His wife. Not his ex-wife. My stomach does an unpleasant backflip, all my earlier worries flooding straight back. “So I take it you’ve worked for Anderson Investments for a while?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual, light. As if the answer doesn’t interest me more than I could possibly explain.
“Been with them ever since they got their start,” the man declares proudly. “One of those power couples. You could tell from the get-go they were both driven, smart, wanted to make a name for themselves.”
“I see,” I reply, and I can’t quite hide the quiver in my tone. Thankfully, the man doesn’t seem to notice.
“Shame about their troubles of late.” He shakes his head. “Can’t help but think it’s because Lark’s a stubborn one. He didn’t see what was right in front of him all the while.”
My throat has gone tight. I clear it, forcing myself to smile and nod. To act normal. “Isn’t that always the way?” I say.
The man laughs. Across the room, his men have finished assembling my handsome new couch—which looks like it probably cost more than every other piece of furniture in my apartment put together. They’re carrying out the disassembled pieces of my old one now, when their overseer pauses, glancing at the rainbow, makeup-stained cushion.
“You got kids?” he asks, squinting at it, and then around my place, as if wondering where I’ve stashed a toddler.
I flash back to last night. To Lark pulling me onto his lap, the makeup spilling around us. “No,” I say. “But you could say someone immature did that.”
The man laughs again, and then offers me his hand. “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you. I’m sure if you’re an Anderson employee, we’ll meet again soon.”
I shake, a small frown creasing my forehead. “Oh, no,” I start to say. “I’m not a—”
But he’s already following his men out the door with a single backward salute at me. I wait until they’re in the hallway, and then shut the door behind them, locking it, and leaning backward against it. My head hits the wood with a faint thud.
I raise it, and let it fall back again with a harder smack this time.
What a mess.
And if I thought the day started out awkwardly, it’s only about to get more so. Less than an hour after the delivery men leave, I get two texts in a row. One from Lark.
I still cannot stop thinking about you. Tell me how you like the new addition to your apartment. Or better yet, how about I come over to test it out tonight?
And another from Sheryl.
So sorry I wasn’t able to come to the demo yesterday. What about a makeup (wink) meeting today? Lunch downtown at 1pm? My treat.
Followed by an address, a restaurant I’ve never been to, mostly because the only thing I’d be able to afford there is a single appetizer plate.
Shit.
It’s hard not to think about the fact, as I watch Sheryl unfold her napkin and set it primly in her lap across the table from me, that just last night I was in bed with her husband. Her ex-husband?
Either way. Guilt churns in my stomach. The dish she ordered me, some kind of rare steak from Japan I’ve never heard of, smells incredible. But it’s difficult for me to even hold my fork and knife long enough to cut it, let alone raise it to my lips.
Sitting between us on the table is my makeup palette. The same palette that destroyed my former couch, albeit now it’s been cleaned and refilled properly. Looking at it now, I picture it in Lark’s hands, as he turned it admiringly this way and that in the sunlight streaming through my windows. Then I think about the way it slid from his grasp onto the couch beside us, when he pulled me over to straddle him, his hard cock digging into my thigh.
“It’s beautiful,” Sheryl says, dragging my attention back to the present. “Do you mind?” She reaches for it but waits for me to nod before she takes a few swatches and tests them along the inside of her wrist, admiring the color in the dim restaurant lighting.
She doesn’t cross to the window for a better look. I try not to hold it against her.
While she examines the merchandise, I force a piece of steak into my mouth. It melts on my tongue, buttery and supple. It’s possibly the most delicious steak I’ve ever eaten.
It’s hard to swallow. I have to wash it down with a gulp of sparkling water—Sheryl refused still when the waiter asked, practically offended by the notion.
“What did Lark say?” she asks, after a long pause. The lump in my throat doubles in size, having nothing to do with the steak.
“Pretty much the same thing.” I manage to keep a tremor from my voice. Good.
“He has a better eye than me for these sorts of things,” Sheryl admits, setting the palette down to take a bite of her own meal. “I’m more of a flavors-and-scents type. He’s the visual one.” She points with her fork. “Is something wrong? If they’ve overcooked it, I can send it back.”
“No, no. It’s delicious.” I raise my fork and knife again with effort. “I’m just… savoring.”
“A girl after my own heart.” Sheryl smiles at me, conspiratorially.
I grin back, trying not to let the guilt overwhelm me. Lark told me things were over between them. And I believe him. But the look in her eyes whenever she brings him up… Not to mention how often she brings him up…
I think about the delivery man again, from earlier today. Shame about their troubles. And here I am, adding to those troubles. Maybe at first I was innocent, unaware of Lark’s complicated situation. But now?
“Do I have anything in my teeth?” Sheryl asks, an eyebrow lifted, and I realize I’ve been staring.
“Sorry, no.” I drop my gaze. Search for an excuse. “I was just trying to figure out what shade of lipstick you’re wearing.”
She grins. “I appreciate how your mind is always on your work. Makes me feel confident to be your first investor.” She cuts off another piece, and I mimic her, the savory steak tasting like a solid block on my tongue. “I’m not sure of the name actually. Or even the brand. To be honest, I rarely wear makeup. Some old trifle Lark bought me years ago.”
I take another, longer gulp of water. Clear my throat. “So you two are…?” I let the question linger, unfinished.
Sheryl’s smile turns rueful. “Were,” she corrects, and I have to admit that the single word nearly makes me slide off my chair, weak with relief. At least that part is true, then. “We were married, for four years.”
“And you still manage to be business partners?” I can’t keep the note of surprise from my tone.
But it doesn’t seem to bother her. She leans back in her chair with a sigh. “Lark and I never did do anything the conventional way.” Her expression has turned inward, fond. “When we got married, we opened Anderson Investments the same year. Everyone told us it was mad, but we insisted. In for a penny, in for a pound, I always thought. Suppose some of those people are probably thinking told you so right about now, but…” She shakes her head, her mouth drooping at the corners. “I don’t mind. At least the business still keeps us somewhat connected now. Friends, if not anything more.”
“So, if you’re friends… you’d be okay with it if he moved on?” The words are out of my mouth before I can think better. Before I can shove another piece of steak past my lips to make me hold my tongue.