Page 1 of Indiscreet

CHAPTER ONE

Winter had come, as people say on Game of Thrones or when they just want to be sassy and empowered about something or someone they got over. I was going for the sassy variety. After seven months of separation and deliberation, my ex-husband, Governor Patrick Walsh Jr., had run out of excuses. He’d finally signed our divorce papers, and the judge had made it final. I was now free to move on, though after six and a half years together, I had no idea how to go about it. That didn’t matter right now; the logistics were for worrying about later. Today was all about celebrating starting over.

I was one party down and about to leave for the second one. The first was the annual Christmas party at Perfetto Cosmetics, the company I ran with Astrid Marin, the executive director and my best friend. We held it on the two floors of our office in downtown Seattle’s Westlake building. The celebration included rich catered food, an eye-candy DJ, and prizes, and we made our big announcement—five additional vacation days added on to their holiday week. Our amazing staff danced and sang our praises the rest of the day, and we had more than the holiday to bring us cheer. Our accountant, Dalton Pierce of DP Management, had personally called to let us know we’d had record profit this quarter. Perfetto was on its way to becoming women’s first choice in cosmetics.

The second party was more low-key, though not any less noteworthy: my divorce dinner with Astrid at Elation Bistro, the restaurant two doors down from the office. The location was chosen not just out of convenience, but because they had the best, most delicious cocktails in town. I was ready to have a couple, and that was the plan once I finished up with work.

I was about to shut down my computer when Astrid opened my office door. She did it with her usual flourish, jingling a bag of samples from our Summer Heat line, and strutted over to my desk.

“Watch out men, Gia Ruiz is available,” she joked.

“Watch out?” I giggled. “More like come and get me.”

She laughed with me, but it wasn’t just a joke. I had gone without sex for far too long.

I freed the bag from her hand before she, as usual, dumped her belongings on one of the two fabric and steel chairs. Then, pushing aside one of the neat piles of paper and products, she sat down on the edge of the desk.

Until recently, Astrid and I had been the wonder twins around the office. Both of us often wore a variation of black wool designer power suits. Today we had on different shades of button-down shirts; hers was blue while mine was gray. The change came with our hair. While mine was black, wavy, and hung just past my shoulders, she’d chopped hers off to a platinum blonde pixie that made me want to try something different with my own every time I saw it. Speaking of different, I picked up the sample size Crave Me Crimson black metallic tube and smeared it across my lips. We had the staff handle most of daily production, but we both enjoyed testing the samples. The marketing notes read: Perfetto Cosmetics “Crave Me Crimson” lipstick. Target market: 18- to 24-year-olds.

When I tried on lipstick or any of our cosmetics, I wasn’t just assessing how it looked, but more noting the feeling I had when I looked at myself wearing it. What came to mind was what I hadn’t felt in years: attractive, captivating, and beautiful. I decided my 28-year-old pucker looked hot as hell in this shade of red. I was killing it, and my confidence didn’t go unnoticed by Astrid. Her soft brown eyes squinted. “It’s kind of vampy on you with your pale complexion, but sexy.”

“I’ll take sexy,” I mused. Tilting my head upward, I ran my finger over my bottom lip and showed her the lack of transference. “Perfect shine, no smear.”

She picked up the sample pack and we tried on the pink, coral, and plum in matte and satin finishes. After using the last of the sample makeup remover wipes, I quickly jotted down on my notepad to schedule a brainstorming session on broadening our target market.

“I like the ‘doesn’t kiss and tell’ part you added to the campaign,” she said, providing her feedback.

I beamed. “I do too. I just wonder what I’d wear with such a shocking shade of red.” My eyes widened, and so did hers, our light bulbs going off at the same time.

“Sexy Me Stilettos!” we said together.

I swiveled in my black rattan chair and clicked on the computer screen to open the Frisky Frolics app. In a quick search, I found the Manolo Blahnik red and suede pointed-toe pumps I’d seen that morning and quickly pressed the button to purchase the available pair at Saks.

“We have dinner reservations,” she reminded me as she started nosing through my overstuffed handbag for her Christmas gift. Of course, we both knew she enjoyed surprises, and I had already finished shopping before Thanksgiving. It wasn’t long before she zeroed in on my e-reader and mused as she scrolled through my library, reading aloud the titles of some of my more obvious erotic choices.

“Captured, Rescued, and Ravished by the Bad Boy.” She snickered. “Well, look who’s ready to get back into the saddle…or should I say the cuffs?”

My face warmed as I fondly reminisced. Whew. That story had set my e-reader on fire. Loved it. I snatched the device away and placed it in my handbag. “So what? It’s fantasy.”

Honestly though, it was more than just a fantasy. Patrick’s cheating and my ambition weren’t the only problems in our marriage. Mixing it up sexually had been a constant preoccupation of mine for years.

“You know I don’t judge at all. I’m the one who recommended you read some of the ones you have on here,” she said with a grin. “I’m happy for you. You deserve better. You go for whatever you want, like you told me after my divorce.”

I laughed and leaned back in my chair. “Easy for me to say and for you to do. You found your Mr. Perfect.” Astrid got that dreamy look on her face, as she should have. She’d found her happily ever after; she was married with a child. For me, I wasn’t so sure what my happy ending would be.

“You are witty and clever, you run the hell out of your own business, not to mention that you’re beautiful. There are plenty of men who would love to go out with you, even here at the company. In fact, Brent from marketing—”

“No way,” I lamented, cutting her off. “I’m not dating anyone I manage.”

“You don’t have to marry him, just have sex,” she teased, waggling her brows.

“Yeah, so I can be water cooler gossip of the week.” I smirked. “No thanks.”

“Who said you’d get a whole week?” she mused, and we laughed together.

“But seriously,” she asked when we calmed down. “How do you feel?”

I bit my lip. “I’m happy about the divorce, but this putting myself out there stuff…”

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