That hooked Cynthia.
She listened intently as Mike told her all about the woman who'd hurt him quite deeply as she'd used him and preyed on his emotions. He made sure to mention the poor down-trodden husband who remained unaware of his wife's betrayal. Mike laid it on thick, telling Cynthia how guilty he felt and asked her advice.
They were deep in conversation when Greg walked through the door.
Chapter Seventeen
All the way home from Ashley's apartment, Greg obsessed and worried about what to do and how to handle it. He was tired; tired of feeling guilty and ashamed. He was tired of feeling the constant knot of anxiety in the pit of his stomach all the time. He was tired of looking at Cynthia and picturing the hurt and anguish she would certainly feel when she found out.
He didn't knew what to do for the best, which way to turn. He didn't have anyone to talk to, no-one to offer any constructive advice. They always say honesty is the best policy, but in this case, honesty would almost guarantee he'd lose everything he held dear. If he knew for sure that Ashley planned to tell Cynthia, he would beat her to the punch and come clean. But, if she wasn't planning to tell anyone, Greg wanted to remain silent and go on with his life as if it never happened. He knew he could ease his guilt by committing to Cynthia and dedicating himself to making her happy.
Of course, Ashley wasn't the only problem. Mike knew, too.
If he knew Mike, and he did, then he knew Mike would make it his mission to ruin Greg. The only advantage Greg had was Mike's naturally devious and cowardice nature. He wouldn't just tell Cynthia about Greg's affair, but he would think of other ways , ways that left him looking like the good guy.
Just as Greg was thinking up all the possible ways that Mike could rat him out, he turned onto his street and approached his house. He spotted Mike's car immediately.
The knot of anxiety in his stomach tightened like a noose strangling his organs. What the hell was Mike doing in his house?
He's alone with Cynthia in there.
Greg pulled up alongside his house and parked on the street so not to box Mike's car in. He hung his head and tried to prepare himself. He imagined Mike in there right now, holding Cynthia as she cried, cried the tears of a crushed woman. In spite of his plans, he may need to prepare for the loss of everything he held dear within the next few minutes.
Greg stepped out of his car almost translike, ignoring the hot bile that forced its way up his throat. He approached his front door, aware that this may be the last time he would let himself in with a key. His breath caught in his throat, his legs felt like jelly. He slid the key into the lock, turned it, then quietly opened the door.
He heard voices. So far, all sounded well. Silently, he stepped inside―then froze in horror as Cynthia let out a loud noise. After the initial panic, Greg realised it was laughter.
Pull yourself together. If he doesn't give you away, you will.
Greg forced a deep breath into his lungs. If Mike saw him in this state he'd stand no chance. Mike would know he held the power to ruin Greg and he'd wield it like a sword. He had to let Mike think he wasn't going to be rattled by anything he could pull. Greg forced himself forward and marched down the hallway into the kitchen.
He found Mike and Cynthia seated at the kitchen table. Cynthia was sitting sideways on her chair with Jesse's head resting in her lap. Mike was sat across from her, leaning over the table, closer to her than he needed to be.
Greg was pleased with what he was seeing. The body language on display here told him that, though Cynthia was listening to Mike, her body was pointed away from him. Whatever he was telling her wasn't riveting enough to warrant her complete and undivided attention. She regularly looked away from him and down to Jesse. Mike clearly wanted her complete attention, and was all but sprawled over the table in an effort to get it.
Greg read the signs as gleefully as a football fan reading the winning score of his favourite football team. Greg wasn't experienced when it came to women and he'd admit to being utterly confused by female behaviour on a regular basis―especially lately―but here was solid evidence right in front of him. Proof that his wife Cynthia was one of the few woman not completely enamoured with Mike.
For the longest time before meeting Cynthia, Greg had been envious of Mike. Mike was a handsome man, but it wasn't that quality alone that got him all the women. He possessed some sort of magic over women that made any woman he targeted a sure thing. Greg had joked with Mike long ago that he ought to teach classes on the subject of seduction and that he'd probably make himself a millionaire. Greg envied Mike for lacking the self-doubt that crippled Greg on a daily basis.
