A flicker of a smile danced on my lips. I placed my hand over the white file and pulled it closer to me. “It’s one million, or it’s all of whatever’s left after the divorce. And no pictures to fight that prenupin court. As for this conversation?” I gestured at her and then at myself. “It never happened. Your word against mine. I’ll say I just came here to say I’m sorry for all the hurt I caused you, and to make sure you’re okay if Winston and I get married after the divorce.”
Some of the points I was making were quite flimsy, like the one about the pictures, but she didn’t seem to care.
She nodded a few times, as if processing her options. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Taylor. What terms do you offer?”
“Whatever you’d like. I can break off the engagement and disappear in the next couple of days.”
A glint of anger lit up her pupils. “No. You’ll do it today.”
“Okay, as soon as I can confirm the money is there and I have the signed nondisclosure.”
A crooked smirk contorted her beautiful face. “And you’ll tell him it’s because he’s too old for you. I want him to feel what I’m feeling right now. The pain of not being good enough anymore, of being thrown to the curb like a piece of old, ratty furniture.”
It was my turn to reel. Thinking of how hurt Winston would be no matter how I broke it off, my eyes widened for a split moment, but she caught it. She’d been waiting for it, anticipating the reaction before I’d even known it was coming. Satisfied with what she’d seen, she smiled and folded her hands neatly in her lap. Her eyes glimmered with something dark that I couldn’t read, but it terrified me.
Then she started chuckling. “You fell for him, didn’t you? You silly little Judas!” She laughed heartily.
My eyes stung with tears. I’d been called worse, but this time, it hurt. I’d never been shaken by my betrayals until now.
Until Winston.
Before him, I had hunted men just like men always hunted women. Mercilessly, selfishly, doing and saying anything that could get me what I wanted. Without any wrinkle on my conscience or shred of regret.
Breathing slowly and deeply, I waited for her to finish her grief-riddled cackling, keeping a straight face.
“No,” I managed to reply calmly. “I was about to tell you that it will cost you fifty percent more. I’m not into torturing people.”
“You’re not?” She scoffed angrily, then took a big swig of the remaining lemonade before slamming the glass down on the table. Several drops landed on the glass surface, and the ice cubes rattled. “Then what the hell are you doing now?”
I stared at her. She didn’t scare me; I’d been here before, and I knew she was, in fact, afraid of me. Nothing scared the wives more than the ring on my finger.
“Giving you power.” I tilted my head ever so slightly. “Well,sellingit to you, really. What you do with it is entirely your business.”
Scoffing bitterly, she grabbed the thumb drive from the table and took a few steps toward the house, then stopped and looked at me, a hint of disbelief still lingering on her face.
“What’s keeping me from calling the cops now?” Her left eyebrow was raised again.
It always ended with meaningless questions about police, but the threat never failed to freeze the blood in my veins. “Several things, actually. Shame is one of them. Fear of exposure in the media. The power that you can almost taste now, the power you never thought you could possibly have. Finally, you can always say no, and I’m out of here. Besides, this is not illegal; it’s not extortion. I’m selling something I possess, and you’re free to not buy.”
I was lying.
Itwasextortion, and I had done it repeatedly, constituting what any district attorney would call “a pattern of repeated criminal behavior across state lines.” That meant federal charges. No leniency.
But Claire didn’t know that. None of the wives ever did, or cared to find out, when they could almost taste the money. The freedom. The power.
She pressed her lips together for a moment. Her thumb played with the sliding lid of the thumb drive, pushing it up and down. It clicked quietly. “Aren’t you afraid of pissing off someone as rich and powerful asWinston?” She clicked the heel of her sandal against the granite pavers, seeming impatient and yet undecided at the same time. “If he learns he was transacted like a piece of property, ransomed back to me like a kidnapped child, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”
“That’s what the NDA is for,” I said calmly. “If he comes after me, I come after you. You’ll notice the agreement covers everything that happens between us today and beyond, without listing specifics. And it works both ways. I won’t tell, either.”
She shook her head in disbelief and disappeared inside the house, taking the thumb drive with her.
And I waited, staring at the white folder she’d left behind and struggling to shake off a chilling thought.
This had been much too easy.
25
Doubts
