Chapter 8
eight
Sienna walks into my house wearing the same red dress she wore in the photograph on Grant’s phone.
That feels intentional.
Grant looks at her like she is carrying a weapon.
She is.
Her phone.
“Hi,” Sienna says.
No one answers.
Trevor studies the floor.
Marcus studies Grant.
Brooke studies me.
Sienna does not look at anyone except Grant.
Grant recovers first.
He has spent years mistaking charm for survival.
“Sienna.” He sets down his bottle of bourbon. “What are you doing here?”
“We already talked about this, Grant,” I say.
Grant’s eyes snap to mine. “I know that.”
“Then this should be comfortable for you.”
Sienna steps farther inside.
Her heels click against the hardwood.
Brooke moves closer to the kitchen island.
Not toward Grant.
Away from him.
Interesting.
Grant forces a laugh. “This is, uh, a fantasy draft.”
“I know,” Sienna says. Her voice shakes once. Then steadies. “I was invited.”
I lift my glass and smile.
The room changes.
Not loudly. No one gasps.
No music stops because I turned it off ten minutes ago.
But everyone understands something has begun.
Grant walks toward me.
He steps when Reid shifts.
Barely.
One step.
Enough.
Grant notices.
His jaw tightens.
“Tessa,” he says. “Can we talk privately?”
“No.”
The word lands perfectly clean.
His smile disappears.
“This is not the time.”
“It is exactly the time,” I say.
Brooke reaches for her wine.
Her hand trembles.
I see it.
She sees me see it.
Good.
Grant lowers his voice. “You’re embarrassing yourself, Tessa. And me. You’re embarrassing us. Our family.”
There it is.
The old trick.
If a woman exposes a man in public, she’s dramatic.
If she does it in private, she’s just being emotional.
If she stays nice and silent, then she’s simply loyal.
Grant has always loved rules that leave him comfortable.
“I found the messages,” I say.
Sienna closes her eyes.
Grant looks at her.
Not me. Her.
The betrayal inside that glance almost makes me laugh.
He thinks she failed him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Grant says.
“Then this should be quick.”
I walk into the office and retrieve the black folder.
Grant follows me with his eyes.
When I return, the room is silent enough to hear the refrigerator hum.
I open the folder.
“Six months,” I say. Grant’s face hardens. “Hotel charges. Dinner receipts. Messages. Photographs.”
Trevor takes a slow drink.
Marcus puts his drink on the counter.
Neither man looks surprised enough.
That hurts in a new place.
“How much did you know?” I ask them.
Trevor raises both hands. “Nothing.”
Marcus shakes his head. “Absolutely nothing.”
Grant turns on them. “She’s confused.”
I almost admire it.
Not the lie.
The speed.
He has not even asked what evidence I have.
He only needs everyone to believe I misunderstood it.
Sienna unlocks her phone. “I’m not confused.”
Grant quickly looks at her. “Sienna…”
She flinches at the warning in his voice.
Then straightens. “You told me the marriage was over.”
Brooke cringes in a pathetic way.
Grant’s face twists.
Not with guilt but with calculation.
“Tessa knew we were… pending separation and all…”
“No,” I say. “I knew we were married.”
“It hasn’t been a marriage in years.”
“Interesting,” I say. I pull one page from the folder. “Our anniversary note reservation is next month.”
Sienna looks at Grant.
He does not look back.
“You told her you were taking me to Charleston,” I continued. “You told me it was a surprise.”
Brooke takes a step toward the hallway.
“Sit down,” I order.
Everyone looks at me.
Brooke freezes. “I should go.”
“No.”
“Tessa…”
“You wanted to be part of this.” Her face goes pale. “Now you get to hear how much your work was worth.”
I remove the first payment record.
“Eight hundred dollars,” I announce.
Brooke’s mouth opens.
Grant moves toward me again.
Reid steps between us.
No drama.
No threat.
He simply places his body there.
Grant stops.
Reid is half a head taller and built like the kind of lesson men only need once.
“Move,” Grant says.
“No,” Reid says in a calm voice.
“This is my house.”
Reid glances at me.
“For now,” I answer. I hold up the payment. “BELLI CONSULTING. Eight. Hundred. Dollars.”
Brooke’s eyes fill. “… Don’t…”
“The first payment came after the broken-pipe emergency.”
“Tessa…”
“The second came after you thought someone followed you home.”
Her breathing changes.
“The third came after Evan supposedly left a threatening voicemail.”
“I can explain.”
“The fourth came after you locked yourself out.”
Brooke looks at Grant.
He looks away.
That is when she understands.
Not that he betrayed me.
That he will sacrifice her.
“The fifth came after Friday night,” I say.
I lay the pages across the kitchen island.
