Page 117 of The Secret

In fact, where the fuck was Joan?

Green juice was still dripping off the desk, pooling onto the hardwood floor. It was difficult to believe she hadn’t noticed she was sitting in a puddle of liquified vegetables, seeing as she was only wearing a bra and panties, her trench-coat dropped on the floor.

“Your friends talk too much.” Dasha’s finger moved off the call end button.

It took me a couple of seconds, but I finally broke out of my shock. “What the fuck are you doing here? Not to mention, get the fuck out before I have you arrested for trespassing.”

If she was concerned about any part of my threat, she didn’t show it. “I’ve come to tell you I forgive you. I saw your picture last night, with that housekeeper you have…”

My fucking housekeeper? Last night I was at the gala with… the temperature of my blood shot up like mercury in a thermometer.

“And you’ve made your point, but now I’m reminding you what it’s like to be with a real woman.”

“Dasha, put your fucking clothes on and get the fuck out.”

I started toward the door, both our heads whipping round as it opened. For the second time in almost as many months, my world imploded in slow motion. Kit was standing in the doorway, and if I hadn’t already been in shock, I’d have been proud of the disgust painted all over her face, along with a snarl that would have impressed Barclay.

“What. A. Cliché,” she addressed Dasha, but then the snarl turned on me, taking in my lack of suitable dress, my unbuttoned shirt and open pants. “I’d ask Joan to disinfect your desk along with whatever she’s fetching cleaning products for.”

“Kit…” I reached out, then realized I was still holding my pants up, and like a dagger to my heart, tears filled her anger laced eyes, but didn’t spill over before she turned and left, not quite running but not walking either.

The slam of the door triggered the release on whatever was keeping me frozen in the bathroom doorway.

I stabbed my finger in Dasha’s direction. “Put your fucking clothes on and stay the fuck away from my family.”

“Family? Her and a kid that was dumped on you? We can start over and make a real family.”

I ignored her and sprinted after the only woman I’d ever met who I did want a real family with.

Was already a real family with.

21

Kit

Ibacked out of the room, tears lodging firm in my throat, stinging my eyes until they overspilled, unsure, but also not surprised in the slightest by what I’d just seen. After Payton had slammed the door in her face, I’d had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last I’d see of her.

I sat down heavily on the couch outside his office, ramming my hands between my thighs to stop the shaking. Joan appeared out of nowhere with cleaning equipment. She hadn’t been at her desk which must have been how Dasha had gotten through.

Less than ten seconds later, Murray sprinted out, still doing up his pants, and ran straight into Joan.

“Where the fuck were you?” he growled. “Call the cops!”

“Don’t speak to her like that,” I snarled back with equal, if not more, vehemence.

He spun, his face painted with guilt and remorse, “Kit!” He almost slid along the floor as he dropped to his knees in front of me, our eyes level with how low the couch was, his glistening with sorrow, adding to the considerable weight already in my heart. “I’m so sorry! I know how it looked, but nothing happened… I walked out of the bathroom… green juice had spilled… I was changing. Fuck!” His hands ran through his hair before he gripped onto my thighs,

“It didn’t look great.” I swiped away another tear before it fell. “I don’t think anything happened.”

His shoulders dropped profoundly with relief. Quite frankly if he had the energy, not to mention time, to have sex with another woman after last night and again with the morning we’d had, then fair play to him. But I wasn’t about to say that.

“Get up, Murray.” He stood, helping me off the couch to stand too, cupping my cheeks and wiped away another tear. “I’m going to go to the coffee shop on the corner. Deal with whatever you need to do in there, then please come and meet me.”

He took a step back, trying to assess my mood, but as though he couldn’t bare the space between us he quickly pulled me back into his solid chest. His heart pounded in my ear as I pressed against him. Or maybe it was my heart pounding, my blood rushing like a raging torrent.

“Thank you,” he murmured into my hair, breathing deeply, his body relaxing even though mine remained stiff. “I’ll be there within thirty minutes.”

I pulled away and collected my bag, which I’d dropped by the door. “Okay.”

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