All the Wrong Places

by Joy Fielding

  Kaitlin smiled at Heather across the long table for eight. “We should stop. All this talk about children is probably boring poor Heather to tears.”

  “Yes,” Heather agreed, looking up from the tiny mirror secreted in the palm of her hand in time to see the other woman’s smile freeze on her face.

  “Oh,” said Kaitlin.

  “Did she just say we’re boring her?” Nicole asked Brianne.

  “What?” said Heather, quickly returning the mirror to her purse. “I’m sorry. I must have misunderstood.”

  “I was just saying that all this talk about children must be boring you to tears.”

  “Oh,” Heather said. “Oh, no. Not at all. I’m sorry. I thought you said…It doesn’t matter,” she said, when she couldn’t think of anything. The truth was that she’d tuned the other women out somewhere between the salad and the entrees, numbed by the unrelenting onslaught of adorable anecdotes regarding their respective offspring. What was the matter with these women? Did they have nothing else to talk about?

  She’d perked up momentarily when the name Tiffany was mentioned because she thought they were referring to the famed jewelry store, but it turned out they were talking about some girl whose body had turned up in a landfill recently, and mulling over the prospect of a serial killer in their midst.

  “Please,” one of the women—she couldn’t remember which one—had interjected. “My mother says that if you’ve raised teenage daughters, serial killers are a walk in the park!”

  They’d all laughed, and the conversation had quickly segued back to their children.

  So boring.

  Not that their husbands, who’d grouped around the other end of the table after ordering dessert, were any better, their conversation a mind-numbing combination of work, wine, and sports. She’d tried to feign interest in what they were saying, but they’d lost her somewhere between tort law and Tom Brady, although she’d perked up momentarily when the handsome quarterback’s name was mentioned.

  In the end, she’d allowed her mind to drift, first imagining what the cute waiter pouring drinks at a nearby table would be like in bed, then on to her encounter with Chloe, which led to thoughts of Chloe’s husband, Matt, and what he had been like in bed—which, truth to tell, hadn’t been all that great. Not that they’d actually made it to the bed.

  Still.

  How she’d love to have waved that little flag in front of Chloe’s smug little face! “Remember that housewarming party you threw when you moved to Binney Street?” Okay, so Matt had been drinking, and he and Chloe had obviously been fighting and were barely speaking to each other. Heather had gone upstairs to use the bathroom, and when she’d opened the door, Matt was standing there, and he’d shoved her back against the sink, kicked the door closed behind him, pushed her clothes aside, and pushed his way inside her.

  The whole thing had taken less than two minutes. He’d barely looked at her, choosing instead to concentrate on his own reflection in the mirror above the sink. When he was done, he’d smiled—more at his image than at her— zipped up his fly, and returned to his other guests. Heather had pulled up her panties and lowered her dress, her thighs quivering, her back sore from being repeatedly slammed up against the hard enamel. She hadn’t heard Paige approach.

  “What’s going on?” Paige asked.

  Heather spun around. “What do you mean?” Had Paige seen Matt leave? Did she suspect what had happened?

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Why?”

  “I don’t know. You were just standing there, looking kind of…”

  “I’m fine,” Heather repeated. She went back downstairs, hung around a while, then left the party early. Matt had waved a casual goodbye.

  “What’s going on?” Noah asked now, suddenly at her side.

  “What?”

  “You were a million miles away. What were you thinking about?”

  Heather shrugged, the surrounding restaurant coming back into focus. She heard the clatter of dishes, the hum of conversation, the sound of women laughing.

  “I think we bored poor Heather to tears,” Kaitlin said, as she’d said earlier.

  How long ago was that? Heather wondered, as Noah was explaining that he had an important meeting first thing in the morning and wanted to do some additional research before going to bed.

  Which meant no sex. The end to a perfect day.

  As soon as they got home, Noah sat down at the dining room table and buried his nose in his work. Heather washed her face, applied Clearasil to her offending blemish, climbed into bed, and watched back-to-back repeat episodes of The Millionaire Matchmaker, while scrolling through various dating sites on her phone. She wasn’t surprised to find Matt still on them. God, he was a handsome devil. “You’ve got some nerve,” she told his photograph, not without admiration. Noah, on the other hand, had turned into a crushing bore.

  Had he always been so dull?

  What had Paige seen in him, anyway?

  She was tired of being bored—with Noah, with her job, with her life.

  She glanced back at the phone in her hand. What she needed was a little excitement.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The house on Peach Drive was typical of the homes in the affluent suburb of Newton—two-story, white clapboard, well maintained. It sat back from the street in the middle of a sprawling, manicured lawn ringed by tall, leafy trees and blossom-laden shrubbery. Heather had no idea what kind of trees or shrubs they were, nor did she care. Nature had never been her thing. Pink flowers, red flowers—what difference did it make? What interested her far more was the prominent FOR SALE sign at the side of the road. And the name of the listing agent writ large across its bottom: Matthew Dixon.

