Lilah was waiting at my desk when I emerged from Cameron’s office. “Are you okay? I brought chocolate.”

  “I’m fine. He just gets on my nerves. He’s got a serious superiority complex. And it really pissed him off that I made us all look unprepared in that meeting. Maybe I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

  “Hey, you were telling the truth, and that’s what they’re paying us for. Besides, fifty percent of office work is taking other people’s bullshit with a smile on your face. Didn’t they teach you that at university?”

  I summoned a smile. “I must’ve missed that lecture.”

  She nudged me with her shoulder. “Come on, let’s indulge in a few squares of Dairy Milk before our next meeting.”

  Georgia wasn’t there to meet the new client. Cameron and Lilah had been assigned this particular case. That meant it was just the three of us in the room. The client’s name was Ross Moretti. He was a restaurateur and owned several establishments, both in Torquay and the surrounding towns. He was a quietly handsome man, with light brown hair and dark eyes.

  “Mr. Moretti, can you give us an overview of your situation?” Lilah asked with an encouraging smile. She was great at dealing with clients. She charmed them. Unlike Cameron, who wasn’t one for pleasantries and only cared to know the facts of a case.

  “I’m here because of my fiancée.” A pause as he winced. “Sorry, my ex-fiancée. She disappeared the night before our wedding after clearing out my entire bank account.”

  “How much did she take?” Cameron asked.

  “A little over two hundred and fifty thousand pounds.” I could see it pained him to answer and my heart pinched at the look of hurt and betrayal on his face. His ex-fiancée was obviously some kind of con artist.

  “What is your ex-fiancée’s name?” I asked, my laptop open in front of me. I had clearance to access several databases that I could search if I had a name and date of birth.

  “She went by Claire Allen, but I know that’s fake since the police already tried to look for her to no avail. Maybe this will help.” Moretti reached inside his coat pocket and produced a photograph. “She always pretended she hated having her picture taken, which obviously makes sense now. Luckily, a friend took this one at a birthday party we attended without her realising. Knowing how Claire always reacted about photographs, I kept it to myself.”

  He slid the picture to the middle of the table, and I leaned close to inspect it. It showed a pretty young woman with long blonde hair. She sat at a table next to Moretti, laughing at something he said. It was an intimate picture, and I could see by Moretti’s expression that it hurt him to look at it.

  I knew how it felt to date someone who was conning you the entire time. Thankfully I’d discovered the truth about Cameron before I developed actual feelings for him. Fool me once and all that.

  I brought my attention back to the picture. Something about the woman’s face seemed familiar, but I couldn’t pin where I’d seen her before. Perhaps I’d spotted her around town.

  “We were together for nine months. Got engaged on our six-month anniversary. I trusted her completely, gave her access to my accounts, my pin codes, everything. She cleaned me out. I was a goddamn fool not to see through her.”

  “You’re not a fool,” said Lilah. “We investigate people like this all the time. They spend years perfecting the art of tricking people to trust them, to love them even. Women like Claire are very talented at what they do. You were just unfortunate enough to be her latest chosen victim.”

  When I glanced at Cameron, I could see by his face that he disagreed. He definitely thought Moretti was an idiot to fall for a con like this. I guess when you didn’t have a heart, it was easy to disregard the sentimentality of others.

  “I wish I’d never met her,” Moretti said. “I need you to find her. She’s probably done this to others in the past. She needs to be put behind bars.”

  “We’ll do everything in our power to locate her,” Cameron said, finally speaking.

  Moretti seemed to appreciate his reassurance. “You’re my last hope. The police have spent six weeks trying to track her down with nothing to show for it. With the amount of money she stole, it’s a good thing my businesses are doing well right now, or I’d be completely broke.”

  Sympathy swelled in my chest for him. I glanced at the photo a second time, again feeling that sense of familiarity.

  “Mr. Moretti, can I ask where Claire was originally from?”

  He glanced at me. “She claimed she was from Devon, and she had a local accent, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “Miss Wilkins,” Cameron cut in, eyeing me from his end of the table, “this woman is a con artist. Even if she had mentioned to Mr. Moretti where she was from, she certainly wouldn’t have been telling the truth.”

  “True, but asking questions helps us see the bigger picture, Mr. Grant,” I shot back.

  He really had it in for me today, which was ridiculous because I was the one who deserved to be mad. Cameron had made me the other woman, and that familiar sense of guilt nipped at me as I conjured up the image of his wife in their wedding photograph. She had a kind, friendly sort of face. It was the face of a person who did not deserve to be married to a sneaky cheat. Not that anyone deserved that.

