Every Last Secret

by A. R. Torre

  I moved the spigot away from the pot, wondering if I should bring up the pending wine-charity application. I glanced toward Matt and William, confirming that they were still by the grill, beers in hand. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. William’s excellent at multitasking, and I am going to help his ability to handle things, not weaken it. Plus, I need a project. I’m not sure if you heard, but I didn’t make the cut for the wine-charity board.” I let my voice drop, soaking each syllable in disappointment.

  Cat straightened, and I could almost feel her awareness spike. “The board nominees haven’t been announced yet.”

  I frowned. “I thought the letters for nominee interviews went out this week?” My faux confusion played well, the question rolling out perfectly innocent in nature.

  “No.” She shook her head. “We meet Thursday to discuss the applications.”

  “Oh.” I brightened. “Well, then, I spoke too soon. I’m dying for a spot on that board, though it will drag my time and focus away from William. Not that I can’t still help the team,” I hastened to add. “I’ve just heard that the board is practically a part-time job.”

  She didn’t respond, but I was sure she understood the proposed negotiation. Deliver the wine board and I would step back from her husband.

  It was a fair trade, though I didn’t plan on keeping it. The more time I spent with William, the more my interest in him grew. While most of the others were entertaining conquests, he was something more. Fascinatingly brilliant and with a sexual pull that was impossible to ignore.

  Still, if she got me on the wine board, my social standing in Atherton would take a gigantic leap forward. I would, for one of the first times in my life, be regarded with respect. Looked at as an equal. I would rightfully belong in this diamond-studded world. That would be worth taking a step back from William. Let that affair mature at a slower pace. Draw out the cat-and-mouse game until he was begging for my touch.

  I picked up the paring knife and met her eyes, giving her my own sparkly smile.

  The wives of this town were all identical. Cat Winthorpe, whether she liked it or not, would eventually lose this game.

  CHAPTER 16

  CAT

  The phone buzzed next to William’s plate, the display bright in the dim restaurant. I sighed, and he chuckled, sliding it off the table and into his pocket.

  “You promised me. One meal without work,” I reminded him.

  “I know, I know.”

  The waiter produced the bottle of wine, and he waved off the presentation of it.

  I held my hand over my glass as the tuxedoed man began to tilt it forward. “None for me, thanks.” After he left, I nodded to the bottle. “That’s one of our vendors for the wine-charity festival. Let me know how you like it.”

  He took a long sip, paused, then shrugged. “Eh. Tastes like every other red wine.”

  I smiled at his inability to tell merlot from pinot. “Well, this vendor is making a six-figure donation, so pretend it’s amazing.”

  He took another sip. “You know what? Best I’ve ever had.” He set down the glass. “How is the charity? Neena mentioned she applied for a board position.”

  I bet she did. “Yes, I saw that she put in an application.” I thought of our dinner with them last week, her not-so-subtle push for me to move her application through. It had been insulting, not to mention aggressive. I didn’t need her schedule to be busier if I wanted my husband to spend less time with her. I could effect that on my own. He was my husband. If I didn’t want him to spend time with her, he wouldn’t.

  “And?” He dipped a chunk of bread into the French cream sauce.

  I cocked a brow at his interest. He’d never cared enough to ask about the wine charity before. Typically, his eyes would glaze over at the mere mention of their annual festival, which was their largest fundraiser. “And . . . ,” I said carefully, “I don’t think she’ll be selected.”

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  I let out a laugh that sounded more like a scoff. “Does it matter?”

  “Humor me.”

  “She isn’t qualified, for one.”

  “Qualified?” He grimaced, and I glared at him.

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “Fine.” He raised his hands. “But there’s a reason you’re in charge of the board. The rest of those women—”

  “And men,” I reminded him.

  “They’re in it for the free wine and society-page mentions. It isn’t exactly a crack bunch you have there.”

  “Oh, they’re all drunk social climbers?” I accused. “You’re right. That does sound just like Neena.”