For the first time, Greg was watching Mike being shot-down. And the woman doing the shooting was his wife.
His mood lifted and conscience eased, Greg entered the room. “Hey ladies. I'm home.”
Both Mike and Cynthia startled, jerking their heads in his direction. Jesse barked, apparently also startled as she rushed towards him. For a split second she was almost intimidating. In the few feet from Cynthia to where he stood however, Jesse recognised him. By the time she reached the kitchen doorway where he stood, her tail was wagging and she whined with excitement.
“Too late, you slacker,” Greg told her as he patted her on the head. “I've already stolen everything and made my getaway.”
“I didn't hear you come in either,” Cynthia said smiling.
“You're not living here with free board, free food and maid service in exchange for security duties.” Purposely ignoring Mike, Greg walked towards Cynthia and bent down to kiss her. “Is that enchiladas I smell?”
“Certainly is. Mike's joining us, too.”
Greg looked pointedly at Mike who stared right back, smirking slightly.
“I thought you didn't like enchiladas?”
“You must be mistaken, I love enchiladas.”
Greg shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant and disinterested. He didn't want Cynthia to pick up on the animosity between he and Mike. As Cynthia stood and walked to the kitchen counter, preparing plates and utensils, a look passed between the two men.
Don't start anything. I'm warning you.
Really? What're you gonna do about it?
Greg removed his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. Under Mike's watchful eye, Greg walked towards Cynthia and put his arms around her waist. She snuggled against him briefly then continued to arrange the plates. Knowing he was infuriating Mike, Greg dared a kiss on the side of Cynthia's neck. Though he understood he was playing with fire, he couldn't allow Mike to see his fear. Like the lion that targets the weakest member of the zebra herd, Mike would move in for the kill.
“So. I was telling Cynthia when arrived that I'd just left the office.”
Greg moved away from Cynthia and began to pour himself a cup of coffee from the half-empty pot. He suddenly felt sick and shaky inside.
“Oh?” he replied casually. “You were stuck working late, too?”
“Afraid so. But our floor was empty when I left.”
And there it was. The silent question dangled in the air, demanding an answer from the man who'd betrayed his wife with a secretary. He thought fast, and the answer came to him quickly. He'd used the lie less than an hour earlier on Ashley's nosy neighbour.
“Yeah, I was stuck on the third floor sorting through a mountain of paperwork that'd been incorrectly filed.”
“Which secretary did that? Was it Ashley?”
Her name, spoken from Mike's lips in the presence of his wife caused a tidal wave of nausea to rush over Greg. He tried to appear casual as he added milk and sugar to his cup. Thankfully, Cynthia still had her back to both men as she served their dinner onto plates.
“I don't know which secretary it was.”
“Yeah, I'll bet it was Ashley. Gorgeous, blonde. She does a lot of work on the third floor.”
“Anyway,” Greg said, trying to appear more concerned with the fictitious paperwork. “Whoever it was had filed the re
port incorrectly. I had to go through dozens of folders until I found the right one.”
“You ought to have a word with Ashley tomorrow, file a complaint. She's only a temp so they'll probably let her go.”
“We're all allowed one mistake,” Greg said, turning and looking Mike in the eye.
“Just one? So if the same person makes the same mistake twice, should he then pay for it?”
Two mistakes? Did Mike know about his second encounter with Ashley? Greg's mind tumbled over itself as he tried to make sense of Mike's words and the smug look that accompanied them.
“I'm too busy to go around tattle-tailing on secretaries. Emma's back on Monday, anyway.”
“I could put a complaint in on your behalf, if you like,” Mike said smirking.
Greg smirked back. “That won't be necessary, thanks. If it happens again, I'll deal with it. So, what brings you here, anyway? Shouldn't you be out wooing one of your women?”