  “I don’t mind answering any questions you might have,” Moretti put in, probably sensing the dissention between Cameron and me.

  “Well,” Lilah said, taking over, “you can start by giving us some background on how you two met.”

  “Yes, of course. It was at the grand opening of my restaurant in Brixham. It’s only now, that I think back on it, I realise she must’ve been alone. It was a very busy night. I was greeting customers when she appeared and asked if I could direct her to the ladies’ room. Of course, I was charmed. She was beautiful and funny, very charismatic. She asked if I’d like to have dinner some time. I said yes, and we started dating.”

  “Did she ever talk about her family? Did you meet any of her friends?” Cameron asked.

  “She spoke of an aunt who raised her after her parents died. But no, I never met her friends. Again, I didn’t question it at the time, but now looking back…”

  “Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, Mr. Moretti,” Lilah put in. “Did she ever tell you the name of her aunt?”

  “Mary, I think, but she didn’t give a surname.”

  “Do you know what her natural hair colour is?” Cameron asked, and I was instantly plunged into a memory from Friday night. Are you a natural blonde?

  When I glanced at him, his eyes met mine for a brief second before he focused back on Moretti.

  “Um, why do you ask?”

  “Her hair is clearly dyed.” Cameron gestured to Claire’s bleach-blonde locks in the photo.

  Moretti scratched at his jaw. “I think it might’ve been auburn, red perhaps.”

  “How do you know it was red?” Lilah questioned.

  Moretti shifted uncomfortably, a hint of colour in his cheeks. “She didn’t dye her hair everywhere,” he replied, his meaning evident. A bit of an awkward silence fell before Cameron cleared his throat and continued asking more questions.

  I typed everything down. If we could pinpoint where this woman Claire originally came from, then figuring out what she used to look like would be useful. A lot of con artists changed their appearance often.

  When the meeting concluded, Cameron returned to his office and I followed. He didn’t request it, but this time, I had a bone to pick with him. Yes, I’d decided against confrontation in the workplace, but this needed to be addressed. I hated atmospheres. They made me feel like there was this constant ache in the pit of my stomach.

  He’d just sat down at his desk and when I shut the door behind me.

  He glanced up. “Miss Wilkins?”

  I folded my arms. “Is there something you’d like to say to me, Mr. Grant?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You’ve been snippy with me all morning. I’d like to give you the chance to get whatever grievance you have off your chest.”

  Cameron blinked, then stood. “On the contrary, I don’t believe I’ve treated you any differently than normal.”

  I sighed. “Listen, if you’re feeling guilty, then you should just—"

  “Guilty?”

  I glanced out at the rest of the office, just to make sure nobody was watching us, and lowered my voice almost to a whisper. “You slept with me at the Christmas party, and now you’re feeling guilty.”

  He frowned, appearing frustrated. “The door is closed, Miss Wilkins. You don’t need to whisper. And for the record, when I have sex with a woman, I don’t generally experience feelings of guilt.”

  “So, this is something you do all the time?” I blurted, my voice tipping higher at the end of the question.

  “Not all the time, but yes, every so often.”

  I blinked several times, galled. “Y-you’re a disgrace!”

  “Excuse me?” He moved forward now, agitated.

  My indignation overrode all thoughts of self-preservation. “You can’t just go around shagging whoever you want, to hell with the consequences. You should be ashamed of yourself. My last long-term boyfriend cheated on me, and I can’t tell you the pain I felt when I found out. The fact that you made me a party to your behaviour is abhorrent.”

  I clenched my fists and bit my tongue. Deep down I knew I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but another side of me felt like he needed to be confronted.

  He dipped his head now, levelled me with a steady look. “Maisie, please explain to me what on earth you’re talking about because I’m completely lost here.”

  That was it. I couldn’t stand him playing dumb any longer. I needed to just say it, confront the elephant in the room.

  “What I’m talking about is you’re married!”

  Three

  The Outing

  December 16th & 17th

  Cameron blinked. “Can you repeat that please?”

  I stepped away, putting some distance between us. “You’re a married man, and you brought me back to your apartment for sex. You slept with me in the same bed you share with your wife. I don’t know how your conscience can stand it.”

  Cameron frowned in confusion as he gaped at me. Then slowly, his expression turned amused. “I’m not married, Maisie.”

  What? My heart pounded. “Then h-how do you explain the wedding ring I found in your apartment? And the photograph on your living room shelf of you on your wedding day? How do you explain the fact that your place is neat and pretty and very obviously designed by a woman?”

