CHAPTER 61

PERLA

I sat in Grant's recliner, in the living room, and watched Paige run through French flash cards with Sophie. There were so many possibilities there ... I just needed to figure out how deep to pull Paige in. I only had two weeks left, and an affair was what I really needed. Some hot and passionate tryst between the two of them. Something that would lend credence and authentic evidence to the emails, which I had sent to and from Grant's phone when he was sleeping.

Paige laughed and I studied her figure as she sat at our table, her legs crossed at the ankle, her breasts pressed against the edge of the table. About the same dimensions as me, though she was certainly more toned in all the places that I was getting saggy. She was plain, that was the issue. Too plain to legitimately catch Grant's eyes, but I could help out her cause a little.

"Paige," I called out, "come upstairs with me for a moment. Sophie, you can take a break."

Sophie let out a whoop of approval and rose. "I'm going to go call Bridget."

"Sure." Gingerly, I lowered the footrest of the recliner and stood, grabbing my cup of ice water from beside the chair.

"You need any help?" Paige asked from her place at the table, where she was stacking the flash cards and wrapping rubber bands around each section.

"No, I've got it. But grab two or three of those shopping bags from the pantry."

"Sure." She trotted down the hall to the pantry as I walked over to the stairs and began to take them up. She caught up to me as I reached the second-floor landing. Falling into step beside me, she didn't ask any questions. That was one thing that was good about Paige. She kept her mouth shut and waited for details. Everyone else seemed obsessed with yanking things out of you before you had a chance to sort them in your own head.

I led her into our bedroom, and if it was her first time in the space, she didn't let on to it. No comment on the eighteen-foot ceilings, the discreetly lit art, the dark-plum walls with paneling details, the fluffy white bed, or the massive stone fireplace. I walked over to one of the sets of double doors that framed the fireplace and opened them, entering my walk-in closet.

"Wow." She halted in the doorway and stared, bug-eyed, at the expanse of shelves and racks. It was a common reaction, and I never knew if it was because it was so meticulously organized or if it was just the sheer amount of clothing, shoes, and bags. "Everything is so ... gray."

I laughed, then stopped at the pain the reaction caused. Carefully touching the cast on my nose, I nodded. "Yes. Well. Not just grays—neutrals. There are creams also."

She walked slowly down the row of compartments, each organized by garment type. She kept her hands tightly crossed over her stomach, as if she were worried about breaking something. "It's very organized," she said finally.

"Well, Madeline helps me with that. I need to do a bit of weeding out and thought that I could give you some of the clothes, if you'd like them."

She blinked. "Me?"

"I think we're close to the same size." I walked briskly down the left-side aisle. "Now, you're not going to be interested in my suits, but ..." I stopped beside my shorts and thumbed through the hangers, selecting four that were on the shorter side. They were all white or khaki, and felt like butter. I placed the stack on the marble island that ran down the length of the closet. Returning to the racks, I selected a half dozen blouses, focusing on the only lower-cut ones I had, then grabbed her a cashmere cardigan and sweater, adding them to the pile.

"I can't take these things," Paige said helplessly. She reached out and touched one of the sweaters, which still had tags. Flipping one over, she inhaled at the price. "I—these are too nice."

"You deserve to have some nice things." I walked over to the dresses and combed through the hangers, selecting a black eyelet sundress and a tan sheath dress that would look stunning on her. I had never worn either, preferring items that didn't show my neck. "If there's something you want in life, you need to put yourself in a position to take it, Paige. Remember that. Write it down. It applies to everything. Nice things. Jobs. Opportunities. Relationships." I opened the cabinet that housed my shoe shelves. "What size shoe are you?"

"Nine and a half."

"Damn. Okay. I'll get you some shoes."

"Oh, I have shoes," she said quickly. "Really, it's okay."

I closed the cabinet and turned to face her. "I'm not giving you these clothes because I'm being generous. I'm giving you these clothes because I want you to wear them when you work for me. I want you to look like you belong in this house and with our daughter. I want you to be a good representation of our house, of our family."

She flushed. She would need to lose her meekness if she was ever going to succeed in life. That was one thing I'd never been. At birth, I'd come out swinging. "Okay."

"I want you to try on all of these things and tell me what doesn't fit. I'll get you some shoes this afternoon. Tomorrow, I want you to wear one of these outfits and go to Marci's on Promenade and get a haircut. Do it during your work shift, and I'll handle the bill with Marci. Come here afterward."

"Okay." She nodded, and I could see the excitement in her face, even though she was trying to hide it. She wanted this. She wanted all this, and I was going to give it to her, even if it was just for a few weeks.

"I'll let you know the time of your appointment. You try these things on, and I'll give them a call now." I patted the pile and headed for the door. "I'll be in the bedroom if you need me."

"Okay," she called out after me.

I went to the balcony, opening both sliders and letting the cool California breeze into the room. Sitting on one of the soft outdoor chairs, I placed a call to Marci first, who assured me that they could fit Paige in and gave me a nine-o'clock slot. Then I called my personal shopper at Neiman Marcus and ordered a variety of shoes, size nine and a half, and requested they deliver them this afternoon to the house. I gave my credit card number to both, then dropped my phone in my lap and relaxed against the cushion, satisfied with my work.

Grant loved my style. He said it was one of the things that drew him to me—how I always looked perfectly put together, no matter the occasion. It was an easy task when you had money. Expensive clothes hung well, and my monochromatic-color scheme guaranteed that everything matched. Add in a regimen of hair treatments, facials, Botox, and workouts, and the facade was maintained. It was all easy when you had money and time. I had both, and for a short period, so would Paige.

Would it be enough to catch Grant's attention?

Probably not. But I didn't need their affair to be real. I just needed to plant the idea in a few heads, including hers.