of dessert. The restaurant had grown quieter, and she felt a little better now that Felicity Grey had left.
‘He wants to pair Adam with a supermodel. You know, the Swedish one that won Miss World?’
‘Klara Johansson?’ Sheridan replied.
Monica nodded. ‘He’s already coming up with a double name for them both. The Kladams, or something stupid like that. He said it’s all for show . . .’ Her chin wobbled as she fought a battle to hold everything in place. ‘But birds of a featha flock togetha. What chance have I got against someone like her?’
Monica enumerated all the reasons why she was not in the same league as Klara Johansson. Sheridan had to agree. A few photos of Adam and the beautiful Klara kissing on a white sandy beach would be beneficial to them both. Monica was sweet, but she would not advance Adam’s career. That was exactly why Sheridan couldn’t allow them to break up.
‘This is typical of TJ,’ Sheridan replied, with genuine annoyance in her voice. ‘I’ll talk to Daniel. We won’t let this happen. Don’t you worry about it.’ Talk to him she would. She could not allow Adam’s profile to grow bigger than theirs.
‘Thanks, sweetie.’ Monica swirled her wine before knocking it back. ‘Put your money away. Lunch is on me.’
Sheridan rested her purse on the table. Monica was no freeloader, and she was right; it was her turn to get the check.
‘You won’t be seeing as much of me from now on,’ Sheridan said. ‘I’m going to be working from home.’
‘You’ve got a new script? What’s it for?’
Sheridan shook her head. ‘No, I’m too busy with my sponsorship deals. I’ll be working on my social media profile, and I’m planning on writing a book.’ Another lie. Sheridan would be too occupied watching Roz to write.
‘Good for you,’ Monica replied. ‘Fiction or non-fiction?’
‘An autobiography. Celeb Goss has made enough money off my back all these years. I may as well put the record straight.’ As the words rolled off her tongue, Sheridan realised it might not be a bad idea.
‘Is Santana still bitching about you two? Honestly, it makes me so mad. You and Daniel have the strongest marriage I know.’ Monica rested her elbows on the table, her considerable cleavage peeping through the gap in her blouse.
‘Ugh.’ Sheridan grimaced. ‘Santana is the author of my pain. But he doesn’t care about the truth, only what sells.’
‘So how do you guys do it? Seriously, I’m impressed. Love, I suppose.’
‘Love can only take you so far,’ Sheridan said truthfully. ‘Having a history together helps, and knowing each other’s secrets inside out.’
‘Ooh, your deepest darkest fantasies . . . Next thing, you’ll be tellin’ me you have a red room.’
Sheridan laughed. ‘I wouldn’t go that far, but there’s nothing wrong with being adventurous, taking risks. In this business, you don’t keep your man by playing it safe.’ Sheridan paused to sip the last of her drink. ‘Sorry, that’s a bit old-fashioned. Even I cringed at that.’
‘On the contrary, I’m all ears. I’m dying to know more.’
‘Another time, maybe.’ Sheridan checked her watch. She needed to get back. She had an hour before Roz returned from her little excursion. Just enough time to go through her things. ‘Duty calls. I’m afraid I have to go.’
After saying her goodbyes, Sheridan made a quick call to summon her chauffeur-driven car. When it came to secrets, Monica didn’t know the half of it. Having Roz under their roof would bond Daniel to Sheridan for life.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
ROZ
I jabbed the button to lower the car window, groaning as it refused to budge. Neither George nor I had the energy for fake cheeriness, and our earlier snatched conversation played heavily on my mind. I sat pressed against the car door, half-tempted to pull the handle and escape on to the streets of New York. I didn’t want to return to Sheridan because I didn’t trust her any more. The memory of our first argument replayed in a loop in my head. Why had she said I’d bruised her arm when I hadn’t laid a finger on her? She seemed confident that I would accept her version of events. It wasn’t as if she’d known my memory would play me up. Unless . . . Sheridan said I hadn’t drunk my juice that morning, that I had knocked over the glass. Yet as my memory returned, I clearly recalled being forced to swallow every drop. It seemed odd, her barking at me to drink it right