Every Last Secret - A.R. Torre Page 0,33

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,