  She pulled into the driveway and put her car in park, although she left the engine running. It was hotter today than yesterday, even at almost six o’clock in the evening. Mercifully, it had stopped raining. Still, she couldn’t risk the lingering humidity doing weird things to her freshly coiffed hair, so staying in reach of the car’s air-conditioning was a must. She checked her image in the rearview mirror, grateful to see that the Clearasil had done its job. Yesterday’s budding blemish was now little more than an unpleasant memory, although if you looked closely, a vague outline of it remained.

  Heather doubted Matt would look that closely. Just in case, she undid the top two buttons of her white blouse, adjusting her breasts to peek out from the top of her white-lace, push-up bra.

  She hadn’t bothered with panties.

  He should be here any minute, she thought, checking her watch. And wouldn’t he be surprised! She laughed, pleased at her own cleverness.

  She’d spent most of the morning on her computer, investigating houses for sale in the surrounding suburbs, zeroing in on Matt’s listings. “Aren’t you the busy little bee?” Kendall had commented from across the aisle, erroneously assuming Heather was actually doing her job.

  Heather had selected the house on Peach Drive because of its proximity to the city proper. While it was important she choose a property away from the Boston core in order to minimize the risk of running into anyone she knew, there was no point in casting her net too far afield. Besides, she’d always hated the suburbs. She often joked that she developed nosebleeds when she strayed too far from Beacon Hill.

  Next, she’d called Matt’s office and spoken to his assistant, giving the woman a phony name, and telling her she was interested in seeing the house on Peach Drive as soon as possible. “Mr. Dixon says he can meet you there at six o’clock this evening,” the assistant told her after checking with Matt, who was out of the office on another showing. “Would that work for you?”

  It would indeed, Heather thought now, a slow smile spreading across her face. She stole another glance at the rearview mirror, her eyes smiling mischievously back. At exactly six o’clock,
a car pulled to a stop on the street in front of the house. Heather watched Matt step out of his car, adjusting his beige linen suit jacket and smoothing back his hair before striding confidently up the driveway, every arrogant step proclaiming dominance over his domain.

  Heather took a deep breath and pushed open her car door.

  Matt’s smile was firmly in place and his hand already extended in greeting as the high heels of Heather’s pink, open-toed shoes made contact with the intersecting gray bricks of the driveway. “Mrs. Turner?” he asked, approaching.

  Heather paled. Was it possible he didn’t recognize her? Oh, God. How embarrassing!

  Matt’s smile dissolved as he drew nearer, his eyes narrowing. “Heather?”

  Thank God, Heather thought. “Fancy meeting you here,” she said with a laugh.

  “I don’t understand. What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you.”

  “I think there must be some mistake.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m meeting a client here at six o’clock.”

  “Mrs. Turner,” Heather said.

  “Yes. Do you know her?”

  “I am her.”

  He seemed startled. “You got married?”

  Heather laughed. “No. God, no.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said again. “You told my assistant your name was Mrs. Turner? That you were interested in buying this property?”

  “And that part is true,” Heather improvised, hearing a hint of anger mingling with the confusion in Matt’s voice. “About wanting to see the property. Noah and I have been talking about maybe buying a house in the area.” Damn it, she thought. Of course Matt would be confused and angry. He’d driven to Newton expecting to find an eager buyer, pocket an easy commission, and instead he’d found…her.

  What had she been thinking? What if Matt were to speak to Noah?

  Although that was highly unlikely, she assured herself. The two men had never been friends and there was no reason for them to get chummy now. Noah had always considered Matt something of a jerk, and had only tolerated him because of Paige’s friendship with Chloe. Now both Paige and Chloe were out of the picture, and Noah was…well, teetering at the edge of the frame. “I didn’t think you’d agree to see me if I used my real name,” Heather explained, anticipating Matt’s next question. “Because of Chloe and Paige and Noah and everything.”

  “Never really understood that friendship, to be honest,” Matt said, his earlier swagger returning to his eyes. “Always thought Noah could do better.” He grinned. “Nice to see he has.”

  Heather felt a flush at her cheeks and a tingle between her legs.

  “Besides, I never let my personal life interfere with business. You really think you might want to buy this house?”

  “Well, I’d like to see it first.” She laughed.

  “Of course.” Matt motioned with his hand toward the front door. “Right this way.”

  * * *

  —

  “So, Mrs. Turner,” he said, a confident smile in his voice, “what are your thoughts so far?” They were standing in the all-white master bedroom on the second floor, having completed their tour of the main floor and finished basement.

  “It’s beautiful,” Heather said. The bed certainly looks comfortable, she thought, picturing Matt and her rolling around on top of it.

  “Well, like I said, the owners renovated a year ago, and spared no expense. New kitchen, new bathrooms, new furnace, new roof. Everything top-of-the-line. And wait till you see what they’ve done in here.” He crossed the bedroom into the black-and-white en-suite marble bathroom.

  Heather followed. “Very impressive.”

  “Marble countertops, two ceramic sinks, one claw-foot tub, heated marble floor and towel racks. And the pièce de résistance,” he said with a wink, pointing toward the shower at the far end of the room.

