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How can she forgive me for a sin she has no idea I’ve committed?
How can I keep her when I don’t deserve her?
KAT
“So this is all bullshit?” Sue asks with a tone that says she believes otherwise as she motions to the newspaper. Her voice is soft, but my nerves make it seem louder than it is here in this small coffee shop. I almost shush her before realizing she’s not speaking loudly at all.
“It doesn’t look like it’s …” I can’t finish my thought, my eyes drawn to the same picture I stared at for hours last night, plus the night before.
“Well, she’s all over him. There’s no denying that.”
“Women are always all over him.” My answer comes out flat. I’m nothing if not blunt and transparent. It’s one of the reasons my clients trust me.
“I used to like it … when they’d try to be all over him,” I admit to her but bite my tongue at the urge to voice the additional confession:I loved it.“How they’d fawn over him, desperate for Evan’s attention. But he only had eyes for me.”
“Why is this one any different then?” The paper hits the slick surface of the coffee table as she tosses it down and immediately digs into her large Chanel hobo bag. I know she believes exactly what Evan denied. It’s written all over her perfectly red, pursed lips. This is only an attempt to appease me.
It’s not the first, the second, or even the third time Evan’s had his name in the tabloids for less than angelic reasons. Suzette has her opinions, but she’s always refrained from voicing them when it comes to Evan.
His reputation and his livelihood depend on the fact that he’s gotten away with things that would send most people to jail for the night.
That was the case before I met him, anyway. Now he gets paid to make sure his clients meet the same fate.
Sue talks as she pulls out a tube of deep red lipstick and a compact mirror. “Do you think he really did it this time?” she asks as if the weight of our marriage doesn’t rest on my answer.
The reason this time is different is because I know there’s truth to it.
It’s because of how he reacts.
It’s how he looks at me as if he’s guilty.
“He says it’s not what it looks like,” I answer and roll my eyes as I do, trying to downplay the pain that coils in my chest. My throat goes tight, but I’m saved by the return of Maddie.
For so many years, since I first moved here really, there’s been one constant. It’s these women. Jules, my first client and the New York socialite who brought us all together, isn’t here. I owe her so much for helping my career take off as quickly as it did, but Jules has everything and all she really wants is companionship. She’s getting settled into married life, but she’d be here if I asked. Maddie and Sue were both available and to be honest, I’d prefer them right now. They’re not helplessly in love and therefore blind as a bat.
“Pumpkin spice,” Maddie says as she sets a hot cup of coffee down in front of me. She doesn’t look me in the eyes, like she’s afraid doing even that will make me cry.
The strong scent of cinnamon smacks me in the face, but I wrap my hand around the cup, giving her a grateful smile asshe takes her seat to my right. I don’t like flavored coffee—I don’t even like pumpkin, but I’ll drink it. I desperately need the caffeine.
My gaze travels to Sue, sitting straight across from me as she returns to the conversation and says, “He says it’s not what it looks like?” Her brow quirks as she adds, “… And what does that mean?” It’s not a question, it’s an accusation and the two of us know it.
“What does what mean?” Maddie asks innocently, the legs of her chair scraping along the floor.
“It means he’s lying,” Sue answers matter-of-factly and folds the newspaper over, reading the article again. It’s only a paragraph, maybe two. It doesn’t say much other than the fact that Samantha Lapour and her husband James are now separated, due to an affair she had with my husband, Evan Thompson. Which is a blatant lie. Their marriage has been on the rocks for months and they were separated long before this happened.
Inwardly I cringe at defending my husband at all. An affair is an affair. In an effort to ease the guilt that weighs down my chest, I rub the small spot just below my collarbone.
Maddie’s expression turns hard with a look of warning that would normally make me laugh considering how petite and naïve she is. “We’re talking about Evan,” she says under her breath. Her eyes stay on Sue, who slowly purses her lips and acknowledges Maddie with only a short nod.
The newly divorced Suzette doesn’t give men a chance to explain. For good reason, seeing as how she’s been through hell and back.
“I’m sorry,” Maddie whispers and then clings to her own coffee. French vanilla if I had to guess.
“It’s fine,” I say lowly, shaking off the emotions rocking through my body and easing the tension at the table. “There’sno reason for us to get into this.” I don’t look at either of them, blowing on the hot coffee and reluctantly drinking it. I don’t taste it on the way down, though.
“Well, what do you think?” Maddie asks me and then she puts down her own cup. The coffee shop on Madison Avenue is fairly empty, probably due to the rain and chill of the late fall in the air.
As the shop door opens with a small chime and the busy sounds of the street flood into the small space for a moment, I think of how to answer her.