Greg knew he was pushing Mike's buttons, but this was going too far. Had Cynthia not been busy with the dinner, she most certainly would've picked up on the barely hidden contempt between the two men. He would not allow Mike to continue making him feel this way in his own home. Mike's face darkened and his eyes narrowed. Before he could say anything, however, Cynthia spoke up, “He wanted to speak to you. He's having woman problems.” She turned around and grinned at Greg. “Don't that just beat all?”
“It sure does. So, what's the problem and how am I supposed to help?”
As Mike told a story, a fictitious story meant to rattle Greg he assumed, Cynthia served their enchiladas on the dining table. As they all ate, Greg listened as Mike told a story of a relationship with a married woman. Greg had to give Mike credit for his creativity; the story was eliciting the desired response from Cynthia―sympathy for his unfortunate situation; a dislike of the dishonest woman; pity for the husband who knew nothing. The more Mike talked, the more Greg battled the urge to punch Mike in the face. He imagined diving over the table and ramming his fist into Mike's mouth, silencing the words coming from his deceptive mouth. He imagined Mike sprawled on his back, blood pumping from his mouth as he moaned in pain. The image made Greg feel somewhat calmer. He couldn't do it, of course, but he took satisfaction from the fantasy.
“So what do you think I should do?” Mike was asking Cynthia. Reluctantly, Greg pulled himself from his daydream and tuned back in to the conversation. By now, he was positive that Mike wouldn't say anything about his affair, at least not tonight. After spending more than an hour in their house, even Mike wouldn't be able to work that into the conversation.
“Walk away,” Cynthia told him. “Even you deserve better than that.”
“You go through more woman that most men have hot meals. I'm sure your pain will ease, just give it time,” Greg said sarcastically.
He couldn't resist it. If he had to sit and listen to anymore of this garbage his temper was sure to get the best of him.
“It doesn't occur to you that I may actually like this woman? That I may have envisioned a future with her in the starring role as my one and only?” Mike said this lightly and with a touch of humour, as if joining in on the derision, but Greg could sense his annoyance.
Greg chuckled sardonically. “Not at all. You'll be at a bar somewhere tomorrow night, downing your sorrows. And, you won't leave alone.”
Mike glared at him as Cynthia laughed. “Come on, now. He's allowed to have genuine feelings sometimes. Like I said Mike, just walk away. I know you're feeling hurt at the moment, but at least you found out now. It would've been harder if you'd gotten really involved with her. She's her husband's problem now, the poor bloke.”
“Poor bloke, indeed,” Mike said, looking Greg in the eye. “Once a cheater, always a cheater.”
Greg swallowed hard.
“I agree,” Cynthia said, nodding. “In the meantime, take some time for yourself. Figure out what you want. If you're ready for a serious relationship, quit fooling around with all these different women. Try dating just one instead of sleeping with her on the first night. You might surprise yourself.”
Greg sat back in his chair, so delighted he felt like fist-pumping the air numerous times. Mike's plan to gain Cynthia's sympathy had back-fired on him. She'd all but told him to stop being such a man whore, grow up and think about his own actions, much the way an exasperated parent may talk to a wayward teenager. Whatever Mike had hoped to achieve by making up this story of a married woman and his broken heart had only served to prove Cynthia's opinion of him and his attitude to women.
Though Mike said nothing, the disappointment was evident on his face and in his body language.
“I don't mean to sound harsh, but you've never really given any indication that there's just one woman for you. Take my advice and take a time-out from women. At least until you know what you want and need right now.”
Mike offered a sickly smile. “I guess that would be a good idea.”
He stood abruptly. “Well, thanks for the enchiladas. They were really nice.” Cynthia began to stand and Mike raised his hands. “No, no. I can see myself out. You enjoy the rest of your evening.” He grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair he'd just vacated, offered Cynthia a stiff smile, then left.
Greg waited until he heard a car engine start before he began to chuckle. “Tell him how it really is, won't you?”
“Well,” Cynthia said as she stood and began to gather plates. “It's like he's forgotten how well we know him. Even when I was telling him how terrible he must feel I was thinking the exact same thing as you―tomorrow night he'll be completely over it and pounding away on another nameless meaningless woman.”
