They all came to tell us about their lying, cheating, asshole husbands—yet they were always all done up for the occasion. The women with reasons to come here had bruised egos, cracked hearts, and fissures in their faith in the male gender, but they stood tall as they told their stories. Getting all dolled up was part of the untold story they wanted to tell us.
It isn’t my fault.
My husband didn’t cheat because I gained an extra forty pounds, greeted him wearing stained sweatpants every day when he came home from work, and hadn’t given him a blow job in ten years.
He cheated because he’s an asshole with a character flaw.
The thing is…most of the wives probably did let themselves go a little—got comfortable, stopped spending time on themselves because they were taking care of others. But none of that should matter. These women didn’t need to prove anything. Just being here, I already knew it didn’t matter if they met their man at the door decked out in a lacy negligee and dropped to their knees. Because it wasn’t the faithful partner’s fault. No matter what. It was the cheater’s.
I should fucking know.
Caroline Brady was petite. Dressed in a conservative pantsuit that covered most of her thin frame, she looked more like a banker than a scorned woman. Her mousy brown hair was thick and straight, cut in a blunt bob with heavy bangs. Oversized dark sunglasses covered half her face. She looked like she was trying to hide eyes that were more than likely swollen from countless hours of crying over her piece-of-shit husband.
Soren stood and introduced himself, then looked to me.
I softened my normally bitchy attitude and extended my hand. “I’m Elodie. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Brady.”
After she shook my hand, she stared down her nose at me for a solid thirty seconds. I stood my ground and stared right back. I could see her judging me, even hidden behind her glasses.
Soren finally intervened in our stare off. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
With her eyes shielded, she continued to gape at me for a few heartbeats, and then finally sat.
“What brings you here today, Ms. Brady?”
Her voice was cold. “I want her to sleep with my asshole husband.”
Soren held up his hands. “Whoa. Hang on a minute. That’s not what we do here. I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed.”
I glared at her. “I’m not a whore.”
She pursed her lips, but she didn’t have to say a word. Her face said it all.
I stood. “You know what, Soren? I’m actually not going to be able to do Ms. Brady’s job anyway.”
The one thing I knew about Soren was that he cared about me more than any retainer.
He nodded. “No problem, babe. Why don’t you head out, and we’ll talk tomorrow. Got plenty of other work for you to do.”
“Thanks.” I smiled and didn’t give Caroline Brady the satisfaction of a last glance on my way out.
I was deep in thought as I drove toward the Whitestone Bridge. There was a time when I’d actually gotten off on the work I did for Soren. My own messed-up relationship had taken such a toll on me that I needed a few years of screwing asshole men over. Every time Leo snapped the camera, I envisioned it was me getting the proof and screwing over my ex, Tobias. Oddly, setting up cheaters for their wives was cathartic for me—and a hell of a lot cheaper than a therapist.
At the last second, right before turning onto the bridge to go home, I made a rash decision. The horns blaring as I cut across two lanes of traffic to evade the entrance ramp showed just how last minute my decision had been.
I was done working for Soren, at least in the capacity that I was currently employed. When I’d first started working for him, he had wanted me to do computer work, anyway. I was certain there were enough other things that needed to be done to keep me busy. But before I took that path, before I sat down and talked to Soren, I needed to give what I really wanted one last try.
Pulling an illegal U-turn, I headed back uptown—back toward Hollis LaCroix’s office. It was late; he might not be there anymore. But I also had a picture of his driver’s license in my cell phone, and I wasn’t above using it.
Chapter 6
* * *
Elodie
Groveling wasn’t my thing.
But groveling to a good-looking guy like Hollis really made me uncomfortable.
Though I wanted the damn job.
I really wanted the job. Especially after I’d met Hailey and realized we could actually relate to each other. So if crawling with my tail between my legs was what it took, then today I’d be a mouse instead of the cat.
Standing in front of the penthouse at the address I’d gotten from his license, I lifted my hand to knock, then lowered it.
God, why does he have to be so damn good looking? Tall, confident, bone structure that would make a sculptor weep—he reminded me of all the men I loved to hate. I didn’t want to find him attractive.
I stood tall and gave the door a good, firm knock. From the outside, I looked like the picture of confidence, but inside I squirmed and hoped he wasn’t home.
No such luck.
The door opened, and Hollis immediately frowned.
I attempted to start off on the right foot. “I should have apologized the other day. I came to rectify that. The accident was all my fault.”
Silence fell between us. Hollis’s face was unreadable as he stared at me. I knew having to get your car repaired was annoying, but it wasn’t like I’d killed a kitten or anything. Unfortunately, the silence only gave me another opportunity to soak up the good looks of the man standing before me. And it pissed me off that he wore casual clothing even better than the expensive suit he’d had on the other day.
“Can you really even hold the fact that I’m not a great parker against me? Aren’t certain classes of people protected by federal employment law or something?”
Hollis perked one brow. “Not sure bad drivers fit into the constitutionally protected classes like race, sex, and religious preference.”
