by Cassia Leo
I suddenly have a flashback to the moment Brady offered me an advance on my pay. He claimed others in our department had taken payday advances before and that no suspicion would be raised. He promised if the transaction was flagged for review, he would take the full blame.
At the disciplinary review hearing, Brady turned out not to be as valuable to Close-Up magazine as he assumed he was. He leveled the blame equally between us, which he claimed he had to do to save both our jobs. I don’t doubt Brady’s integrity, but living the past couple years with this disciplinary hatchet hanging over my head has wreaked havoc on my stress levels.
Is Logan trying to cozy up to his sister-in-law to undercut his brother’s attempts to sabotage us, or is he trying to work both sides the way Brady was?
I head through the glass doors and down the steps to the pool area.
Swiping a piña colada off a waiter’s tray on the way there. “Put it on room 1210. Sorry!” I shout my apology at him as I continue toward Kitty.
I take a seat in the padded lounge chair next to her, and I’m about to speak up when the waiter I just stole a drink from arrives. “I said I was sorry. You can put it on room 1210. Is it really that big of a deal?”
The waiter clears his throat and addresses Kitty instead of me. “I’m very sorry, miss, but this woman has stolen your drink. I will bring you another one…on the house.”
The waiter flashes me a shit-eating grin then turns on his heel and walks away.
Kitty looks at me in confusion. “What did he just say?” she slurs.
She’s drunk. This is already going better than I expected.
“He was just saying that I bought this drink for you,” I say, handing her the creamy beverage. “Here you go.”
She stares at me dumbfounded for a moment, then she looks at the drink in her hand and her confusion morphs into a lazy, drunk smile. “Thank you. That’s so sweet of you,” she says, drawing a long pull on the piña colada.
“So, your husband ditched you, too?” I ask, trying not to gawk at the way she guzzles half the drink in one long sip. “Supposedly, some of the guys are getting together to go golfing.”
Kitty rolls her eyes as she places her half-empty drink on the table next to her and lies back. “Golfing? Pfft.”
“Tell me about it. Last night, Logan went to have a drink by himself,” I reply, digging the bottle of sunscreen out of my beach bag.
Kitty’s gaze flicks toward me, then she closes her eyes and doesn’t reply. She’s either wary of my attempt to commiserate with her or she doesn’t want to get involved. I have to figure out a way to make her comfortable telling me she saw Logan last night. Then, I’ll be one step closer to getting her to spill the beans on Jason.
I continue slathering sunscreen all over my face and body. “Back on the mainland, Logan works long nights at the office, then he’ll come home smelling like bourbon…and sex.”
Kitty opens her mouth as if she’s going to say something, but she decides against it.
“Sometimes, I feel like Logan thinks I’m an idiot. Like, it wasn’t even my idea to come here. I know this retreat is his way of trying to make me think he cares more about our marriage than I do, because I supposedly jump to conclusions, and I want to give up at the slightest hint of impropriety.”
If there’s one thing that cheaters do well it’s gas-lighting their victims. I’ve personally only been cheated on once, by a guy I dated in college. He used to cook up elaborate lies about why we couldn’t spend a Saturday together. And if I expressed my skepticism, I was made to feel like I was going crazy and overreacting. Of course, I found out, three lonely Saturdays later, he was boffing a barista he met at the campus café.
Kitty opens her eyes and turns her wobbly head slightly so she can look at me straight on. “Logan did something…to break your trust?” she slurs.
“Right?!” I reply enthusiastically. “That’s what I keep telling him. I didn’t stop trusting him the moment we got married. It’s all the little things that pile up, you know, like the late nights and the drinking and the sudden obsession with the gym. It’s not just one thing I can point to. It’s just women’s intuition, I guess. You know what I mean?”
Kitty lies back and closes her eyes again. “I know exactly what you mean. And it was Jason’s idea to come here, too.”
