  Enjoy.

  Regret.

  Push away.

  Yearn.

  Obsess.

  Justify.

  Obsess.

  Turn against those who keep them from their addiction.

  Obsess.

  Act.

  My father had proven that cycle again and again. With gambling. With women. With alcohol. With abuse. And maybe there was more of him in me than I wanted to admit. After all, I’d formed an addiction of sorts to William Winthorpe. The slow construction of building and creating his obsession with me . . . that was the job I hadn’t finished, skipping over a few crucial steps in my haste for the prize. But it wasn’t all for naught. I had played my role well during the last four days. I’d stayed away. Been nonthreatening and temptingly aloof. Now I just had to play tonight’s interaction the right way. Follow his cues. Keep him off balance. Set the hook in his gills deep enough that later, when I started to reel him in, he’d be helpless to do anything but flop toward me.

  I adjusted the shimmery gold V-neck top that innocently displayed a bit of my bra when viewed at the right angle. Reaching into my bra, I adjusted my cleavage, bringing it forward before picking up the platter of veggies and dip. Following Matt to the buffet table, I eyed his placements before nodding in approval.

  “Knock, knock!” Cat called out, easing open the side door.

  I glanced over, smiling when I saw William step in. “Hey, there. I was about to call you. It’s almost kickoff.”

  “Oh, you know how things go. We got . . . distracted.” She gave a coquettish giggle and reached over, gripping a handful of William’s butt as if she were a twenty-dollar hooker. I took a quick sip of wine to keep myself from gagging.

  She swept forward and hugged me, and I returned the gesture, m
aking eye contact with William over her shoulder.

  “William.” Matt approached, and William’s face broke into a warm smile. “Ready to watch Stanford lose?”

  “Not likely,” he responded. “But if they do, I plan to soothe my anguish with that twenty-one-year-old tequila you’ve been hiding from me.”

  My husband laughed as if it weren’t true, as if he didn’t squirrel away the Fuenteseca every time company came over. “Let’s break it out tonight. I have a feeling you’ll need it.”

  I watched as Matt stole William away, leading him toward the living room.

  “This food smells fantastic,” Cat mused. “We skipped lunch, so we’re starving. And . . .” She pulled a wrapped gift from the interior of her bulky designer purse, the same one looped over every celebrity’s arm. “I brought you this. Happy birthday.”

  I paused, stunned. “How did you know it was my birthday?”

  “You had it on your club application. My social coordinator keeps track of everyone’s birthdays and sends me reminders. I’m sorry it’s a day late.” She settled in at the bar top, setting her bag on the granite counter.

  Had William known as well? Had he intentionally not said anything on Friday? Had he seen the huge rose arrangement that Matt had sent to the office? Surely he had. I’d put them on the low file cabinet by my desk, in clear view of the hall.

  “You didn’t need to get me anything,” I said helplessly, taking the beautifully wrapped box she held out. “I didn’t get you anything for your birthday.”

  “Oh, shut up and open it.” She smiled and worked her way out of her thin coat. She was dressed like it was winter, complete with a cream scarf and matching gloves. “Come on. I’ve been waiting weeks to give this to you.”

  Under her coat was a vibrant red wrap dress. On me, the color would have highlighted my pale skin, but against her olive tan and dark features, her toothpaste-ad smile . . . she looked like a million dollars.