Oh, my goodness, he was married!

  Suddenly, it all made sense. His disinterest in the women at work who flirted with him. The fact that his flat seemed to have that feminine touch. And the picture! The woman in the photograph was his wife.

  Oh God, I’d slept with a married man. Sick to my stomach, I rapidly dressed myself and fled the apartment.

  Out on the street, I used my phone to order a taxi, panicked thoughts rushing through my head. If Cameron was married, then where was his wife? Was she away for the weekend? And why didn’t he ever wear his wedding ring at the office? I knew it was common for some people not to wear their rings because they found them uncomfortable, but I’d never heard anyone mention his wife. Did he think I knew?

  I couldn’t stomach the idea of being the other woman.

  When my cab arrived, I climbed into the back seat, my mind in panic mode. I wished I could forget last night ever happened, erase it from my memory entirely. But I couldn’t. There was no changing what I’d done, and I was filled with dread at the idea of seeing Cameron at work on Monday.

  Should I confront him? Pretend it never happened? Demand he tell his wife he cheated?

  I closed my eyes, no answers forthcoming. At least I had the weekend to think things through.

  Always a silver lining.

  Two

  The Aftermath

  December 16th

  “Okay, name your favourite Christmas song,” said Lilah as we walked into the office on Monday morning.

  I carried the box of sugar-frosted donuts I brought into work at the start of every week, a little pick-me-up for my colleagues. Free donuts always brought a smile to people’s faces, and making people happy gave me pleasure, even if some of them probably didn’t deserve it. I’d also remembered to get a latte for Nadia, the receptionist, to make up for leaving her hanging at the party.

  “That’s easy. “Last Christmas” by Wham!” I replied.

  “Oh yes, I love that one,” Lilah agreed. “Nobody could rock the frosted tips mullet like George Michael.”

  “You know I once saw a picture of my aunt Rita with that exact same hairdo. Very few styles are as gender neutral as the mullet,” I commented jokingly.

  Lilah chuckled and I put the donut box down on the table in the break room. My eyes hastily skimmed over the festive red, gold, and silver decorations that adorned the office as I searched for Cameron. All weekend I’d been plagued by flashbacks of his mouth on my skin, his hand between my thighs. Some people were lucky enough to black out during misguided, drunken one-night stands with colleagues. I, unfortunately, remembered every second.

  I also remembered that he was married, but I had a plan of action and that involved pretending our night together never happened. Not the most sophisticated angle, nor the most moralistic, but I didn’t have the courage to confront him about his deception.

  I finally spotted him sitting at his desk, busily typing on his keyboard and a brick sat in my gut. There was a constant heaviness there and I felt indignant. How dare he bring me back to his place when he had a wife! A small part of me wondered if I was a little to blame too, for presuming he was single. But no, that was wrong. I was the innocent party, and he…he was the scheming liar who went around not wearing his wedding ring on purpose so that he could lure unsuspecting researchers into his bed!

  Yes, I was a tad worked up. Anger was not an emotion I was used to. It burned bright inside my chest like a nasty viral infection and I just wanted some antibiotics to kill it dead. I didn’t like feeling this way.

  “Have you ever met Mr. Grant’s wife?” I asked Lilah. The question tumbled out past the haze of my angry thoughts.

  She frowned at me. “Cameron Grant has a wife?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Well, that’s news to me. Then again, it’s not like he talks about his personal life with any of us.” She paused, eyeing me a moment. “Why do you ask?”

  “No reason,” I lied, relieved she hadn’t seen us leaving the party together. Thankfully she’d been having too much of a good time to notice the trouble I’d been getting myself into. I narrowed my gaze once more at Cameron where he still sat in his office.

  “Oh man, I don’t like that look. Was he mean to you? Just know he’s like that with everybody. Last week he told me I could do with using deodorant more often, the rude bastard. I shower every morning. I just don’t want to poison my body with parabens, thank you very much.”