I tuck my sunscreen back into my beach bag and lie back on my lounge chair. “I am pretty sure Logan slept with someone last night. I just can’t prove it. It’s not like he smelled like he’d slept with someone. And he came back to the room fairly early. I just have this…feeling. You know?”
Kitty is silent for a long while, and I decide to give her this time to ponder whether or not she should confide what she saw last night. After what feels like an eternity, she finally speaks up. But the thick, garbled words that spill out of her mouth are not at all what I expect.
“I almost envy you,” she begins. “I remember the days…the days when I wasn’t sure…whether Jason had cheated on me.” She lets out a long, wistful sigh. “I kind of miss not knowing.”
Her slurred words shake me.
She didn’t give me the name of the woman Jason allegedly cheated on her with, but she did confirm that he was unfaithful. I should be jumping for joy now that I’m one step closer to getting my scoop. Instead, her words make me question whether I even want to know.
How can I exploit this woman’s suffering for my own gain?
This job is so much easier when I’m working in an office, following up on email and phone tips from the comfort of my cubicle. I don’t have to pretend to be the idiot who married a womanizer. I don’t have to look celebrities in the eye and see them as real people.
I don’t know if I can do this for what now seems like a silly promotion and raise.
Letting out a deep sigh, I close my eyes and relax into the lounge chair. It’s time to raise my game. I have to take Jen and Gail’s advice and flip the switch on Logan. The price of selling my soul just skyrocketed.
“Do you want to have dinner with Logan and me tomorrow night?” I ask, trying to sound as casual as possible. “I feel like this retreat has thrown me off balance. I just want to do something normal for a change.”
Without hesitation, Kitty responds, “That sounds nice. Actually, there’s a seafood restaurant at the resort next to us… It’s — Jason and I have been wanting to try it. But the council meeting is it at eight.”
“How does six o’clock sound?”
Her face splits into another drunk grin. “It’s a date!”
She holds up her hand for a high-five, but when I bring mine up she moves hers at the last second and we miss. I catch her as she almost rolls off her lounge chair. She apologizes as I help her lie back, and I assure her she’s fine. I’ll definitely have to remind her about our dinner date when she’s sober.
When the waiter comes by with Kitty’s complimentary piña colada, I shake my head as he’s about to place the drink on the table next to her. He takes one look at her and keeps walking.
With dinner scheduled, the next step in my plan is secured. I now have a bargaining chip to use when I flip the switch on Logan. He doesn’t have to know I’m questioning whether I’m capable of violating Kitty’s privacy. Besides, dinner with Kitty and Jason may change my mind. She may turn out to be the prima donna she’s rumored to be.
Chapter 9
LOGAN
Despite my accusation that Sophie is disinterested in lovemaking, and her own admission that she doesn’t like public displays of affection, Sophie and I are voted Wedded Warriors for the second night in a row. The next activity on the agenda for this afternoon was ‘Exploring Tantric Intimacy.’
Sophie has been acting a bit strange since her chat with Kitty. She seems to have upped her game when it comes to convincing the other couples and Dr. Mahoe that she and I are not only married, but very interested in getting the most out of this retreat as possible. During our lesson in Tantric intimacy, which took place in the sti
flingly warm and dimly lit yoga studio inside Mahoe’s penthouse apartment, Sophie surprised me by asking Dr. Mahoe many in-depth questions about the Tantric massage she was demonstrating on her husband. And when Bobby climaxed, blowing his load like magma shooting out of Mount Kīlauea, Sophie made sure she spoke loud enough for everyone to hear when she leaned closer to me and remarked, “His magma has nothing on your Magnum.”
Whatever Kitty and Sophie talked about by the pool seems to have inspired Sophie to refocus her efforts. Either she has a renewed desire to get this scoop, or she’s up to something. I’m betting on the latter.
As we enter the suite, I remove the Wedded Warrior amulet from around my neck and toss it onto the room service cart near the TV, which no doubt has our “reward” resting underneath the silver domed lid. I take a seat on the sofa, leaning back as I put my legs on the coffee table. Sophie immediately opens the top drawer of the nightstand next to the bed.
