The Scandal Page 7

  He’s seen me like this once before, just before our marriage. Back then he’d given me time and space to get my head together, attributing my funk to pre-wedding jitters. Little did he know that what I’d done before I traipsed up the aisle haunts me to this day. It’s the reason my frustration escalates, mixing with my guilt until I want to scream.

  I want to have a baby with Dane so badly because I owe him. He never knew how badly I fucked up and he never will. A baby would’ve been my way of making it up to him. An apology he never knew he needed. It’s driving me insane, keeping a secret from the man I truly love.

  Thanks to Ron, I have another week off work. Once I told him the truth he insisted. Not that I blame him. I wouldn’t want a partner alongside me who can’t focus and is liable to burst into tears any moment. I’m embarrassed, because for the first time in my career I’m acting like a girl.

  I glance around the garden, wondering if I can hide behind one of Ris’s perfectly manicured bushes to avoid people. That’s when I see Griffin stride toward Dane.

  Dane has never thawed toward Griffin but he tolerates him for me; because we’re work colleagues of sorts. He knows Ris is one of my closest friends and he won’t do anything to muck up tonight, especially when I told him she’s probably throwing this stupid party to cheer me up. Unfortunately, Griffin has picked up on Dane’s animosity; he asked me about it after they met the first time and I laughed it off. But he’s a psychologist and trying to fool him is tough.

  I make a beeline for the men, wishing they could be friends.

  “Hey, boys.” I slide an arm around Dane’s waist and to my surprise Griffin leans down to kiss my cheek.

  He’s never done that before and I’m uncomfortable. Sure, we’re work colleagues but that kiss, even in greeting at a social setting, seems wrong. Dane thinks so too, his muscles tensing beneath my arm.

  “Good to see you here.” He straightens quickly but my skin prickles with unease.

  “How’s the medical rep business treating you, Dane?” He offers his hand to my husband and Dane shakes it reluctantly.

  “Great.”

  Dane’s monosyllabic around Griffin and my heart sinks. I’m delusional if I think these two will ever be buddies.

  “If you’re keen to move beyond a sales rep position, I know some people?”

  What the hell is Griffin doing? Him offering Dane career advice is bizarre. I search his face for any clue to his motivation but I only see guilelessness. Maybe I’m overreacting.

  “Thanks, but I’m good,” Dane says and I squeeze his waist. He shoots me a look I know well: what the hell is this guy on?

  Griffin shrugs. “I just thought you might like to know there are better opportunities at other companies.” He jerks a thumb in Avery’s direction. “I work with Marisa and she tells me her husband’s company is going gangbusters and they’re always hiring. Isn’t he a friend of yours?”

  If Dane is standoffish with Griffin, he hates Avery. We all know he’s a brilliant cosmetic surgeon who’s now CEO of a national pharmaceutical company because he never lets us forget it. Dane can’t abide arrogance and whenever Avery approaches us at Ris’s gatherings Dane makes himself scarce.

  “Kissing ass isn’t my forte so I doubt I’d be a good fit for Avery’s company.”

  Griffin laughs but Dane’s laconic smile doesn’t fool me. My husband rarely loses his temper but I sense an undercurrent that has me worried.

  “And for what it’s worth I like my job. I like selling reputable medical equipment to doctors. Not peddling dodgy advice from psychobabble textbooks—”

  “Dane, that’s enough.” I drop my arm, appalled that he’s reacted this way. I don’t think Griffin had been deliberately baiting him but his less than subtle jibe has escalated the situation.

  Thankfully, Griffin doesn’t take offence. He grins, holds up his hands and takes a step back. “Just offering some friendly advice. No harm no foul.”

  He turns his back and walks away before either of us can respond and I immediately turn to Dane.

  “What was that all about?”

  “You’re taking his side?” Dane glares at me, incredulous, like I’ve betrayed him.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I snap, forcing myself to take a calming breath when he recoils a little. “What you said was a low blow when all he was doing was trying to be helpful.”

