CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 11

NEENA

Every wife in this neighborhood was the same. All spoiled girls who grew up with Daddy’s money, then married Daddy’s friends, then popped out future heirs like a Pez dispenser stuck to open. Rich all their lives and absolutely unspectacular.

I deserved all this so much more than any of them. I stepped onto the Vanguards’ back porch and inhaled the scent of juniper and fresh-cut grass, scanning the backyard for a glimpse of William and Cat. I was getting close. Two years ago, we would have spent a Saturday afternoon staring at the television screen, but now we were at Josh and Kelly Vanguard’s going-away party, the invite as easily tossed out as candy from a float. Further proof that proximity was half the battle in this world. I elbowed Matt in the soft part of his gut as he reached for a miniature cupcake display. He pulled his hand back.

“No sugar,” I hissed. “And that’s Josh Vanguard right there.” I nodded toward the contractor, who was speaking to Perla Osterman’s husband. “Go introduce yourself.”

He went, wiping his hand on his thigh, and I flinched at the sweaty handprint it left. He hesitated on the outskirts of the two men, his thumb tapping nervously on the side of his slacks, and I fought the urge to shove him into their midst. While there were many things I loved about my husband, he was so socially timid. While I had pored over social media accounts and Menlo club membership rosters, learning the major players in Atherton, he had dragged his feet in even attending this party.

Josh Vanguard noticed him hovering and moved back, opening up their conversation, and stuck his hand out, introducing himself. I breathed a sigh of relief as Matt stepped forward and smiled, their grips connecting. I had coached him on Josh’s current projects and the possibility of a joint venture between him and William. If Winthorpe Development fully materialized, they would need site work and clearing. There would be a continual stream of dollar signs that could head in Matt’s—our—direction.

A boy in bright-blue swim trunks sprinted around me and launched himself into the pool, feet lifted high, arms outstretched. A future CEO or board member. He’d be a Stanford legacy, access his trust at age twenty-five, and probably marry one of the brats at this party. Inherit a turnkey lifestyle without ever understanding what true sacrifice was.

“It’s Neena, right?”

I turned to see a wife, clad in all white, a red scarf tied around her neck. She had the pixie haircut adored by women who were on the verge of lesbianism or had given up on pleasing their husbands. I plastered my smile into place. “Yes. Dr. Neena Ryder. And you are?”

“Cynthia Cole. We’re just down the street, on Greenoaks. Cat says you’re in the old Baker place.”

I wasn’t sure if she meant old in terms of age or prior inhabitant, and my smile grew thin. “That’s right.”

“Well, I hope you join the club. We’d love to have you and Mike as members.”

“Matt,” I corrected her. “And we’re looking at the club now.”

“Oh, good.” She leaned in, and I watched as her mojito tipped to one side, a bit of it sloshing out. “You know, it’s hard to connect with people otherwise. We just moved into the neighborhood a few years ago, and I’m not going to lie, it was a little cold at first. I told Bradley—that’s my husband, Bradley Cole.” She pointed to a man by the back doors. “I told him that I wanted to move, to find another neighborhood, and he said, ‘Cyn-thi-ah, just join the club.’” She lifted up her hands in a shrug. “And he was right!”

“That’s wonderful.” I nodded, unsure of where this sales spiel was headed but 100 percent certain that I would not be able to convince my cheap husband to drop the quarter of a million dollars for the initiation fee. Buying this house had already been out of his wheelhouse, and he was shooting down my renovation ideas the moment they were brought up.

“Anyway”—she patted my arm—“if you need a cup of sugar or anything, just call me. I’ll have one of the staff run a bag down to you.”

I hesitated, unsure if that was a joke, and when she laughed, I joined in, feeling like a caricature. I caught a glimpse of William, moving into the house, and stopped. “Cynthia, excuse me. I just saw someone I need to say hi to.”

“Sure, sure.” She lifted her mojito, and there was an edge of annoyance in her tone, as if I had beaten her to the punch of leaving. “Go ahead.”

I moved through the house, ignoring the clusters of conversations that I stepped around. William wasn’t in the front foyer, and I passed the coat check and pulled open the heavy front door, peeking out.

It was peaceful and quiet, and through the twitter of birds, I heard the faint sound of arguing. Stepping out, I eased the door closed, blocking out the sound of the party.

“You need to leave. You’re embarrassing me and yourself.” William’s deep voice carried, and I walked down the front stairs of the home carefully, keeping my steps soft. I paused in the shade of the porch, surprised to see William toe to toe with Harris Adisa, his hand gripping the front of the scientist’s baby-blue collared shirt. They were almost identical in height, though William was toned and athletic, his biceps developed, his shoulders strong. Harris sagged before him, his smile slipping as he stumbled to one side and said something too softly for me to catch.

William shook his head, and Harris shoved at his chest. The men broke apart, and William glanced over his shoulder toward the valet, then swung in my direction. I stepped back, hiding behind the pillar, and held my breath, hoping he hadn’t seen me.