  I glanced at Lilah, clearing my expression. “No, he wasn’t mean. I just remembered there was something I need to run by him.”

  Usually, I left the donuts on the table for people to take as they wished. It was a first-come, first-served situation. But maybe today I’d deliver one to Cameron personally. To hell with my plan to pretend nothing happened. He deserved a little piece of my mind and I’d been stewing on this all weekend.

  Grabbing a napkin, I snatched up a donut, then made my way across the office, steel in my belly, guilt in my heart. Cheating was an awful thing to do to anyone, but having had it happen to me in a previous relationship, I abhorred the idea of being a party to adultery. Of being tricked into it.

  “Are you going to his office?” Lilah called after me, sounding wary. Few people were brave enough to enter Cameron Grant’s private space uninvited.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” I replied, determined.

  When I reached the door, I knocked three times. He glanced up, eyes widening when he saw me through the glass. He tugged at his shirt collar, looking uncomfortable, then motioned for me to come in.

  “Good morning, Miss Wilkins.”

  Apparently, we were only on a first name basis when we were drunk or in his bed. I wasn’t sure if that made me angry or if it was a relief.

  “Good morning, Mr. Grant,” I said and placed the donut down on his desk.

  He glanced at it, then at me. “I don’t eat sugar before twelve.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that, and suddenly realised that me bringing him the donut could be construed as some kind of overture for a repeat of what happened between us. No, no, no! That was the exact opposite of what I wanted to communicate. I shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.

  Cameron studied me now, his eyes softening. What the hell was that look? Did he feel sorry for me? Did I look like some desperado bringing him sweet treats in the hope of romance? Hastily, I picked the donut back up.

  “Actually, this isn’t for you. It’s for me. I was just uh…putting it down for a second to rest my hand.”

  He arched a quizzical eyebrow. “Are donuts particularly heavy?”

  “Anything can become heavy if you hold it long enough.” What are you saying? I needed to stop talking. A prolonged silence fell between us and every cell in my body screamed at me to flee.

  Cameron cleared his throat. “Did you come in here for a reason, Miss Wilkins?”

  “Yes,” I blurted nervously. “You…”

  “I?”

  I swallowed, flustered.

  Cameron exhaled. “I think I know what this is about.”

  My eyebrows jumped. “You do?” Oh my God, was he going to confess to being married? Sweat coated my palms. A moment ago I’d wanted to confront him, but now that I was here standing in front of him, all I wanted was to bury my head in the sand.

  He nodded. “You…” A pause as he awkwardly rubbed his jaw. “You left something at my place.”

  I completely clammed up when he produced a small paper bag from under his desk. Standing, he walked toward me and handed me the bag. “Yours, I believe.”

  I opened it and looked inside. My bra! Instantly, my face turned red. A tense moment passed between us. I was still staring at the bag when he cleared his throat. I blinked several times, glanced at him, then slowly backed away towards the door.

  Keep your head held high, Maisie. Don’t let him see he’s embarrassed you.

  “Thank you for returning my property, Mr. Grant.”

  His eyes softened again. “Maisie, I—”

  I didn’t stay long enough for him to finish the sentence. I hotfooted it out of his office and went to my desk. Sinking into my chair, I squeezed my eyes shut, cursing myself for being so bad at confrontation. But it wasn’t my fault. He’d blindsided me with my freaking bra. I felt like I’d searched his entire apartment for it. Where the hell had it been? I pictured him finding it, picking it up and hiding it away before his wife could see it, and my entire body cringed.

  I shoved the offending garment in my handbag and opened my email. Trying to distract myself, I responded to several queries, endeavouring not to give Cameron Grant another moment’s thought. I got drunk, made a bad judgement call, and now I needed to leave it behind me. And if the awkward way he acted with me in his office was anything to go by, Cameron didn’t plan on pursuing me anytime soon. No, he was his usual withdrawn, stoic self and a part of me was relieved.

  Another more conflicted part of me felt, well, rejected, but that feeling could get right out of my head. My original plan to pretend nothing ever happened was firmly back in place.

