Page 1 of The Secret
PRESENT DAY
1
LISS
Monday, January 17, 2022
“You asshole!”
Stéphane lifts his head from where he’s stirring his coffee and all the color drains from his face. I turn around to see a blonde woman weaving through the tables of the NYU café toward us, and when I look back at Stéphane, he’s thrown back his seat and is heading around the corner of the table. What’s going on?
“You thought you could have some whore on the side and get away with it, did you?”
What?
The clink of dishes and buzz of conversation die down as everyone cranes their heads to see what’s going on. I try and grab Stéphane’s hand but he’s already beyond my outstretched fingers, making his way toward her. When he reaches her, her hand flashes out and he ducks. Her swipe at him skims across the top of his head like two cartoon characters in a fight and a giggle presses at the back of my throat.
“You thought your wife wouldn’t find out, didn’t you, you fucker!” she shouts.
Hiswife?
Ohcrap. My head sinks into my hands.
Then I hear Stéphane’s voice, low and urgent. “We can’t have this conversation here.”
He can’t …
I push back my seat to stand, and several eyes on the neighboring tables swing over to me, riveted.
The woman is the polar opposite of me. Dyed blonde hair, long red nails, and thick makeup plastered over her impeccable features. I’m wearing the gear I need for riding my bike in the rain, my pants splattered from the road. No way did I have any time to put on makeup this morning. Then I meet her gaze, now homed in on me as I head toward them, and her lip curls.
She shoots out a hand that waves up and down my body. “This is her? This … witch?”
Witch?I beg your pardon. I smooth a hand over my wild curly black hair.I’m not carrying a wand, lady. The laughter presses back up. I’ve never been described that way, but my concentration has moved from her to him and, fucking hell, his face is contorted into the kind of grimace I think you never want to see on the face of someone you’re sleeping with.
He pickedmeup, goddammit. There was no wedding ring, no texts or calls he tried to hide. And he was always available at weekends and evenings … I mean I was surprised a guy of forty-five was single, but by God he was persistent. And he knew what he was doing in bed. No insecurities, just a ton of confidence in what he did to me.
Fuck. Him.
“You have awife?” I say loudly, and he winces.
He’d started talking to me about what we mightdo togetherin the future. I am so bored with guys like this. I like to flirt and I enjoy men. Men like that too, right? So why does it always go wrong? My history is shit. Fair enough, I’ve done everything you shouldn’t do: cheated, gone out with the best friend, flirted with other guys to rile them up.You’re a game player, Liss.Not in a bitchy way, though perhaps all games are bitchy in the end; more in a test-their-sticking-power kind of way. Every time something like this happens I’m reminded that I need to switch it up, but then along comes another sexy guy and I start imagining what he can do to me in bed, and so I flirt and somehow it all gets out of hand.Really, this is the last time I’m doing this. Stéphane seemed like a decent guy. Fuck all men who present one thing but underneath are something else entirely. I tuck that reminder of my past away as sourness settles in my gut.
“Liss …” he says, raising his hands in a placating gesture as he turns toward me.
“I didn’t need to know her name, you fucker,” his wife hisses. “And don’t even think about coming back home tonight.”
He lives with her? Oh God. Well, I guess it’s not surprising because she’s his wife but … Her eyes narrow as she opens her mouth, but Stéphane takes hold of her arm as if he’s going to manhandle her out of the café … She wrenches it out of his grip, taking a step back and bumping into the table behind her. As she looks around to apologize, a smile stretches over her red lips, and she leans down and the next second Stéphane has chocolate fudge cake with whipped cream slapped in his face.
I kind of want to applaud. His expression is so comically surprised, and a smile curls over my face as cream slides down his trendily unshaven jaw.Oh my God. Maybe metrosexual designer stubble was a warning sign. Yes, Liss, add that to your already too long list of what to avoid in men in the future.
My watch buzzes at me with the forewarning of an impending alarm. Oh, fuck, my lecture! A sigh seeps out as I take one last look at Stéphane and turn on my heel.
“Liss, Liss!” His voice follows me to the door of the café, followed by his wife screeching something else which I don’t bother to listen to. Another ignominious end to a rotten relationship. At least I’ve got the sense to draw a line under them now.
But when I examine my phone after my morning lectures, an email is sitting in my inbox asking me to come to see HR before the close of play and cold fingers trickle down my spine. Is this about Stéphane? As I scroll down the email, it mentions an issue being referred to HR from Alan Cartwright.Stephane’s boss. Holy shit. This is fast, even for the university … I close my eyes. If Stephane’s in trouble, my reputation will be trashed too. My dread turns to horror when I push through the door to the department two hours later and almost crash into Stéphane heading in the opposite direction.
“Liss!” His eyes widen, and he gives me an oily smile. I used to think his smiles were cute. “We need to talk, she …”