“Get in the car. The driver will take you home.”

I moved deeper into the shadows, trying to get another glimpse at the men, and almost fell, my brand-new sandal catching the edge of the steps. I grabbed the column for stabilization and glanced up, my gaze connecting with William’s. Crap. He grabbed Harris’s shoulder and squeezed, then pushed him down into the open door of the Town Car.

I turned, suddenly anxious to be away from their private conversation and back in the party. While our grilled-cheese lunch early this week had certainly improved our dynamic, I was still wary of crossing him when he was on the warpath.

“Neena.”

I climbed the steps toward the front door, hoping it wouldn’t be obvious that I had heard his call.

“Neena!”

I stopped.

“Come here.”

Come here.He was a man of few words, but they carried the weight of stones. I turned and retraced my path down the steps.

William’s face was dark. “You make a habit of spying on people, Neena?”

“I wasn’t. I—um—just stepped out for some fresh air.” I looked back at the house, the doors closed, no one privy to our conversation.

The shiny sedan passed, and I imagined Harris watching us from inside. I glanced back at William, who settled against the side of a Lamborghini as if he owned it. My tension eased as he sighed, his head dropping back, his strong profile looking to the sky.

“Harris is a little on edge,” he said quietly. “Unfortunately, he chose to relieve that stress at this party.”

“He seemed okay. A little tipsy, but”—I shrugged—“everyone in there is drinking.”

“It’s not that. He . . . ah . . .” He scratched the back of his neck, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was embarrassed. “He’s drunk and beelining straight for any blonde in sight. Waitstaff, wives . . .” His gaze settled on me. “Potentially fellow employees.”

“Oh.” I turned over the information, warming at the protective look in his eye. “I thought he was married.”

“Come on, Neena. You’ve been around long enough to know that a ring on a man’s finger doesn’t mean much. Especially not in this world.” He studied me. “I want you to be careful when working with him. Skip any one-on-one meetings.”

I moved closer, crossing my arms over my chest in a gesture that would press my breasts together and up against the low neck of my wrap dress. “That’s fine. To be honest, we haven’t exactly hit it off.”

His eyes found my enhanced cleavage, and there was a moment when the powerful William Winthorpe lost his train of thought. “Well, I—”

I waited, and he fell silent, visibly struggling to pull his gaze away from my breasts. I laughed, and he winced.

“I’m sorry. I blame it all on Kelly’s mojitos. They’re almost straight rum.”

“Yeah, I’ve stuck to wine. And no worries. I’m honored.” I blushed and fought to keep the victory from my features, my heartbeat increasing at the cat-and-mouse game. “They’re a little, uh, neglected at times. The attention is nice.”

He didn’t respond, but I could see the processing of information. It would be stored. Cataloged. Referenced every time he got a glimpse of my cleavage. He’d start thinking of them in terms of being needy. Sensitive. Craving. I had studied personality profiles until I knew each by heart, and he wasn’t the sort of man to go after the slut. He’d want a conquest. A discreet housewife who wasn’t sexually satisfied. One who would worship him while keeping her mouth shut and her knees parted—but for him and him alone. If I decided to take this risk, I could play that role with the best of them.

“Look.” He glanced toward the house. “I’d prefer you keep this to yourself. I’d like to keep the Winthorpe Tech reputation as clean as possible during—”

I placed my hand on his arm. “Don’t worry about it. I’m good at keeping secrets.” I held his gaze and hoped he saw the opening in the words.

“Are you?” His gaze dropped to my lips, then flipped back to my eyes.

My stomach tightened in anticipation. So close. Chess pieces, moving into place. But I had to be careful. Very, very, careful. “My loyalties are with you. If you want something to stay between us, it will.”

“Good to know.” He straightened, and I backed away before he had a chance to.

Halfway up the porch, I paused, turning to face him. “You know, I’ve been working with every employee of Winthorpe, except for you.”

A lock of hair fell over his forehead, a break in the precise exterior he always presented. “There’s a reason for that. I don’t need any help.”

“Well, just think about it.” I held his gaze. “Some one-on-one sessions might do us both a lot of good.”

The front door swung open behind me, and I turned, flinching when Cat Winthorpe stepped out on the porch.

“Oh, Neena.” She brightened and gave me a sunny smile. “Have you seen William? Teddy Formont is looking for him.”

I turned, but the Lamborghini was alone, her husband gone. I shrugged. “Haven’t seen him.”

“Damn.” She turned back. “I’ll head upstairs. If you see him, will you tell him to find Teddy?”

“Absolutely.” I smiled as she turned, her dark hair bouncing as she breezed through the door, off to find her husband.

Compared to me, she was bland. A pretty face with nothing behind the facade. William saw it, just as I did.

It was why he was edging toward me, calculating the risks and weighing them against the temptation.

Her blandness was why I would win.