  “Come on,” he argued. “She’s an intelligent woman.”

  “From what I’ve heard, she’s a year out from being a secretary,” I pointed out. “And I don’t know how much impact she could be having at WT, considering she’s spending all her time with you.” The nag slipped into the conversation, and I hurried to cover up the remark. “Neena wants the social standing of being on the board, nothing else.”

  “She told me about a fundraiser she worked on at Plymouth Industries. She has the experience for it.”

  “I’m sorry.” I cut into my lamb with vicious strokes. “Did I miss something? Are you guys talking about the team or yourselves in your meetings?”

  “It was in passing.” He paused. “Maybe you’re right and she isn’t a good fit for it.”

  “She isn’t.” I stabbed my fork into the tender meat. One meal. I wanted one meal where her name didn’t come up. One meal where I didn’t have to listen to some accomplishment or praise of her. She’d obviously pressed him into vouching for her. She had worked on something like this at Plymouth? Whatever.

  I shoved the piece of meat into my mouth. She wouldn’t be on the board. I’d already removed her application from the stack and fed it into the shredder myself. If I had to see her smug, pointy face every time I walked into a board meeting, I’d stab her to death with a vendor’s corkscrew.

  I met William’s concerned look and bared my teeth in a smile.

  CHAPTER 17

  NEENA

  William’s car growled down my driveway, and I was pleased to see that he’d chosen one of the exotic sports cars that lined his garage. It was a good sign. The tight quarters, the roar of the engine between our legs, the feeling of power and recklessness that he’d have behind the wheel . . . it’d all set the right tone.

  I locked the side entrance behind me, letting my gaze sweep appreciatively over the car as I approached and opened the door. “Wow.” I grabbed the handle and slid one stiletto into the footwell, making a careful entrance that exposed as much leg as possible.

  He noticed. I could feel him stare, saw the tightening of his hand on the gearshift as he watched me settle into the bucket seat and pull the door closed. It felt immediately intimate, the engine’s noise muting, the air conditioner stirring up the mixture of male and female scents, his cologne intoxicatingly close.

  “Do you need more room for your legs? That seat moves back farther.”

  “Oh yes. That’d be great.” I fumbled on the side, peering at the door and then feeling along the bottom of the seat, looking for the controls.

  He chuckled. “It’s not—may I?” He unbuckled his seat belt.

  “Sure.” I blushed, then stiffened as he reached in between my legs, the arm of his suit brushing against my knees as he reached under the seat and lifted a lever.

  “Push back with your feet.” His words came out against my left thigh, and I obeyed, the chair clicking back and giving me another six inches of room. He released the lever and straightened. Was it just my imagination, or was his face red? “It’s old school. It’s funny, you pay this much for a car, you’d think it would have power seats.”

  I smiled. “I like it. Now . . .” I looked at the seat-belt harness in faux confusion.

  “Here, let me help you.” He reached over, pulling the belt over my head. “You have to put your arms through—yeah.
Like that.” His eyes met mine, and it was the closest we’d ever been. His hands brushing against my blouse as he tightened the straps. His mouth, just inches from mine, his breath soft and warm against my lips.

  “You smell good,” he said quietly. “Really good.”

  With another man, this would be my moment. I’d grip his shirt. Let my eyes go soft, my lips part. Run my hand down to cup the bulge in his pants.

  But this wasn’t another man, and with William, he had to be the one to initiate things, or else I would never land him. I glanced down as if shy. “Thank you. And thank you for giving me a ride. I don’t know what’s wrong with my car.”

  He straightened up and reclipped his own belt. “We’re going to the same place. It’s no trouble. And if we didn’t have this team meeting, I’d take a look at it.” He frowned. “But Matt’s good with cars, right? Didn’t he restore that Corvette himself?”