“Eight hundred dollars each,” I say.
Trevor leans closer.
Marcus does too.
Grant points at the papers. “She did event work.”
Brooke looks at him.
The hurt on her face is almost funny.
“What event?” I ask.
Grant says nothing.
I turn to Brooke. “Was it the event where Sienna left marks on my husband?”
Sienna then looks down.
Brooke is fully crying.
Quietly. Beautifully.
She has always cried well.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she whispers.
I laugh.
One sharp sound.
“No,” I say. “I suppose I was not supposed to find out.”
“I needed money.”
“And I needed my best fucking friend.”
Her face crumples. “I was desperate.”
“You were paid.”
“It started once.”
“Five times.”
“I told myself it wasn’t my business.”
“You made it your business.”
“And the other stuff…”
Grant slams his hand against the counter. “Enough!”
The sound cuts through the room.
Nobody moves.
He points at me.
“You want to destroy our marriage over this?”
I stare at him.
The arrogance is almost breathtaking.
“Our marriage?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“You spent six months inside another woman.”
“It was a mistake,” he says.
“Six months is not a mistake.” I look at Brooke. “Five invoices are not a mistake. And the comment about other stuff… Let me guess. Other payments? Other names?”
I should have dug deeper…
No. I have everything I need.
Whatever else they had arranged…
I look at Sienna. “Promising to leave after the Brighton deal was not a mistake.”
Grant’s eyes narrow. “You talked to my wife.”
“Yes.”
“You had no right.”
That almost earns applause.
I open the folder again.
“The hotel charges were paid from the company account.”
Trevor swears under his breath.
Marcus looks at Grant.
“That’s not true,” Grant says.
I hand Marcus the statements.
He reads.
His face changes.
Grant reaches for them.
Marcus steps back. “You coded hotel rooms as client development?”
Grant points at me. “She handles the books.”
“Which is why I found them,” I say.
Trevor picks up one of Brooke’s payments. “Consulting?”
Brooke wipes at her face. “I didn’t know he coded it.”
Everyone turns toward her.
She realizes too late that she confirmed the payments.
Grant’s voice drops. “Shut up.”
Brooke stares at him.
She realizes now, what the price of being useful to a man like Grant is.
He likes you until you become evidence.
I take one final page from the folder. “The accountant has copies.” Grant goes still. “So does the company attorney.”
Trevor sets down the payment record.
Marcus takes a step away from Grant.
The room redraws itself.
Grant is no longer the center.
He is the problem.
“You went to Daniel?” Grant asks.
“Yes.”
“You had no authority to do that.”
“I am the financial officer.”
“I’m the goddamn founder.”
“You’re the man who used company money to pay my best friend for alibis.”
Grant looks around the room.
For support. For loyalty.
For one person willing to tell him this is manageable.
No one speaks.
His eyes stop at Reid. “You enjoying this?”
“No,” Reid says.
“Bullshit.”
“I warned you in college that eventually people would stop cleaning up after you.”
Grant laughs. It sounds broken. “You’ve wanted my life for years.”
Reid looks at me. Then back at him. “No. I wanted you to deserve it.”
Grant lunges.
Not far.
One step.
Reid doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
That’s what stops him.
Not fear of Reid.
The realization that I am not afraid of him.
I close the folder. “Your clothes are packed.”
“You went through my things?” Grant asks.
“I folded them.” My voice stays calm. “You’re welcome.”
“This is my house.”
“Then the attorneys can discuss it Monday.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Yes, you are.”
He turns toward Trevor and Marcus.
Neither man meets his eyes.
Then Brooke.
She looks away.
Then Sienna.
She already has her coat.
Finally, Grant looks at me.
Really looks.
Not at the wife.
Not at the mother.
Not at the person who remembers the passwords and buys the beer.
Me.
“What do you want?”
It is the first honest question he has all night.
I pick up my wine. “Nothing from you.”
Brooke begins crying harder.
Grant moves again.
I don’t even see the punch until it’s too late.
Aimed for Reid, but Reid knew it was coming.
He side steps, leaving Grant hitting nothing but air.
Reid jabs a concrete-like fist into Grant’s stomach and Grant drops to his knees.
I gasp and cover my mouth.
I watch the way Reid’s face twists, knowing he wants to hurt Grant.
He restrains himself.
Grant looks up. “And the kids? All this in front of the kids?”
“The kids aren’t even here,” I say. “I arranged for a sitter. Shows how much you know. Or care.”
Grant then hangs his head.
On his knees. Holding his stomach.
In the middle of the room he believed belonged to him.
The men he impressed are silent.
The friend he bought is useless.
Reid remains beside me.
Grant wanted a fantasy draft.
By nine o’clock, he is the only man in the room with nothing left to pick.