  Heather put an extra wiggle in her walk and pushed out her backside as she peeked inside the cavernous space, the marble walls outfitted with the latest in hardware. “There’s certainly enough…stuff.”

  “Oversized rain showerhead, plus a variety of sprays coming at you from all directions. Plenty of room for two. Or three,” he added, coming up close behind her. “So, what do you think?”

  “Well, it’s stunning, of course.”

  “I’m sensing a ‘but.’ ”

  “But…maybe it’s a little grand…”

  “Grand?”

  “For Noah.”

  “For Noah,” Matt said, his breath on the back of her neck.

  “I mean, it’s just the two of us,” she said, her voice wobbling as he pressed himself against her.

  “Just the two of us,” he repeated, his fingers brushing her hair to one side as his lips grazed the side of her neck.

  Her breath caught in her lungs.

  “You didn’t really come to see the house, did you?”

  She felt him pull away. Come back, she thought. Come back. “Why would you say that?”

  He placed both hands on her shoulders and slowly spun her around.

  Was he going to kiss her again?

  “Because you raced through the downstairs rooms,” he said instead. “You showed zero interest in anything, including the truly spectacular walk-in closet that women all but swoon over, and you haven’t asked a single question.”

  “Maybe because you explained everything so well.”

  “Maybe. But I doubt it. Why the charade, Heather? Did Chloe put you up to this?”

  “What? No.”

  “Is this some sort of test? Is that why you’re here?”

  “No!”

  “Then what’s this all about?” He pushed her back against the countertop, cupping her chin in his hand and squeezing hard.

  “I just wanted to see you.”

  “Why?”

  “I heard about you and Chloe.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “How could you know about me and Chloe? Paige isn’t speaking to you, and Chloe sure as hell wouldn’t confide in you. Unless…” His hand dropped to his side, a look of admiration creeping into his eyes. “Unless you’re the one who tipped off Chloe.”

  “Tipped her off about what?”

  He laughed. “You’ve been a very bad girl,” he said, his voice a low growl she found almost unbearably sexy. “Haven’t you…Mrs. Turner?” His hand reached between her legs. “Well, well,” he said. “I think we may have just discovered why we’re here.”

  Heather groaned. What the hell, she thought. This was what she came for, after all. Her chance to screw both Matt and Chloe, payback for the little stunt Chloe had pulled the other day. And let’s not forget Noah, she thought, mindful of his growing lack of interest. “Disappointed?” she asked, feeling on surer ground.

  “Pretty sure of yourself, weren’t you?”

  “Pretty sure of you,” she said.

  Without another word, Matt unzipped his pants and pulled up her skirt.

  Really? Heather thought, as he entered her, slamming her roughly and repeatedly against the marble counter. We’re doing it here, in the bathroom, against the sink? Again? When there’s a perfectly good bedroom with a nice, comfortable bed only feet away?

  Was this the way he was with Chloe? Heather almost felt sorry for the woman. Her back must be a mass of bruises, she thought, as Matt continued pounding his way inside her. She was wondering how much more she could take when he pulled out of her, spinning her around and slapping her, hard, on her bare buttocks.

  “What the…?”

  But he was already moving away, zipping up his fly and straightening his jacket.

  “I don’t suppose we could take a shower,” she said, only half in jest. She could use a spray of something soothing on her back and between her legs
.

  “We need to get out of here before the Stewarts come home,” Matt said matter-of-factly. “I told them we’d be out by seven. Come on. You can fix your hair in the car.”

  “What’s wrong with my hair?” She glanced at the long mirror over the counter. “Oh, God.” Her hair was a mess, the roots already curling with perspiration.

  “Come on,” he said, hurrying her down the stairs and out the front door.

  “We have to stop meeting like this,” she joked as they approached her car.

  “Probably a good idea,” he said, taking her at her word. “Call me if you’re ever serious about buying a house.”

  “Absolutely.” Heather watched through her rearview mirror as Matt got behind the wheel of his black Audi and drove off without so much as a backward glance. “Well, what did you expect?” she asked her reflection, angry at the tears she saw forming. “Why are you crying? Surely you weren’t expecting hearts and flowers.”

  No, her reflection said silently. But a little foreplay might have been nice.

  “You got exactly what you came for,” Heather admonished her image. She wiped the tears from her eyes, threw the car into gear, and backed out of the driveway.

  Why was getting what you wanted always such a damn letdown?

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “Heather?” Noah called from the living room as she walked through the apartment door.

  Heather winced. She’d been hoping Noah would be working late, as he often did, and that she’d have time for a hot bath before he got home. “Yup, it’s me.” Disappointed? she wondered. Maybe hoping it was someone else?

  “Where’ve you been?” Noah poked his head into the hallway. “It’s late.”

  “Is it?” She made a show of checking her watch. He was right. It was almost seven thirty.

  “Where’ve you been?” he asked again.

  “It’s just been one of those days,” she said, silently berating herself for not having prepared an alibi on the tedious drive home.

  “Tell me,” he said, approaching and taking her hand, guiding her into the living room.