“You told him about the mugging!”
“Like hell.”
“Tucker told him.”
“Tucker!”
“Don’t you remember? When Quinn came in and sat down at the coffee bar? We never warned Tucker not to say anything. He mentioned the mugging. So... since Quinn already knew all about it, I figured—”
“You figured you’d discuss everything with him! What can I expect tomorrow morning, a forensics unit at our back door?”
“Don’t get crazy. Quinn’s not saying a word. He couldn’t anyway. There’s no mugging if the victim refuses to go on the record that there was one. And I don’t know why Ric is so reluctant to ask the police for help. Obviously, someone means him harm—”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Clare.”
“Enlighten me then. You’re obviously keeping me in the dark about something, what is it? Tell me, Matt.”
“Why? So you can call up the flatfoot to discuss it?”
I might have come up with a decent retort at that moment, but the phone rang. Matt and I had become so used to getting calls on our cells that the land line’s ringing on the end table startled us both into dead silence.
A beat later, we both reached for it, but I was closer.
“Hello?” I said.
“Hello?”
“Yes?” I said.
“I’m looking for Matt.”
The superior attitude (and not bothering to waste any time greeting me) would have told me who she was, even if I hadn’t recognized her slightly nasal voice—no doubt the result of looking down her long, thin nose at nearly everything for decades.
I held out the receiver. “It’s Breanne.”
Matt could have stepped away with the wireless handset, but he didn’t bother. He just stood in front of me, close enough for me to hear every word of hers as well as his.
“What’s up?” Matt checked his wristwatch. “It’s after midnight.”
Laughter followed on the other end of the line. “Matteo, you’re getting old.”
“We’re the same age, Bree, and it’s Tuesday night.”
“
“Sorry, I’m done in.”
“Oh, darling, so am I! You know I’m just teasing. How did that little tasting of yours go with Federico?”
“It...” Matt hesitated. “Fine... it went fine.”
“Good. He’s such a charmer, just like you.... So you’re obviously free now. That’s why I had my driver swing by to pick you up.”
“Pick me up?”
“We’re parked right downstairs, next to the Blend.”
“I’m not dressed—”
“Good.” Throaty laughter followed. “That’s the way I like you—”
Matt glanced at me, his face actually registering a flash of embarrassment. He turned away then, taking the wireless handset across the room. As he continued the conversation (which sounded to my ears more like an argument), I moved to the window, pulled back the sheers, and looked down into the street.
A black Town Car was parked beside the curb. A tall, blond woman was pacing back and forth, a cigarette in one hand, a cell phone in the other. The editor-in-chief of
“Bree insists I come back with her,” Matt told me upon hanging up.
“Well...” I shrugged, folded my arms. “You have to admit, a king-size penthouse bed with five-hundred-dollar sheets is a lot more comfortable than a narrow antique sofa.”
“Yeah.”
There wasn’t much enthusiasm in my ex-husband’s tone. It sounded more like obligation, and I wondered what was going on in his head. For almost a year Matt had been squiring the woman to launch parties, political fundraisers, and charitable events. Their photos had been splashed in
As summer turned into fall, however, it seemed to me that Breanne was becoming increasingly manipulative and demanding. My ex-husband may have been using Bree for her connections, but she appeared to be exacting a price.
After hanging up, Matt went upstairs and returned with a small gym bag. He hadn’t bothered to pack a change of clothes, just underwear and toiletries. Obviously, he had no intention of staying very long at Breanne Summour’s penthouse.
“See you tomorrow, hon—” he began, then corrected himself as he pulled open the door. “Sorry. I meant Clare.”
“Matt?” I called.
“Yeah?” He turned, one hand still on the doorknob.
“Does Breanne know about Ric and his breakthrough?”
“Of course, she knows. I introduced them last week.”
“So you invited Bree to Friday’s launch tasting at the Beekman Hotel, right?”
“Her magazine is going to cover it.
“As a matter of fact, I was with her when I took the call from Ric earlier today. When he heard about my giving you his beans to taste test with our baristas, he said he wanted to drop by and see what they thought. Bree wanted me to go with her to some launch party tonight, but frankly I was happier coming to the Blend... until the mugging, that is.”
I nodded and began to wonder about Breanne. Could she have set Ric up? Sent someone to rob him or worse? What would be her motive if she had?
I gave Matt a halfhearted smile as I considered voicing these suspicions. But I knew he’d blow his top before I finished talking. And he’d most likely be right. Notwithstanding my total dislike for the woman, Breanne Summour just didn’t strike me as a criminal mastermind.
“See you tomorrow,” I told my ex.
The front door closed, and I stepped to the window, watched the sidewalk below until a dark-haired male head appeared. Breanne wasted no time. She threw her burning cigarette into the gutter. Laughing loudly enough for me to hear three floors away, she snaked her long, slender arms around my ex-husband’s neck and began passionately kissing him.
Matt’s body remained tense as she ground against him, but he didn’t push her away. His mouth moved over hers, and I knew what I was missing. Matt was an amazing kisser. A piece of me shifted with regret—but only a very little piece.
When he finally broke it off, he pointed to the Town Car. The two of them disappeared inside, and I watched the vehicle pull away. I continued watching until the misty gray shadows closed like a curtain on the car’s red tail- lights.