“So, do you want to tell me what that little enthusiastic wife routine was all about?” I ask as she sits down on the bed and begins handwriting some notes in her gossip diary.
She shrugs, her eyes focused on the little red journal in her hands as she continues writing. “Are you trying to imply that you don’t want me to be a convincing wife?”
“On the contrary, I wouldn’t mind if you tried to convince me,” I reply with a chuckle, but she keeps her eyes trained on her notes.
Her hand stops moving across the page, and she seems to be pondering my comment before she tucks the book back into the drawer and slides it shut. “I know you’ve been dying to find out what Kitty and I talked about today, but first we need to renegotiate the terms of my compensation package.”
The smile on my face stiffens. “Is this a shakedown?”
“Do you mean am I offering you something you desperately want in exchange for something I desperately want? I wonder where I learned that type of behavior, hubby.”
I rise from the sofa and head toward the room service cart to uncover our reward. “You’ve made your point. Let’s negotiate,” I say as I pop the bottle of champagne and pour us both a glass.
She accepts the drink and straightens her back as she sits cross-legged on the bed. “Okay, I know we negotiated a raise and promotion from my new position as your assistant to travel features editor at Open Sky, but I don’t think those terms fully reflect the amount of effort and potential backlash from what I’m doing here,” she begins, and I say a silent prayer that Everett will not put up a fight when I tell him I’ve hired a travel features editor for his new magazine. “Instead of a twenty percent pay bump,” Sophie continues, “I want one hundred percent.”
I spit out my mouthful of champagne all over her face. “Oh shit! I’m sorry,” I say, lifting the edge of the comforter on the bed and attempting to wipe her face. “You want me to double your salary? Oh, shit. I’m really sorry.”
She pushes my hands away and uses the comforter to wipe her face on her own. “My salary is $82,000 a year, which is basically starvation wages in Manhattan. Doubling my salary would bring my wages into the 21st century. Unless, you don’t think that what I’m doing here is that important.”
I set down my glass of champagne on the room service cart and lift the silver domed lid to buy myself some time. Lying on top of a clean white plate is what looks like two event tickets.
I lift them from the plate and read the words aloud. “Come Fly With Me Helicopter Tours. Congratulations on winning your own private helicopter tour of Oahu! Please arrive for your tour promptly at: 11 a.m. November 18th. Please wear sunscreen and water- and wind-resistant clothing. And don’t forget your sense of adventure!” I turn to Sophie to see her reaction, but she doesn’t seem to have one. “Did you hear what I just said? We won a helicopter tour. Isn’t that exciting?”
She continues to appear unamused. “Don’t pretend with me like you don’t have your own private helicopter. This is not at all exciting to you. This is an excuse to change the subject, but I will not be deterred. So, are we agreed on doubling my salary?”
“You know, I’m not sure I appreciate this attempt at being a convincing wife. This seems a bit hostile, if I’m being completely honest.”
The stony look on her face finally cracks as she lets out a derisive chuckle. “If you think this is hostile, just wait until tomorrow’s couples activity: the airing of grievances.”
I flinch at her words. “That sounded distinctly like a threat. I’m kind of into it.”
“And you still haven’t answered my question.”
I smile at her persistence, which, if I’m being totally honest, is really fucking sexy. “Okay, if you help me get the scoop that we came here for, yes, I will double your salary in addition to promoting you to travel features editor at Open Sky. Happy now?”
She shakes her head. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”
I nod along as if this was expected, but I’m actually a bit blindsided. I should demand to know what she talked about with Kitty, but something tells me she wouldn’t be making demands unless it was something juicy. She’s holding the information for ransom, completely unaware that I no longer need the information. If Lindy is to be believed, I never actually had a chance to win my father’s shares.
I set the tickets down on the plate and take a seat on the bed next to her. “Okay, what’s your next demand?”
She scoots away from me before she responds. “I want my debt to Kensington wiped.”
