CHAPTER TWO
Laurel
The gate intercom sounded at nine fourteen on Thursday night.
Laurel was in the small sitting room beside the library, reviewing the treatment plan Dr. Kessler had given her three days earlier.
Graham had not asked to see it. He had returned home after eleven each night, eaten whatever Rosa left warming in the oven, and carried his laptop into the home office.
The intercom sounded again.
Laurel checked the security panel. A camera showed Taryn Pike sitting in the back of a black town car, her face illuminated by her phone.
Laurel pressed the button. “Yes?”
Taryn looked toward the camera as if surprised to hear Laurel's voice. “Mrs. Weller, it's Taryn. Graham asked me to come over.”
The use of his first name landed exactly as Taryn intended. It offered familiarity while preserving enough politeness to deny the offense.
“What does he need at this hour?”
“We have an investor meeting tomorrow morning, and several figures changed after the European markets closed. He wants the presentation corrected tonight.”
Laurel could have called Graham and asked him to confirm it. He was twenty yards away behind his office door. Making the call would only give him another opportunity to behave as though she were inconveniencing him from another country.
She opened the gate.
Taryn's driver brought the car to the front entrance. Laurel watched through the narrow window beside the door as Taryn stepped out carrying a slim leather laptop case and a long black garment bag.
She was dressed for the office in a cream blouse and fitted black trousers. Her auburn hair had been pulled into a low twist, although several strands had been arranged deliberately around her face. Taryn never appeared untidy. Even her loose hairs seemed to have received instructions.
Laurel opened the door before she could ring.
“Thank you.” Taryn walked inside and handed her coat to the waiting house attendant. “I'm sorry about the time.”
The apology contained no embarrassment.
Laurel looked at the garment bag. “Are you traveling after the meeting?”
“No. The investors are coming here at seven, and Graham thought it would be more efficient if I changed before the presentation.”
“You're spending the night?”
Taryn adjusted the strap of her laptop case. A small silver bottle of perfume protruded from the side pocket. The garment bag had fallen open by several inches, revealing a pair of metallic evening shoes beneath the dark suit hanging inside.
“I'll probably leave after we finish. It depends how long the revisions take.”
A morning meeting did not require evening shoes. Preparing figures did not require perfume.
Taryn followed Laurel's attention and closed the zipper.
Graham emerged from the corridor leading to his office. He had removed his jacket and rolled his shirtsleeves to his forearms. The relaxed clothing made the mansion appear more like Taryn's workplace than Laurel's home.
“You made it.”
“The traffic near the park was terrible.” Taryn smiled at him. “I brought the Paris projections and the revised acquisition figures.”
“Good. We need to rebuild the final section.”
Graham took the laptop case from her. He did not question the garment bag.
Laurel remained beside the front door. “How long will you be working?”
He turned toward her. “I don't know.”
“Taryn mentioned investors are coming here at seven.”
“That is correct.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Rosa and the staff have already handled breakfast.”
“I wasn't asking about breakfast.”
Taryn moved one step toward the office corridor, then stopped as though politeness required her to witness the conversation.
Graham's expression became formal. It was the face he used when someone challenged him in front of an employee.
“What exactly are you asking?”
“I'm asking how long your assistant will be in our home.”
“The presentation needs to be completed.”
“That doesn't answer me.”
Graham looked toward Taryn. “Give us a moment.”
Taryn offered Laurel a small, understanding smile. “Of course.”
She walked away with the garment bag draped over one arm. The wheels of her laptop case made almost no sound against the marble.
Graham waited until she disappeared around the corner.
“You embarrassed me.”
Laurel stared at him. “I asked how long she was staying.”
“You interrogated her at the door.”
“She arrived at our house after nine with enough clothing to remain until morning. I think the question was reasonable.”
“We have investors arriving at seven. Would you prefer she travel home after midnight and return before dawn?”
“I would prefer my husband tell me when another woman is spending the night in our house.”
“She is an employee.”
“Employees usually carry presentation notes. Taryn brought evening shoes.”
Graham rubbed the space above one eyebrow. “This is exactly why I did not mention it.”
