Page 5 of So Close

“At least that’s what the people who knew her would have you believe. None of the family ever met her because they’d had an estrangement from Kane for years. Her friends will tell you she was gorgeous, smart, glamorous, the perfect hostess, great at everything, so on and so forth, yada yada …” I tell her caustically. “Everyone loved her.”

“No one likes to speak ill of the dead,” she says primly, her gaze full of judgment.

“Waxing poetic doesn’t make them any less dead. And, weirdly, Kane won’t talk about her at all. As in don’t even mention her name within earshot because he turns glacial.”

“Yes, well … Maybe he’s ready to move on,” she says, with a smug smile that makes me want to yank her out of the chair by her hair and punch her in the mouth. I fight the urge to show her the selfies I’ve taken with all the women who could be our lookalikes, only because I don’t want her to think I’m insane.

I mirror her stuck-up smile. “I’m sure that’s why he still wears his wedding ring. Didn’t you notice the pattern on the china? The flower arrangements? Her name was Lily, and everything he owns has lilies on it.”

She gives a microscopic shrug. Right. Those critical details had escaped her. I don’t know why no one else sees what I do. Just mindlessly ignorant people fucking up the world. When I mentioned the explosion of lilies all over Kane’s shit, Darius told me I was reaching.He’s got girly taste, so what?

Erika’s smugness evaporates. By the time we finish lunch, she won’t be glowing anymore. She’ll feel used and a lot less special. Her self-confidence will carry a dent in it for a long time, maybe forever. I hate that she slept with Kane, but it’s nice to know I’m not the only one self-destructive enough to fall for his charm.

The server, handsome but overwhelmed, gets a genuine smile from me when he brings my drink. I swallow deeply, closing my eyes a minute to savor the cool bite of bourbon stirred with sweet vermouth. The resultant warm buzz from the alcohol takes the edge off my bitchiness, and suddenly, my eyes are stinging from the salt of tears.

Jesus. I shove the sadness back with anger.

It’s pathetic how I’ve let one night with Kane Black define my life. My shrink says I’ve got daddy abandonment issues that skew my decision-making. That pisses me off even more. What kind of woman lets men twist her up this way?

Kane will never understand or acknowledge what it felt like to be plucked off the street and whisked up to the penthouse by a man who looks and carries himself the way he does. In that one night, I began to feel like I might be worth something to someone extraordinary, that every wish I’d ever had might come true. I would be Mrs. Kane Black. I would live within the penthouse’s dramatic beauty, welcoming into my home as guests the very people who once made me grovel to win their business. Surely, he felt the same spark I did. That’s why he chose me, then charmed me so completely I was under his thrusting body within hours.

It was over a year later when Aliyah showed Darius the picture she’d secretly taken of Lily’s portrait tucked away in Kane’s bedroom, which none of us had seen because Witte somehow always materializes if anyone strays into that end of the penthouse. I’d peeked over Darius’s shoulder as he looked at Lily, and in a distant part of my mind, the screaming started and hasn’t ever stopped.

Erika touches my arm, trying to lure my attention back to her. “Do you work with Kane in the Crossfire Building?”

It rubs me the wrong way that she doesn’t call him Mr. Black. Who cares if she fucked him? He’s forgotten her already. They’re not friends and never will be.

“Social Creamery is headquartered in the Crossfire,” I answer, sliding my tongue along my bottom lip to catch every drop of my last sip, feeling the familiar surge of rage as I name my business. “But I don’t have to go in every day. I built it to run like a machine.”

Yet another cog in the growing Baharan Pharmaceuticals empire.

I can’t talk about the company I built from the ground up without resentment clogging my throat. Social Creamery had been my independence, my proof I could make something of myself. I studied social media trends comprehensively, finessed ways to exploit platforms’ strengths and weaknesses, built a stable of influencers who could market and sell damn near anything, hired copywriters who were witty and knew how to fucking spell – the world really is full of uneducated idiots – and I took my natural charm door-to-door to convince accounts to trust me with their brands.

Then Aliyah slithered in and suggested we pull Social Creamery under Baharan’s umbrella so that it would be a combined family business, and I would have access to more resources. Darius thought it would be wonderful to work side by side, and I didn’t know Aliyah well enough at the time to be wary.

Once we signed the paperwork, it wasn’t long before she began undermining me and my ideas and questioning my business ethics. She stole the loyalty of my staff with gifts and bonuses, most of which were my idea, but she took credit for them. Would-be allies distanced themselves to avoid repercussions from her until the whole company was against me.

Suzanne and Erika lean into each other, speaking in raptures about a woman’s dress as she passes our table on the way to the restroom. A bodycon style with an abstract print, it’s an interesting garment that would look a hell of a lot better with shapewear taming the bulges underneath.

I take another slow, deep drink and hum with pleasure. And anticipation.

One day soon, my entire life will change. I’ll claw Social Creamery back and everything else my “family” took from me, plus interest. In the meantime, more so than the vows I share and the ring I wear, my company binds me to Darius, his brothers, and Aliyah. Damned if I’ll walk away without it.

The ring of a cellphone has Erika darting for her bag with idiotic eagerness. Her disappointment when we all realize it’s my phone that’s ringing has me laughing inwardly.

The humor flees when I see Aliyah’s name on the screen.

“Hello, Mom,” I greet her, knowing how much she hates me calling her that.

“Amy,” she replies in the surprisingly deep and husky voice that takes me off guard more often than not. “I was trying to track down your husband, but I just remembered what day it is.”

The not-so-subtle reminder that Darius is keeping his Friday afternoon fuck-date with his assistant kills my buzz. Bitterness coats my tongue.

It hurts. For better or worse, Darius ismine. I even think he loves me and would be a better man to me if I could ever stop thinking about how Kane fucked me like he’d die if he stopped. But I can’t, and my husband is screwing his highly efficient assistant right now. The pretty blonde always brings me coffee precisely how I like it and is so nice I want to beat her bloody with my purse.

“Maybe I can help you?” I ask sweetly.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll send him a text.” Her voice is honey-smooth when she rocks my world. “Kane’s wife has returned from the dead.”

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