  But wasn’t it my responsibility to let his wife know her husband was a cheater?

  The question niggled at me all morning. In the end, I determined not to get involved. It wasn’t a perfect decision, but I just couldn’t see myself doing something like that. What if the night with me was a one-off? What if Cameron was experiencing incredible guilt right now and determined to be a good, faithful husband from here on out?

  There were just too many questions.

  “So, where did you and Cranky Cameron get off to on Friday night?” Miles asked, appearing at my side. Nothing ever got past him, and snooping was a trait well-cultivated in investigators.

  I frowned at him as my pulse sped up. “What are you talking about?”

  Miles perched at the edge of my desk, arms folded, a gotcha expression on his face. Once again, my cheeks went bright red. Stupid cheeks!

  “I saw you leave the party with Mr. Grant. You two looked pretty cosy.”

  “What about you and Jenny?” I fired back. “You were drinking together all night.”

  “That’s true,” he allowed. “But we didn’t leave together. Unlike some people.”

  I exhaled a breath. “Cameron and…Mr. Grant and I didn’t leave together. He simply helped me hail a taxi.” That’s right, Maisie, keep the story simple. If working at this job for five years had taught me anything, it was that keeping a story as close to the truth as possible was the best tactic. So many people we investigated got caught up in their own complicated web of lies, and unlike the truth, lies were difficult to keep track of.

  “Oh, really?” He didn’t sound convinced.

  When I’d mentioned finding certain people at the office irritating, Miles was one of them. Don’t get me wrong, most of the time I liked him well enough, but sometimes he could be a little nosy.

  “Yes, really,” I affirmed and levelled him with a steady look.

  “Damn, I thought I was onto a bit of gossip.” He sighed and eyed my belongings as he rose from my desk. “By the way, your mini cactus plants look like a cock and balls.”

  I frowned at his retreating figure, murmuring a confused, “What?” before my phone rang and I answered it promptly. “James & Peterson Investigations. Maisie Wilkins speaking.”

  The “James” referred to Roger James, founder of the firm. He’d retired last year, but Georgia still kept the name, whether as a mark of respect or because it was too much trouble changing it, I wasn’t sure.

  “Hello, Miss Wilkins. This is Jonathan Miller. I’m returning your call.”

  Quickly, I picked up a pen and slid my notepad in front of me. I’d called him about an applicant for a job with Leftport Security, a company that was a regular client of ours. We carried out in-depth background checks on all of their potential employees. Miller was one of the applicant’s previous landlords, and after I’d finally tracked down his contact info, I’d called him on Friday to see if he wouldn’t mind answering some questions. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been around at the time to take the call.

  “Yes, thanks for getting back to me, Mr. Miller. Any information you can provide on Mr. Young’s character and behaviour while renting from you is much appreciated.”

  “Well, if you’re thinking of taking him on as a tenant, I’d advise against it. Vince Young was regularly late with his rent, and I had to deal with complaints from neighbours over a number of alcohol-fuelled altercations. He even attacked one of my other tenants and left him with a black eye.”

  I got the sense Miller enjoyed relaying this information. He and Vince Young clearly didn’t part on friendly terms.

  “This is very useful. Thank you so much for letting me know,” I said, scribbling down the last of my notes.

  “No problem at all, Miss Wilkins. I wouldn’t want anyone else going through the trouble I did, that’s for sure.”

  As I hung up, my gaze wandered to the three mini cacti lined up on the side of my desk. I’d purchased them from IKEA last week to spruce up my workspace. Unfortunately, I’d arranged them so that the tall one was in the middle, with the two squat, round cacti on either side.

  “They do look like a cock and balls,” I murmured.

  “Pardon me?” a deep, familiar voice interrupted.

  Unwanted goose bumps claimed my skin as I swivelled around in my chair. Cameron stared down at me, a curious look on his face. I cleared my throat, embarrassment yet again creeping in. Why on earth did I have to voice my thoughts out loud?

