Want to Know a Secret? (13)

“By the way,” Sean says, “where did you get the key?”

“Key?”

He raises his eyebrows. “The key. To the house. Where did you get it?”

“Maria left it under the potted plant by the door.”

He swears under his breath. “I told her not to leave it there. Any burglar could find it in two minutes.”

“It’s a safe neighborhood.”

“Still.”

Sean holds out his hand to me, and for a moment, I stare at it, confused at what he wants me to do. Then I realize. He wants his key back.

I fish around in my pocket until I come up with it. I place it down in his calloused palm, and he closes his fingers around it.

“Thanks, April,” he says.

It takes me another second to realize that what he’s really saying is, Get the hell out of my house, April. So I get the hell out of there.





Chapter 7


Text messages between April and Elliot Masterson:



April: Would you like me to pack a picnic basket for us or do you want to go out to lunch?



April: Actually, I think I’d rather go out.



April: What do you think about going to that new French place?



April: I keep passing it and it looks so good.



April: OK, on my way out the door!



April: See you soon!



Elliot: OK




It’s a twenty-minute drive from our house to Elliot’s office in his Tesla, but when I take my SUV, it’s closer to half an hour. I don’t speed. Ever.

After I get back home, I change out of my unacceptable school drop off clothing into something a little prettier. I put on a summer dress—it’s yellow, which Elliot says is my best color. Of course, that’s because I have blond hair. With dark roots, but nobody needs to know about that if I keep my hairdresser appointment for tomorrow.

I release my hair from my mom ponytail (which I alternate with my mom bun), I brush it out, and I even get out my curling iron. It takes forever, but when I look in the mirror after it’s all done, I decide it was worth it. I clean up good.

I did consider packing a picnic basket for him. I used to do that in the early days of our relationship—I’d bring the basket to his office and we would eat at his desk together. But then again, I’m supposed to be angry at him for skipping out on our family time. He owes me a romantic lunch out.

I park in the lot outside Elliot’s office building and take one last look in my compact before I head upstairs. His office is on the third floor, and the elevator is painfully slow, but I don’t want to break a sweat before our lunch together. So I endure the elevator.

Elliot’s receptionist, Brianna, always stands guard outside his office. I keep in good shape, but Brianna is, without a shadow of a doubt, absolutely gorgeous. Her legs are long and shapely, and her blond hair is shinier and thicker than mine. And her skin is like porcelain. I may be a YouTube star but she could be a movie star. It’s painfully clear which one of us is the wife and which is the hot secretary.

And this woman works with my husband all day every day. I try not to think about it.

When I approach Brianna’s desk, she’s on the phone. From what I can hear, it sounds like a personal call. And when I clear my throat, she holds up a finger.

This goes on for a full two minutes. Is it just me or is her behavior completely unprofessional? If it were up to me, she’d be gone.

“I’m just going to go inside,” I say to Brianna.

She flashes me an irritated look. “I’ve got to go, Niki,” she says. She puts down the phone and finally gives me her full attention. “I’m afraid you can’t go in. Elliot said he’s very busy and not to be disturbed.”

I roll my eyes. “We’ve got lunch plans. He told me to come here at noon.”

“Yes, well.” She shrugs. “His plans have changed. He’s got a meeting in fifteen minutes, and he was very clear about not wanting to be disturbed.”

“For God’s sake, I’m his wife!” I fold my arms across my chest. “He didn’t mean me.”

“I’m sorry,” she says in that irritatingly bland voice of hers. “There is no lunch on the calendar. I’m afraid I can’t let you in.”

That’s not true. She obviously could let me in if she wanted. She simply doesn’t want to.

Well, I’ll show her.

“I’m calling him,” I inform her.

I yank my phone from my purse and select Elliot’s cell number from my favorites. The only other favorites listed are Julie, Shady Oaks Nursing Home, and Bobby’s school. I wait while the phone rings in my ear.

And I wait.

And I wait.

My whole face feels very hot by the time the call goes to voicemail. He definitely has his phone in there. He texted me less than an hour ago. He could answer it if he chose. But he’s choosing not to.

Brianna smiles with satisfaction. “I could book you for lunch later in the week if you’d like?” She taps on her keyboard a few times. “He has an opening on Friday. Should I put you down?”

“No, thanks,” I manage.

She clucks her tongue. “In the future, you really should make an appointment. That way you don’t have to drive all the way down here for nothing.”