Greg nodded and chuckled as he stood and began to help clearing the table.
“The only reason I carried on the conversation was to find out what his game was.”
A cold feeling fluttered in Greg's stomach. “What do you mean, game?”
“Well, like I said, we all know what Mike's like. He actually brags about how easily he can have any woman he wants. Then, he turns up uninvited when you're not home and lays on some sob story about a married woman breaking his heart. Didn't he once brag that married women were the ultimate trophy?”
“No, his ultimate trophy is lesbians. But married women come in second after them.”
Cynthia made a disgusted face then began to load the dishwasher. “He's a pig. Always has been, always will be. I don't believe a word of what he said tonight. So, that's what I mean by game. I wanted to know what he was up to.”
Greg remained silent, pretending to ponder the mystery. In reality, he was waiting to see what Cynthia might come up with.
“Also, he tried to make me doubt your honesty.”
Greg tried to appear both surprised and annoyed. “Doubt me how?”
“By insisting that you weren't at the office.”
“And where did he say I was?”
“He didn't offer any suggestions. Just told me you weren't there, or at least he hadn't seen you there. I was free to make my own mind up as to where you else you would be.” Cynthia gave him a sheepish smile. “I'll admit, had it come from someone other than him, I might have wondered for a split second. But I figured your absence from the office was as real as the big bad married woman that's broken his achy-breaky heart.”
In an effort to trouble for Greg, Mike had made himself look suspicious and dishonest. The relief Greg felt was immense. Should Mike say anything about the affair now Greg was sure Cynthia wouldn't believe a word. He decided to deepen her new suspicion of Mike.
“You know, the night we met, Mike had his eye on you.”
Cynthia faced him, surprised. “He spent most of the night talking to Susan.”
“I don't mean any offence to Susan, but that's Mike's angle. He chats up the least attractive woman to get closer to the one he wants. He worked on Susan that night to get to you.”
Cynthia nodded. “Ah. This makes sense. So he's put out because he thinks you won?
”
“Exactly. I got what he wanted. Therefore, he lost.”
Cynthia filled the sink with hot water and began spraying the worktop with Dettol kitchen cleaner. “Well I hope Mike never brings this up in front of me. He didn't lose, he was never in the game. I had him pegged the moment he sat at our table. And, for the sake of making a point, if he had got me that night he'd have treated me the same way he treats every other woman he gets. There's a big difference between hurting someone's feelings and hurting someone's ego.”
Greg smiled. Clearly he'd given Mike too much credit, and Cynthia none at all. She wouldn't take anything Mike told her seriously. Of course, it'd only take a few words from Mike to plant some suspicion, but as long as Ashley kept her mouth shut, he was in the clear.
Watching Cynthia as she removed the yellow rubber gloves she was wearing, Greg was suddenly hit with a feeling of dread. He wasn't psychic, he didn't believe in omens or auras or crystals. He scoffed at psychics and the thought of life after death. He never avoided black cats or ladders and he had never considered purchasing a rabbit's foot or horseshoe for good luck. But as he stood watching his wife going about her mundane tasks, the feeling of dread became so strong he began to feel nauseous.
Something bad was going to happen.
The more he studied Cynthia, the stronger the feeling became. Whatever it was, it centred on Cynthia. He stared at her face, feeling like he should commit it to memory, like he ought to remember her like this. The sensation of loss increased to such intensity he felt he may fall to his knees under the weight of it.
He was going to lose Cynthia. The woman he knew as his loving wife was going to disappear. She was going to find out about his affair and the love she had for Greg now would become twisted hate. The very thought almost brought Greg to his knees.
“I'm going to have a shower,” he blurted then hurried from the room before Cynthia could reply. In a mild panic, he rushed upstairs and into the bathroom that led off their bedroom. His thoughts all muddled together, intertwined and twisted until he felt his brain consisted of nothing but thick black fog.
A Deadly Affair—The Femme Fatale Series Page 10