I waved my hand. “Whatever. And for the record, I’m not a bad driver. I’m just a bad parker.”
Hollis squinted. I got the feeling he was gauging my sincerity, trying to decide what to make of my showing up. He wasn’t the typical guy I ran across; batting my eyelashes didn’t gain me entrance to wherever I desired to go. But I stood my ground while he assessed away, and I maintained eye contact. I’d screwed up, and I would own up to it.
Eventually he stepped aside. “Come on in.”
A few steps over the threshold, a loud voice called out from somewhere within the apartment. The sound made me jump.
“Anna’s home!” Squawk! “Anna’s home!” Squawk! “Anna’s home!”
Hollis dropped his head and looked down. “Ignore that. It’s my bird.”
“That was a bird?”
As if he understood what I’d asked and wanted to provide confirmation, the voice called out again. “Anna’s home!” Squawk! “Anna’s home!” Squawk! “Anna’s home!” Only this time the bird punctuated his statement with the sound of rapidly flapping wings, which validated that he was, indeed, a bird.
Hollis nodded his head toward the inner sanctum of his apartment. “Come inside. If he doesn’t get to see you, he’ll never shut the hell up.”
I followed Hollis through the marble foyer and into the sleek stainless steel kitchen. His apartment was incredible, with a sunken living room open to the kitchen and floor-to-ceiling, sweeping views of Central Park—though the view was partially obstructed by a large, white cage that stood next to those windows, housing the biggest, most exotic-looking bird I’d ever seen.
The thing was gorgeous. Slate-black body, dark gray beak, long black tail, a full mane of proud feathers forming a Mohawk on the top of his head, and crimson coloring on both his cheeks, which were devoid of any feathers. The thing had to be two feet tall.
I walked through the apartment and over to the cage. “Wow. I’ve never seen a bird like this. Wha
t kind is he?”
“The pain-in-the-ass kind.”
“What’s his name?”
“Huey.”
“Is he named after Huey Lewis, the singer?”
“No. But that’s not a bad guess. He’s named after Hugh Jackman.”
I chuckled. “Fan of Wolverine?”
Hollis walked over and stood beside me. “Not a chance. He belonged to my ex. He’s an Australian black palm cockatoo. She rescued injured and endangered birds and thought he should be named after someone from Australia.”
The bird squawked again, making me smile. “He’s beautiful. I’m sorry I’m not Anna.”
“I’m not,” Hollis grumbled before turning around and walking back to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and called to me, “Can I get you something to drink?”
Hmm. His manners were a hell of a lot nicer at home. “No. I’m good. Thank you.” I walked back to the kitchen to join him.
He took a water bottle from the fridge, unscrewed the cap, and leaned against the kitchen counter. Tilting it in my direction before he brought it to his lips, he said, “The accident wasn’t all your fault.”
“What do you mean?”
Hollis drank from his water bottle, watching me over it. “The office building has a ton of cameras inside and out. This morning I went down to security and asked them to replay the footage from the time of our accident. You did what you said. You waited a minute and then honked your horn to see if I had been waiting to take the spot.”
“I told you that.”
“Yes, but I didn’t believe you. I was on the phone and didn’t hear you.”
My eyes widened. “So you were on the phone and not paying attention, yet you made me feel like it was my fault. I knew it!”
He squinted. “Why did you come here today saying it was your fault, if you knew it wasn’t?”
“Truth?”
“No, lie to me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Because I want the job.”
“Why?”
“Because I like to eat.”
“You aren’t going hungry. You have a job. If I remember correctly, one where you do a lot of this and that.”
I sighed. Hollis wasn’t an idiot. He’d known something was fishy during the interview. I made a spur-of-the-moment decision to come clean. I had nothing to lose at this point.
“I don’t do much admin work at my current job. I use my looks to assist the private investigators in surveillance.”
“Go on.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I can’t wait to hear this.”
“Well, the firm I work for provides assistance in divorce cases—tailing spouses and taking photos of incriminating situations, usually evidence of them cheating. Sometimes it’s difficult to get the evidence, because once the divorce starts, the soon-to-be alimony-paying cheater becomes more discreet.”
“Okay…”
“One of my jobs is to bait the cheaters. Show up in a bar, flirt a little…then once they take the bait, our photographer snaps a few photos, and I pretend I need to go to the ladies’ room. Then I slip out the back door.”
Hollis’s eyes roamed my face. “Do they always take the bait?”
“Are you doubting my capabilities?”
His lip twitched. “How exactly does one get into such a profession?”
I sighed. “Soren, the guy that owns the agency, was in the military with my brother.”
Hollis scratched his chin. Today he had a five o’clock shadow, and the look really worked for him. “Do you enjoy doing this job?”
The right answer should probably have been no—let him think I did it for a paycheck. But I’d already aired half my dirty laundry; I might as well throw it all out there.
“I did at the beginning. I took the job right after my own divorce. I was married for nine months to a professor I met in college. Long story short, I walked in on him with a student. It doesn’t take a psychologist to figure out what made me enjoy the job at the beginning.”