  He scowls and swipes a hand across his face. “He was trying to be an asshole. What’s my job got to do with him?”

  “Fair point. But he’s a psychologist. He dishes out advice all day long. Maybe it’s hard for him to turn it off?”

  “Maybe.” The frown creasing his brow eases and I sigh in relief. “If he doles out unwanted advice at work, I don’t know how you put up with that dickhead.”

  “I only see him occasionally as he works a few sessions a week at the station, and he’s good at what he does,” I say, knowing Dane would be livid if he knew Griffin had been freely dishing out advice to me because I’d confided in him.

  “What’s he doing here anyway?”

  I glance over my shoulder, where Griffin is currently entranced by Elly. “Ris playing matchmaker, I think.”

  “Elly can do a lot better than him.”

  I clamp down on my first instinct to defend Griffin. Maybe Griffin would be perfect for her. He’s never mentioned a significant other at work and doesn’t elaborate on his dating exploits on the few occasions we’ve caught up outside of the station. Elly is the same: single and loving it. In the few years I’ve known her she hasn’t been serious about any guy and tells us nothing beyond a few funny stories about her dates. Though she’d never admit it she strikes me as lonely. The more I think about it, the more I like the idea of Elly and Griffin together.

  Dane’s cell rings. He fishes it out of his pocket, glances at the screen and the frown reappears. “I have to take this.”

  “Okay—” I lean in to kiss him on the cheek but he stalks away, leaving me floundering.

  The tension between Dane and Griffin is a problem. This may not be the best setting but I think I need to come clean about my friendship with Griffin. It’s silly that I’m even remotely worried about revealing that we’re friends more than co-workers because it should be a non-issue. But after what just happened… he needs to know.

  I round the west wing of the house and spy Dane with his back to me. He’s angry. I can see it in the rigid set of his shoulders, the way his neck muscles bulge.

  “Look, she can’t ever find out about the fake test.” He speaks in a low, lethal tone that raises the hairs on my arms. “So don’t even think about it.”

  I have no idea what he’s talking about but it sounds dodgy. I step forward, stand on a twig and it snaps. He spins around, wild-eyed, before he blinks and the man I love is back: serene, logical, calm.

  “I’ll see you later,” he says, and ends the call, shoving the cell back into his pocket.

  “What was that all about?”

  He hesitates for the barest of seconds before responding. “We had our annual physicals at work last week. One of the guys supplied a fake urine sample and I advised him our boss better not find out, she’ll fire him on the spot.”

  My nose crinkles. “I’m not even going to ask about the logistics of supplying fake urine.”

  “You’re better off not knowing.” He takes my hand, like all is forgiven for him ditching me earlier.

  “Why did you walk away like that?”

  “I told you, I had to take that call.” His shoulders slump and he gives himself a little shake. “Guess you’re not the only one feeling the pressure these days.”

  I feel like the biggest bitch in the world. While I’ve been wallowing in self-pity since we heard the devastating news I haven’t spared a thought for how he’s feeling. Primarily guilt, I assume. Maybe even less of a man, though virility has nothing to do with fertility in my eyes.

  I want to reassure him that I still feel the same way I did when he first appr
oached me in that tiny Italian diner near the Brooklyn precinct and asked to pass the Parmesan years ago, that I love him unequivocally. That I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure our marriage stays solid. That he’s the love of my life, despite a momentary lapse in judgment made out of fear threatening it to this day.

  But a small part of me also resents him for not being able to give me the baby I so desperately want, the baby I had to have to make up for my sins of the past, so until I get a grip on my feelings I can’t talk about this; especially not here and now.

  “I have to say this, Claire. I don’t like that jerk Griffin and I think you should avoid him.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, he’s a friend.” My voice is raised and I immediately regret what I’ve said when he recoils.

  “He’s a friend? I thought you were just co-workers.”

  Crap. This is not how I envisaged telling him and I take a few deep breaths to calm down. “We are. But we talk.”

  His stillness is frightening. “Tell me, Claire, what do you talk about?”