  Ugh. That Corvette. I hated that stupid muscle car. It was one thing to drive it around our old middle-class neighborhood, but he insisted we take it out on Atherton dates as well. “He did,” I said lightly. “But I called the dealership. They’re going to tow mine in and fix it under warranty. Do you mind bringing me to work for the next few days? I can get Matt to give me a ride home.”

  There was the sort of pause that a man makes when he doesn’t want to say no but shouldn’t say yes. Ned Plymouth once made that pause. It didn’t turn out well for him.

  “A few days?” He stalled. This hesitation was Cat, I knew it. I’d heard her in the background, huffing and puffing when I’d called—in an almost tearful panic—asking him for a ride.

  “They said it should be fixed by Thursday, Friday at the latest.” The dealership, which hadn’t batted an eye when I told them I would be towing in my car for a full-service detail, had promised a twenty-four-hour turnaround time. I had pushed back, telling them to keep it until Friday, a directive they had happily accepted. “Thank you so much.” I sighed in relief, taking the assumptive approach and silently daring him to combat it. “Can you believe this warm front we’ve had? It’s amazing.”

  He paused, and I could feel him weighing whether to continue the conversation or let it ride. “Yeah, it’s been nice.” He shifted, putting the powerful car into second as he pulled out of our drive.

  We moved around the curve, and I looked back at their estate, unsurprised to see Cat watching us from the front balcony, her arms crossed over her chest. It had been a risky move, the carpool play. But I needed some time with him away from the office. Inside that fishbowl, his guard was up and eyes were everywhere. Alone in this car, I could reach over and grab his hand and no one would know. We could kiss.

  Not that I would do any of that yet. It was only Monday. I had an entire week to get him to let his prickly guard down a little. Who knew what things could look like by Friday?

  William upshifted into third, and his hand brushed against my bare knee. I didn’t move it away, and he kept his grip on the gearshift, our bodies connected through the contact. The breath tumbled out of him and, against my knee, the edge of his pinkie moved in just the slightest, smallest way. I knotted my hands in my lap as if I were nervous and turned my head to look out the window. I settled deeper in the seat, opening my thighs and stretching out my legs, inviting—begging him for—more.

  After a long moment, his finger moved again. Farther this time, a drag of his index finger upward along my knee. This was it. William Winthorpe was touching me. Practically caressing me. It had taken over seven weeks of me working at Winthorpe. Slow-growing chemistry. Longer looks. Casual run-ins that I spent all day engineering. All worth it for this moment—the first crack in the facade of his monogamy. After this, things would be easy, a crumble of resistance until we were both undressed and William was falling fully into my trap.

  Inside, my emotions warred between the possibilities he held. Maybe my fantasies over grilled cheese were possible, and he’d fall in love and make me the next Mrs. Winthorpe.

  Maybe this would be just sex and pay off in orgasms and emotional superiority over Cat, followed quickly by blackmailing William and a big financial payday.

  I didn’t really care which path the trap took. I needed another stepping-stone up in the world, and William would give it to me. With or without love. With or without a wife by his side, or a husband at mine.

  This was a chess match over my future, and—as with Ned—I was going to win.

  CHAPTER 18

  CAT

  We built the Winthorpe Tech offices to suit our industry. Sleek, expensive, and highly functional. I was walking through the front doors when my cell hummed with a call from Tom Beck. I paused in front of the security desk, then took a seat at one of the lobby seating arrangements that overlooked the lake. Glancing around, I made sure I was alone, then answered the call.

  Tom Beck dived right in. “Ned Plymouth has ignored my calls, but his new receptionist has been very helpful. Are you somewhere where you can view an email?”

  I dug into my bag and pulled out my tablet, opening up my email and refreshing the in-box. “You’ve already sent it to me?”

  “Just did.”

  The email appeared, and I opened it, then clicked on the attachment. “What is this?”

  “It’s a termination-of-employment contract.”

  I paused, the title sinking in. “I thought Neena quit that job to take this one.”