“Because you knew I would object?”
“Because you turn ordinary work arrangements into accusations.”
Laurel glanced toward the office corridor. “Why does she need perfume to correct financial projections?”
His hand dropped.
“You examined her belongings?”
“The bottle was visible.”
“You were looking for evidence because you had already decided she was guilty of something.”
“I haven't decided anything.”
“You accused her with your expression before she crossed the foyer.”
Laurel almost laughed. Graham had managed to transform Taryn's arrival into an injury Laurel had inflicted upon her.
“I asked two questions.”
“You made her uncomfortable in a professional setting.”
“This is my home.”
“And it is also where I work.”
“Perhaps that is the problem.”
Graham looked toward the office, where Taryn was waiting for him. His impatience appeared in small movements. The tightening of his fingers. A glance at his watch. The slight shift of his weight toward the corridor.
Laurel recognized them all. He was not troubled by what she suspected. He was troubled by the time her suspicion required.
“The board meeting begins at seven,” he told her. “We have several hours of work. I need you to treat Taryn with basic respect while she is here.”
“Do you intend to remain in the office all night?”
“If necessary.”
“And where will she sleep?”
“She is not sleeping here.”
“You don't know when she is leaving.”
“That does not mean she is moving into our bedroom.”
The ugliness of the remark silenced them both.
Graham's face did not soften. “Go upstairs, Laurel. You have another clinic appointment next week, and you always complain that you're tired.”
He returned to the office before she could answer.
The door closed.
Laurel stood in the foyer until the house attendant appeared to ask whether anything else was needed for the evening. She dismissed him and walked to the kitchen.
Most of the staff had finished for the night. Only the undercabinet lights remained on, casting a muted glow across the counters. Laurel filled the kettle and placed it on the stove, although the mansion had an electric dispenser capable of producing hot water in seconds.
She wanted the noise.
The burner clicked. Blue flame circled beneath the metal. Laurel opened the tea drawer and chose chamomile because it was the first box she touched.
Through the wall came the faint movement of voices.
The home office shared one side with the kitchen pantry. When they purchased the mansion, Graham had complained that the placement was impractical. Laurel had joked that she could pass him food through the wall and keep the company alive as she had in Brooklyn.
He had kissed her against the pantry door.
That was before Taryn began visiting.
Laurel poured the water and carried the cup to the small table beside the pantry. The tea bag released a pale stain that deepened slowly, color spreading through water without needing to be stirred.
Behind the wall, Graham and Taryn discussed revenue projections. Their voices were too muffled for Laurel to understand every word, but she recognized the cadence of work. Graham spoke in measured stretches. Taryn interrupted only when she had something useful to add.
They were good together professionally. Laurel had never denied that.
Taryn anticipated what Graham required before he asked.
She remembered which clients disliked digital presentations, which board members wanted printed reports, and which journalists responded better to personal calls.
She had learned how Graham arranged his thoughts and positioned herself inside that arrangement.
The office chairs shifted.
Taryn laughed.
Graham answered in a voice too low for Laurel to distinguish the words.
She lifted the tea but did not drink.
Several minutes passed without conversation. A drawer opened. Something struck the edge of the desk. Laurel heard another laugh, softer this time, followed by Graham telling Taryn to be quiet.
The instruction held no anger.
Laurel set the cup down.
She walked through the pantry and into the corridor. The office door stood at the far end beneath a brass wall light. Graham had chosen a solid walnut door because he disliked hearing staff move through the house while he worked.
Laurel stopped outside it.
At first, she heard nothing.
Then the desk moved against the wall.
A woman made a sound that began as laughter and ended differently. It was quickly muffled. Graham murmured something, and Taryn responded with a broken word Laurel could not understand.
Laurel's hand rose toward the door.
Her knuckles hovered inches from the wood.
If she knocked, Graham would open it. He might be fastening his shirt or standing behind the desk while Taryn adjusted her clothing. He would look at Laurel with controlled disbelief and ask whether she had been listening outside his office.
Taryn would appear offended.
Laurel would become the violation.