All I have to do is make him believe it was his idea.”
The man chuckled.
Fay slowly turned off the faucet.
A silence followed, then the faint clink of glass.
Fay could see only shadows moving beyond the crack in the door.
Celeste’s white gown.
The edge of a man’s black sleeve.
A hand lifting a drink.
A gray stone ring on one thick finger.
“Once his assets are joined to mine,” Celeste continued, “the rest is timing.
Accidents happen.
Roads get slick.
Cars fail.
Men get careless when they think they are loved.”
The air left Fay’s lungs.
The man said, “And Griffin Hales becomes a tragic story.”
Celeste’s laugh was soft enough to be mistaken for a sigh.
“And I become the grieving widow everyone is too frightened to question.”
Fay backed away from the sink so fast her hip struck the counter.
A glass slipped from her wet hand and cracked against the metal basin.
She froze.
Inside the VIP lounge, the voices stopped.
Fay stared at the cracked glass in the sink, every muscle locked.
Her pulse beat in her throat.
For one awful second, she was no longer in the Marlowe Hotel.
She was back in another city, another kitchen, another closed room where a man’s quiet voice had taught her that secrets could bruise.
Footsteps moved inside the lounge.
Fay grabbed a towel and began scrubbing the counter with shaking hands, forcing her face blank just as the door opened wider.
Celeste stepped out.
Up close, she was even more beautiful and even less real.
Her smile settled onto her face in an instant, smooth and perfect, but her eyes went to the broken glass, then to Fay’s hands.
“Everything all right?” Celeste asked.
Fay lowered her eyes.
“Yes, ma’am.
Sorry.
Glass slipped.”
Celeste watched her for one heartbeat too long.
“What’s your name?”
Fay’s fingers tightened around the towel.
Fay.”
“Fay,” Celeste repeated, as if filing it away.
“Be careful.
Some mistakes are more expensive than others.”
Then she smiled and returned to the ballroom.
The man from the lounge followed a moment later.
Heavyset.
Gray at the temples.