  Before I can respond, he spits out, “If you’ve told him that I’m shooting blanks… fuck.”

  When I don’t answer he backs away, holding up his hands. “I’m out of here. I’ll see you at home.”

  “Fine,” I shout, but it isn’t. Nothing is fine between us since that damn day at the fertility specialist’s office.

  I should go after him; try to explain. But what can I say? That I’m so discombobulated most days that it takes every ounce of energy to drag my ass out of bed? That I can’t talk to Ris and Elly about how useless I’m feeling because their overachieving already makes me feel second-rate? That I doubted they’d understand considering our lives are so different? That Griffin is the only impartial friend I have and offloading to him is cathartic?

  I’m an idiot to think Dane and Griffin can ever be buddies; tonight’s debacle cements it. But I don’t like being told to avoid him, like I’m a dumbass kid who needs guidance choosing friends. I’ll talk to Dane when he calms down and try to explain in a rational manner.

  I give him a two-minute head start before going in search of Ris to thank her for hosting. When I find her she’s buzzing about the kitchen, mopping up spills and arranging platters and chopping herbs for garnish.

  “Honey, could you do me a favor and grab some more Pinot Noir from the cellar?” She slips her hands into an oven mitt. “I’ve got baby quiches about to burn.”

  I really want to have that talk with Dane but she looks seriously frazzled and I take pity on her. I’ll get her wine, then leave.

  “Sure,” I say to her retreating back as she’s already opening the oven door to peek inside at her precious quiches.

  I know my way around because Ris insisted on giving me the grand tour of her house when we first became friends. Back then, she seemed desperate for me to like her and was trying her best to impress me. Houses don’t impress me, people do, and being a cop means I have good intuition. While I didn’t give a flying fig about Ris’s Colonial mansion that day two years ago, I liked her. She seemed genuine and a tad lonely.

  I follow the long hallway from the kitchen to the den. It’s lined with artistic black and white framed photos of the twins at various ages and one gigantic family shot taken at Disneyland about a decade ago. It’s the only family photo among the lot and I know why Ris had it framed. They’re all looking at each other and laughing, genuine joy radiating from the photo. Ris looks so much younger and I have to admit that in the two years I’ve known her I’ve never seen her that happy.

  I know she projects an image of a perfect life but seeing her in this photo makes me wonder what has happened to sap the joy from my friend? I see her expression at times, part wistful, part sad. It’s an occupational hazard, picking up on people’s feelings, but when it comes to my friends I don’t push them to reveal too much. Maybe I should? Maybe I should ask Ris if she’s all right and ask Elly if she’s really as tough as she likes to portray?

  Leaving the photos behind, I find the cellar door and open it. Wall-ensconced lights immediately flare to life, illuminating a clear path. I traverse the steep stairs with care and make my way to the Pinot. Along with exquisite taste in interior design, Ris sure knows how to stock a cellar. I’m not a connoisseur but my dad loves a fine drop and I know the wines in this room could put ten kids through college.

  I’m selecting a few bottles when I hear a footfall behind me. I hate people sneaking up on me and I spin around, immediately on guard.

  Griffin holds up his hands and chuckles. “Hey, it’s only me. Don’t shoot.”

  “Very funny.”

  “I thought you might need some help?”

  “Sure.”

  He takes a step forward and I realize he’s standing too close. My gaze flickers to the door over his shoulder. It’s closed. I left it open so I wouldn’t have to juggle bottles and a door handle.

  Trepidation crawls across the back of my neck. I’m probably overreacting as I’ve never felt unsafe around Griffin before and haven’t picked up any unsavory vibes.

  But Dane has.

  I’d dismissed my husband’s warning weeks ago that Griffin likes me and I’d been vindicated, as he’s never shown a glimmer of anything untoward during the times we’ve hung out, talking. Besides, I would know. I’m a cop. I sense things beyond the obvious.

  And I’m sensing something now.

  “Ris said she’d be down soon to give me a hand,” I lie, gesturing to the bottles I’ve already lined up.