  “Um, nothing. Can I help you with something?”

  He eyed me a long moment, his dark stare penetrating. His gaze wandered from me to the cacti, and he slowly lifted an eyebrow. A waft of his cologne met my nose, and I suppressed a shudder. That scent was now engrained in my memory. It made me think of orgasms—intense, mind-blowing, drunken orgasms.

  Actually, correction. They were dirty, seedy, deceitful orgasms.

  “Mr. Nulty and Mr. Kipling from Leftport Security are here,” he said. “Do you have your portion of the background checks ready?”

  “Yes, I’ll be right there,” I replied and turned to gather what I needed. It was only when I heard him walk away that I felt like I could breathe again.

  Too late, I realised I should’ve informed him about my conversation with Vince Young’s landlord, but I’d been so frazzled by his presence the new info had completely fled my mind.

  Quickly, I rearranged my mini cacti for fear of anyone else likening them to male genitalia, then made my way to the conference room.

  Nulty and Kipling, the owners of Leftport Security, always came in-person to receive their reports. Both men were retired members of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces, who had subsequently decided to start their own private security firm. Nulty was bald, with a perpetually stern expression, while Kipling was dark-haired with a warm, friendly demeanour. They sat on one side of the long table. Cameron and Lilah sat on the other side with our boss, Georgia, and her assistant, Rory.

  I slid into a seat next to Rory, as far from Cameron as possible.

  “We’ve completed background checks on all four candidates and are happy to report that overall their records are clean,” said Georgia.

  I sadly felt the need to intervene. “Actually, only three of the four check out.”

  My boss gave me something of a censorious look. Georgia Peterson didn’t like to be corrected.

  I soldiered on. “Sorry to interrupt, but I just got off the phone with Vince Young’s previous landlord. His more recent landlords didn’t have any complaints, and this goes back a few years, but while he lived at this particular address, he was involved in several drunken altercations with his neighbours. Other than that, he’s squeaky clean.”

  “Thank you, Miss Wilkins. That’s very helpful,” said Kipling.

  Cameron passed several folders across the table. “Here are our completed checks, minus that one section on Mr. Young, which we will have added as soon as possible.” Similar to Georgia, the look he gave me was a little on the cool side.

  When the meeting was over, Cameron asked if I’d come with him to his office a moment. Warily, I followed.

  “Close the door, please,” he said.

  Technically speaking, Cameron was my superior. Georgia was my boss, but I still often reported to him, which meant he was in a position to reprimand me. Perhaps Georgia gave him a silent look back in the meeting, telling him he could be the one to give me a scolding.

  “Why didn’t you inform me about Vince Young’s landlord?” he asked, eyebrows drawn together in admonishment.

  I took a deep breath and endeavoured to keep my composure. “I couldn’t get him on the phone last week, and he only returned my call a few minutes before our meeting. There wasn’t time.” Well, technically there was, but I’d been too frazzled, dammit!

  Cameron was quick to correct me. “I came to your desk before the meeting. You could have informed me then. Perhaps if you weren’t so busy concerning yourself with your plants’ resemblance to certain parts of the male anatomy, you would’ve remembered.”

  Instantly, I saw red, but I tamped it down with a smile. I couldn’t allow myself to lose my cool at work; it just wasn’t worth it. The fact that I’d come to his office earlier, fully prepared to confront him was completely out of character for me. I needed to get a hold of myself. I was also annoyed that Cameron wasn’t showing any outward signs of guilt or stress over our night together. He was taking it all in stride.

  “My apologies, Mr. Grant. It won’t happen again.”

  “See that it doesn’t. Now, we have a meeting with a new client in ten minutes. I’ll expect you in the conference room promptly this time.”

  Again, I bit my tongue. Who was he to criticize me? I wasn’t the one who’d cheated on their wife. But still, I held firm to my no fighting in the workplace rule. Dipping my head, I replied politely, “Certainly, Mr. Grant.”