Every Last Secret - A.R. Torre Page 0,49

with Cat’s recent betrayal, delivered on wine charity–board stationery this Monday. We regret to inform you . . .

As if they were a fucking Ivy League school. A bunch of lacrosse moms and Ambien addicts, that’s all they were. I could have brought intelligence to the group. I was a doctor. They should have waved me through, no questions asked.

But I hadn’t even made it to the reduced list of finalists who’d received board interviews. My friendship with Cat should have gotten me that, even if I didn’t have any other strengths in my favor.

It was clear that she’d sabotaged it. She didn’t want me on there and had slashed through my name with one perfectly manicured nail. I’d let her know how important it was to me. I’d even offered to reduce my interactions with William, but she hadn’t cared. Selfish, that’s what she was. Selfish and shortsighted.

Cat had done more than remove me from the candidate pool. She’d drawn a battle line in the sand and added a new incentive for my seduction of William.

“Go sit down.” I pointed to Matt’s recliner, a revolting piece of his-and-her furniture I had lost the battle over. The ugly thing was annoyingly comfortable, its siren call almost soothing on long days. “If you distract me, I’ll burn everything out of spite.”

His grin crooked up, revealing the chipped tooth from a sixth-grade fistfight. “And mar your perfect culinary record? You wouldn’t dare.”

It was sweet how much he loved me. I’d wager to say he loved me even more than William loved Cat. She thought she was queen, but her castle was made of sand. One perfectly timed blonde wave and . . . whoosh. Slow erosion at first, then a cascade.

The phone buzzed against my butt cheek. Watching Matt sidle over to his chair, I fished out the phone and checked the text.

I wouldn’t be able to eat it. I’ll be at the office until I pick up Cat from the airport around midnight. But thanks.

I knew what he wanted, the hints practically painted across a billboard. I typed one-handed as I dumped the shredded cheese over the broccoli spears.

I have to run into Palo Alto on an errand anyway. I’ll drop by a plate in a few hours, assuming it’s not a bother.

This would be perfect. Late night. The empty office. The two of us, paper plates in hand, enjoying each other’s company. It was an opening, and I’d be an idiot not to take it.

Not a bother at all. See you then.

I smiled and turned up the oven’s heat.

“So, their revenue was fabricated?” Two hours later, I perched on the edge of the private boardroom table and watched as William dived into my food, his enjoyment clear. I watched as his throat flexed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He hadn’t shaved in a week, his skin was tan from his time in Hawaii, and he was overdue for a haircut. The end result was addictive, his wild edges only enhancing his chiseled good looks. His intelligence, the power, and the looks . . . I leaned closer, unable to maintain a respectable distance.

“At least part of it. I’m having to rework the deal with the data we can verify and see if there is still profit to be made.”

“And if there’s not?” I pushed off the table and picked up his empty bottle.

He watched as I moved to the minifridge to get him another water. “Then I walk. This was an opportunity to expand our footprint, but it wasn’t necessary. I won’t risk everything on an unknown.”

I won’t risk everything on an unknown. I glanced at him. Was there a hidden meaning in the words, or had he just given me an unintended peek into the inner workings of his mind? Maybe he considered me a wild card, one with an unknown reaction if he made a move.

It was interesting to see the evolution in him over the last two months. He used to flinch when I touched him, and avoid prolonged eye contact. Vomited Cat’s name whenever the conversation turned away from work. Now, I noticed his eyes lingering on me, his gaze warmer when he smiled, his tongue looser to confess. He didn’t bring her up very often, and when he did, he rarely used her name. All tells. Little tiny arrows pointing in the right direction.

I bent at the waist over the low minifridge, keeping my legs straight, my butt out. “You don’t seem to want to walk