  He laughs. “Considering how flustered she is fussing over those food platters, I seriously doubt it.”

  He takes another step closer, less than two feet away. “Which is why I came down here. I knew you’d need help.”

  Maybe I’m reading too much into this and he is trying to be helpful, but then I glimpse a hint of excitement in his eyes and I know.

  I’m a moron.

  All those times we chatted over lunch or a beer after work, he’s misread my friendship for something more. I don’t know what makes me madder: that Dane is right or that my famous cop intuition has let me down. Worse, the fact that I’ve put myself in this position annoys the hell out of me.

  “Great, thanks for the help.” I keep my voice calm as I semi-turn toward the bottles. I don’t want to turn my back on him completely but he takes advantage of my movement by shifting closer.

  Before I can spin around, his body is pressed up against me.

  “Let me get those,” he murmurs, his warm breath fanning my ear. His boner digs into my hip and my fingers curl into a fist. Man, have I misread this situation.

  “Back off, Griffin.” I try to elbow him but he grabs my arms and spins me to face him.

  “Is that what you really want?”

  His grip on my arms tightens and his fingertips skate across my skin in a light, slow caress. He’s looking at me, his stare inscrutable.

  I tilt my chin up to stare him down. “Back the hell off, now.”

  He doesn’t move and our gazes remain locked. I’m on a precipice, scrabbling to hold on to sanity but in grave danger of falling.

  I’ve been in this situation before, knowing it’s wrong, desperate to stop. Back then I’d been terrified of making a long-term commitment to Dane. At least, that’s how I’d justified cheating on him eight weeks before our wedding. I’d conjured a whole string of excuses to explain my lapse. He didn’t understand the pressures of being a cop. He didn’t see the worst of humanity on a daily basis, making it imperative to blow off steam. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  The first time it happened, my partner and I had survived a drive-by shooting. Adrenalin had been high. We’d done tequila shots at the bar near his apartment. We’d staggered back to his place together, intending to sleep it off. We didn’t get much sleep.

  The second and last time had been after my bachelorette party. Neither of us was drunk. No excuses that time, just two people who’d worked together for three years giving in t
o baser instincts. The sex had been uninspiring but that wasn’t the point. I’d been hell-bent on deliberately sabotaging the best thing to ever happen to me before Dane could hurt me first. Warped logic. Crazy. But that’s how I felt at the time.

  I didn’t believe a man like Dane could want me forever. That he’d put up with my neuroses and long hours. I thought he’d eventually tire of me. I hadn’t given him enough credit.

  My partner had transferred out to Washington the next week, leaving me with a guilty conscience and an STD. I’d been so goddamn mad for the last year while we’d been trying to conceive, wondering if I was infertile courtesy of the after-effects of my transgression. The doctor who’d initially treated me for the STD had lectured me about practicing safe sex and warned me about the possibility of infertility.

  I’d been punishing myself so badly that it had almost been a relief to learn about Dane. Until reality set in and I realized I couldn’t give him the one thing that would ultimately bind him to me forever. Instead, he’d have me for a consolation prize and my old doubts resurfaced all over again.

  Would I be enough?

  “You’re so beautiful,” Griffin murmurs, and then his mouth is on mine.

  Fuck, my hesitation has cost me. I want to push him away, to knee him in the balls, to call out to my husband who walked away from me earlier.

  My husband…

  The second Dane pops into my head I place my hands on Griffin’s chest and shove him away.

  “Get off me.” I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth to wipe away that two-second transgression but my lips are still tingling, an awful reminder that I’d let this jerk kiss me when I should’ve stopped him.

  “You sure that’s what you want?” He’s unruffled, almost nonchalant. “I thought you liked me, Claire—”

  “You’re delusional.”

  Disgust makes my stomach clench. How could I have misread this guy? I should’ve decked him a few moments ago when I had the chance. My stupid hesitation has cost me, big time.

  Confusion clouds his eyes. “But I thought… I mean…” He shakes his head, as if trying to clear it. “The way we talk, we seem to click… I really thought we had something.”