I pretend to ponder her request for a moment before I reply, “Done.”
She cocks a skeptical eyebrow. “Really?”
I shrug. “Sure. Why not? I’ll sell my helicopter to pay for your debt. Is that it?”
She stares at me for a long moment. What is going on in that pretty little head? Has she been planning these demands all week, or did she come up with this today after — or during — her conversation with Kitty?
She juts her chin out. “In case our little stunt doesn’t work out as intended, I need a glowing — and I mean glowing – recommendation letter from Logan Pierce, and—”
I laugh out loud. “There’s more? Do you want the keys to my penthouse? My beating heart on a platter?”
She rolls her eyes. “As I was saying, I’ll be needing a glowing recommendation letter and two years severance — paid at the escalated rate of $164,000 per year — in the event that our work here does not save Close-Up magazine or Kensington Publishing from going under.”
My smile quickly vanishes. “Okay, what did I do to you? What is this about?” As soon as I voice these questions, my vision darkens with rage as another possibility races to the forefront of my consciousness. “Did my brother offer you something?”
She lets out a sharp cackle. “Ha! What have I done to give you the impression that I would so easily betray your trust? Could it be that you have a guilty conscience?”
I narrow my eyes at her, trying to pick up on the subtext of her questions. “I don’t know, Dr. Bishop. Maybe this is something we can explore more in our next therapy session.”
She shakes her head as an expression of utter disgust forms on her face. “Nice save there, Pierce. But I am still waiting for a reply to my last request. Two years severance at the escalated rate and a glowing recommendation letter. What’s the verdict?”
“You know, I think you might be in the wrong business. You really should consider working for Angel Investments. Your negotiation skills are, quite frankly, terrifying.”
“Answer the question, Pierce.”
I take a deep breath and study the hard look in her hazel eyes as I consider whether her list of demands will ever end. “Okay, you’ll get your severance package and a recommendation letter should Kensington Publishing let you go. Satisfied? Want to put away those claws now?”
She slides off the bed and stands up straight so we’re eye-level. “Have your lawyer send me the amended agreement, then I’ll decide if it’s time to put away the claws. Deal?”
I shrug. �
�You’re the boss, apparently.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she replies as she starts toward the bathroom.
I take that as my cue to start snatch the extra pillow off the bed and toss it onto the sofa as I get ready to turn in for the evening. As she closes the bathroom door behind her, I realize we may be closer to murdering each other than screwing each other. Yet, somehow, this only makes me want her more. I wouldn’t mind those claws digging into my back while I ride her long and hard.
This image goes up in smoke when Sophie emerges from the bathroom with her blonde pineapple on her head and a new set of pajamas, which cover her body from neck to ankle.
“What happened to the Yankees shirt?” I ask as she violently yanks back the covers on the bed.
She shrugs as she climbs in and slides between the sheets. “Guess I lost my team spirit,” she says, reaching over to turn off the lamp on the nightstand despite the fact I haven’t finished getting the sofa ready. “We’re having dinner with Jason and Kitty tomorrow. If you get me the revised compensation agreement before dinner, I’m pretty sure I can close the deal with Kitty then.”
I should be demanding to know why she’s suddenly turned into an ice queen. Or at the very least, I should be trying to melt her icy exterior with my hot magma. Instead, I’m dumbfounded. This woman has thrown me off my game like no woman ever has.
I head to the closet to grab the folded blanket from the shelf. “Good night, Maleficent.”
This elicits a stifled laugh. “Good night, Voldemort.”
Chapter 10
SOPHIE
Our first Tantra yoga lesson takes place in the same yoga studio where Dr. Mahoe and her husband demonstrated how to give a man a fancy hand-job. I was tempted to tell her I learned that in high school, but I kept my mouth shut and pretended to be very eager to try out some Tantric massage on Logan. Now, we’re back in the yoga studio to learn sex positions that are supposed to bring Logan and me closer by aligning our chakras.