“What about now? You said you enjoyed it at the beginning. Does that mean you don’t anymore?”
I shook my head. “I want to move on. It’s difficult to do that when you’re reminded every day of all the reasons you aren’t happy to begin with.”
Hollis stared at me for a long time. “Thank you for being honest with me.” He set his water bottle down on the kitchen counter and put his hands on his hips. “So that’s why you’re here, then? A last-ditch effort to convince me to hire you for the job? Not an overwhelming need to apologize for the accident being your fault?”
“The truth?”
“Let’s keep giving that a shot, yes.”
“I still didn’t think the accident was my fault when I decided to come today. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the job.”
Hollis’s lip twitched again. “Previous occupation aside, Addison told me she’d asked you about your driving history. Ours wasn’t your first fender bender. I’m sure you can imagine why I’d have concerns about you taking care of Hailey. At times, you might need to drive her places.”
My shoulders slumped. He was right. I couldn’t even park in front of his building. Why would he trust me to take care of his niece? And he didn’t know about all my other accidents. Yet I wasn’t ready to give up. Working as a nanny might not seem like a life-changing event to most people, but it was what I needed. My life needed to start going in the right direction. I wanted to start my life again. It had been a long time since I’d wanted something for myself that wasn’t destructive. And I really felt like maybe I’d connected with Hailey.
“I’ll work for two weeks for free. If you don’t feel like I’m competent, or if I have another fender bender, then don’t hire me after the two weeks are over.”
Hollis did that staring-at-me thing again. He seemed lost in thought. I assumed he was tossing around my offer, debating whether I was worth the hassle, but apparently his mind was somewhere else.
“Have we ever met before yesterday?”
My brows drew down. “I don’t think so.”
He scratched his chin. After another long bout of contemplation, he pushed off the kitchen counter and extended his hand. “Let me think about it and talk to Hailey.”
“Really?”
“No promises.”
***
I’d just parked in front of my little rental house in Connecticut when my cell started to ring. I dug it out of my messy bag and checked the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“As far as I’m concerned, if you aren’t five minutes early, you’re late. I hate it when people keep me waiting.”
Hollis. The man really needed to learn how to talk on the phone.
“Ummm… Who’s this?”
“Don’t screw with me. Do you want the job or not?”
I inwardly fist pumped and jumped in the air. “Yes. Yes, I think I do.”
“When can you start?”
“How about Monday?”
“Monday. Seven o’clock.”
I smiled. “I’ll see you at five to seven.”
Even though Hollis had said he’d think about it, I hadn’t left his place feeling too confident. I certainly hadn’t expected a call barely an hour after I walked out his door. But I was thrilled he’d changed his mind. I tapped my steering wheel in amazement.
“And I can’t wait to get to know Hailey better.”
A little voice inside of me, one I refused to answer, added, “And you, Hollis LaCroix.”
Chapter 7
* * *
Elodie
“I got the job!” I held up a bottle of Dom Perignon when Bree opened the door, handing it off to her as I helped myself inside her house.
She studied the label. “Wow. Must pay well if you’re splurging for the good stuff.”
“Nah. Someone from the college sent it to Tobias as a wedding gift when we got married. I put it aside to have as something special on our one-year anniversary. When I packed his stuff, I gave him th
e figurines someone else had sent us. You know, since he hated shit like that. I only kept the stuff I thought he would’ve really enjoyed. I forgot I even had it until now.”
Bree smiled. “Good call. He loves pretentious crap like this. That’ll make it taste extra delicious for us.”
I slipped off my shoes and plopped down on the couch, bringing my legs up under me. “I hope you can open it. Last time I tried, I wound up splitting the cork into pieces and digging them out with a fork. I had to spit out cork bits after every sip.”
Her response was a loud pop a few seconds later. She held the cork up for inspection, still very much intact, between her thumb and forefinger, and coughed. “I’m not supposed to have any. But I’ll make an exception for your celebration.”
Bree was actually my ex-husband’s stepsister. A few months before Tobias and I broke up, she’d moved back to the little town in Connecticut where we lived, to be closer to her family. Tobias hadn’t had much contact with her before that, and I’d only met her once at a wake for one of their cousins. But the two of us hit it off immediately. We’d become fast friends, and when I’d caught Tobias sleeping with one of his students and kicked him out, she was my biggest supporter.
One night, after a few glasses of wine, she’d admitted she never liked her stepbrother much. The best thing I’d gotten out of my short-lived marriage and subsequent divorce was Bree.
A few months ago, when the lease to her apartment was up, the cottage next door to me happened to become available for rent. Since she’d moved, I pretty much saw her every day. She’d become the sister I never had. And it allowed me to keep an eye on her health. Bree had moved back home to be near her father because she has lymphangioleiomyomatosis, a horrible lung disease with a sickening short-term survival rate. Only fifty-five percent of those afflicted lived five years. Twenty percent made it ten years. But you’d never know it from Bree’s attitude.
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