Every Last Secret - A.R. Torre Page 0,20

about Marilyn.” I captured a loose tendril of hair and cupped it against my neck. “She’s definitely staying?”

“For now.” He accelerated through the turn, his gaze on the road. “Neena talked to her. Brought her to her senses.”

There was no doubt that we needed Marilyn. She’d spent months working on our FDA trials and had developed a key relationship with the testing contacts. Losing her would set us back six months, easily. “She’s probably being heavily recruited.” There weren’t many scientists with her pedigree. Add in that she was black and female and she was probably getting a fresh job offer every day. It was impressive that Neena had changed Marilyn’s mind, and without offering her more compensation or perks.

“She is.” He glanced at me. “Neena thinks I need to work on my management style.” He wasn’t happy with the assessment. I could see it in the way his second hand joined his first on the steering wheel, the set of his mouth, the rigid line of his long body as he hunched forward in the seat. My husband, for all his confidence, was also impossibly hard on himself.

“I don’t know about that,” I said carefully. “You’re a genius. Without you, there wouldn’t even be a Winthorpe Tech, or a Winthorpe Capital to fund it.”

“She said the team hates me.”

I let out a slow breath. “Wow. Diving right in with the heavy punches.” She’d been there only a few weeks. Couldn’t she have eased in with the attack? “Hates? No. They don’t hate you.”

He slowed, the restaurant just ahead, and pulled over on the shoulder, putting the car into park and turning the ignition off. A cool breeze came, and a shiver of chill went through me. “I told her that I didn’t care if they hate me. I’m not in the business of being liked.”

But he did care. I knew that he cared. He just didn’t care enough to fix it. “Does she have a solution?” If she didn’t, he would have fired her. You don’t bring problems to my husband. You bring a problem and a solution. Otherwise, you’re useless.

“She wants to work with me on my style. And on my”—he paused and squinted, trying to think of the term—“personal development.”

“Screw that.” The words snapped out of me, and he glanced over, surprised. “You’re William Winthorpe. You don’t need an egocentric housewife from some San Francisco gutter telling you how to lead your company.”

He chuckled and found my hand, squeezing it. “You’ve been a little vocal yourself, Cat, about the way I’ve handled some things in the past.”

“That’s because sometimes you’re a jerk.” I twisted in the seat to face him. “And you’re blunt. But you’re also the smartest man in every room. I don’t want you to dilute yourself to try to salvage someone’s feelings. This is business. They’re all adults. They can take it.” My hand tightened on his. “And don’t compare me to her just because we both came from nothing. I know you—she doesn’t. I built Winthorpe beside you. She didn’t.”

“Hey.” He leaned forward and cupped the back of my neck, his hand stealing into my hair. “I’d never put you in a category with her. Nobody can hold a candle to you.” He pulled me toward him, and our mouths met, our kiss gentle at first, then stronger. More violent. I kissed him as if I were desperate, and he clutched me to him as if I gave him strength.

He was horrible to everyone, but not with me. With me, he was vulnerable and kind. Generous and loving. He plucked the good things, like petals on a rose, and kept them in his pocket, then showered me with them at night. No one was going to change that about him. Especially not her.

“I’m confused . . . ,” Kelly said slowly, her glossy purple nails picking through the Menlo prep school uniform catalog. She paused at one ensemble, and I shook my head. “I thought you were happy that she was there. I thought you said that William needed someone to keep morale up and improve the”—she lifted her gaze to the sky—“cohesion? Is that what you said?”

“I did, and I do see the value in her sticking Band-Aids on hurt feelings and putting inspiration posters up in the bathrooms, but I don’t want her screwing with William.” I spun the notebook in front of me around and tapped on a girl’s white tuxedo shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves. “This is cute.”

“Hmm.” She peeled