  “Part of this contract stipulates that they will continue her employment until she finds another job, provided that she does so within six months. But, during that time, she is not allowed on company grounds or to have any contact with Ned Plymouth, any of his employees or partners, or any member of his family, including his wife.”

  My stomach flipped with an odd combination of dread over what this meant to Winthorpe Tech and glee over the find. I scrolled down the page. “So, she gets the appearance of a friendly parting, and he gets . . . what?”

  “Aside from the absence of contact, she also signed a nondisclosure agreement that forbade her from discussing anything that ever happened on Plymouth property or with Ned Plymouth.”

  “Do you think they had an affair?” I lowered my voice and glanced over my shoulder, making sure no one was around.

  “Most definitely.” He paused. “We never discussed why you hired me. Do you suspect that your husband—”

  “No.” I shook my head. “No.” Maybe if I repeated it five more times, it would eliminate the possibility altogether. “I just want to know—”

  “Cat.” Neena’s voice rang through the marble lobby, and I flipped the tablet over and stood as she approached. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just stopping in to see William.” I pulled the phone away from my mouth and gave her my warmest smile. “We have dinner plans, so I thought I’d save him the trip home and meet him here.”

  Her eyes hardened, even as she reached out her arms and clutched me in a hug. “Oh!” She pulled back, spotting the phone at my ear. “I didn’t realize you were on the phone.”

  I held up a finger, asking her to give me a moment. “Tom, I have to run.”

  Neena watched as I said my goodbyes; then I put my phone and tablet back in my bag.

  “Sorry about that. You didn’t have to get off the phone.” She tilted her head at me, and I noticed her hair extensions. They were a nice addition, her thin hair now a thick mane of platinum-blonde waves.

  “It’s fine.” I zipped up my bag. “How’s your car? You know, my BMW was the same way. Constant problems. I can call Bill Hopkins if you’d like. He owns the dealership. Could bump up your car in the lineup.”

  “Oh no.” She waved off the offer, but I noticed the way her skin flushed, her eyes pulling nervously to one side. “They’re working on it now. Should be just another day or so.”

  “Good.” I met her eyes. “I’m sure it’s disruptive, carpooling with William.”

  Her gaze didn’t waver, and if she was doing anything underhanded, she was hiding
it well.

  “He’s been so kind. But honestly—if you have a problem with it, I can always get a taxi.”

  “Or have Matt take you,” I suggested.

  “Sure, though he normally leaves by seven.”

  I was already bored with the conversation, well aware of the Ryders’ conflicting schedules. William and I had already argued over the minute details of Neena’s schedule versus Matt’s during our fight, one where I had forbidden him to cart her into work each day, and he had deftly ignored my feelings in favor of not inconveniencing her.

  Friends—if that was the path Neena was trying to go down with me—didn’t cozy up to friends’ husbands. Especially new friends. You had to earn that level of comfort, and I was growing more and more distrustful of our neighborhood’s newest wife, especially after speaking to Tom.

  “By the way.” I touched her arm. “So sorry that you didn’t make the cut for the wine-charity board. I really campaigned for you, but the other members didn’t think you were the right fit.”

  “Oh?” The light dimmed in her eyes, and her smile fell for a moment before she quickly jerked it back into place. “Well. That’s fine. Gives me more time to focus on work. William—”

  “You know, I didn’t understand it,” I soldiered on, letting my voice carry. “I mean, all that experience at Plymouth? Truthfully, I think it was an issue of jealousy.”

  She didn’t want to take the bait. I could see the hesitant sway of her body as she chewed over the tidbit. “What do you mean?”

  I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “A few of the women on the board . . . they mentioned some rumors they’ve heard. It’s all jealousy, like I said. I mean, you going after married men?” I let out an incredulous laugh that almost sounded genuine. “That’s ridiculous! And I told them that.” I patted her arm. “Don’t worry. I’m watching out for you. I know how much you love Matt, and I know what this town is like. Rumors like that . . .” I winced. “They can kill someone’s reputation.”