  He moved closer and reached out as if to touch me, but then seemed to remember the glass wall of his office and withdrew his hand. “The wedding ring is fake. I wear it sometimes when I’m working. Certain people trust married men more than single ones. The woman in the photograph is my sister, Ellen. I believe I mentioned her before. She’s a writer, and she lives in London. The photo was taken on her wedding day. And everything in my apartment was chosen by me. Not all men are messy, uncouth slobs who don’t appreciate the aesthetics of interior design.”

  I stood there, shamefaced, as all of his explanations fell into place. I felt like an idiot for jumping to conclusions.

  “Oh.”

  His expression warmed ever so slightly; the humour still present. “You thought I was married?”

  “It made sense at the time.”

  “We’ve worked together for five years. Don’t you think I would’ve mentioned I had a wife?”

  “Not necessarily. You don’t talk about your personal life.”

  He stared at me now, face growing serious. “I see.”

  “What are you looking at me like that for?”

  “You thought I was the kind of man who would cheat. I find that interesting.”

  “Well, you’re hardly warm and fuzzy.”

  “That doesn’t make me duplicitous.”

  I felt a twinge of guilt in my belly. “No, you’re right. It doesn’t. Oh my goodness, I’m so embarrassed.” I brought my hands to my face. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. You gathered the facts in front of you and came to a conclusion. It’s what I do every day. You simply came to the wrong one. That’s why you always have to dig deeper.”

  Was it me, or was he being way too reasonable about all this?

  When I didn’t speak, he exhaled heavily, his eyes on me felt physical even though we weren’t touching. “What are we going to do about this?”

  “About what?” I asked.

  “About us.”

  Oh. “Um…”

  “You’re chewing your lip again, Maisie. Are you nervous?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you make me nervous. You make everyone nervous. Well, except for Georgia.”

  He appeared happy with this information. “Good. You all should be nervous of me.”

  “You don’t suffer fools.”

  Something like affection came into his eyes. “No, I don’t.”

  The room was quiet for a few moments and I let the relief that he wasn’t actually married sink in. I wasn’t the other woman. No, I was merely a silly fool who made the poor decision to sleep with someone I worked with. Now that my guilt over sleeping with a married man was gone I was back to worrying about our co-workers finding out about us. I couldn’t let that happen. I liked my job, liked coming to work every morning and I knew exactly how gossipy certain people at the office could be. Rory, Miles, and Jenny were particularly judgemental when it came to any kind of slipup.

  I looked back at Cameron. If I could get him on board with my idea to act like our night together never happened then perhaps we could avoid anyone ever finding out. It was what I’d wanted ever since I woke up in his bed on Saturday morning.

  “How about we leave what happened at the party behind us? Clean slate.” I suggested.

  Cameron eyed me sceptically. “You want to pretend it never happened?”

  “I do,” I replied soberly. Please, please, please say yes.

  He was quiet for another long moment, and for a brief second there was something in his expression that made me worry he was going to say no, but then finally he said, “Okay then.”

  An overwhelming sense of relief washed over me. Thank God he was on board because this was exactly what we needed. Now we could go back to being colleagues, with both of us in agreement that what happened Friday night didn’t ever need to be brought up again.

  In a way it was a good thing I’d thought he was married, because it prevented me from telling Lilah about sleeping with him. Normally I told her everything, but I’d been feeling way too guilty to confess. So nobody in the world knew but us and that was just great!

  A smile spread across my face while Cameron continued to stare at me with his usual lack of expression. “Great, so we’re good?”

  “Never better,” he replied, frowning in a way that made me suspect he found my smile confusing. Cameron Grant simply didn’t understand what it was like to care what other people thought. It was evident from our years working together that he gave zero shits about the opinions of others. It must’ve been nice. I, however, was perpetually imprisoned by the need for my peers to think well of me. It was just who I was and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to change that. Therefore, ensuring his silence on this particular matter did wonders for my peace of mind.

  I was still smiling when I arrived at my desk. Everything was right in my little world again as I dove straight into work and endeavoured to leave my worries about Cameron behind.

  ***

  The next day, Lilah called in sick. She’d come down with the flu and was confined to her bed. I sent her a text commiserating and wishing her a quick recovery. Then I hopped online and ordered several portions of chicken noodle soup to be delivered to her flat. I’d just completed the order when I felt a presence behind me.

  Cameron stood less than a foot away from my desk, arms folded, expression serious.

  I arched an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  “You’re with me today,” he said.

  My chest fluttered. “I am?”

  “Lilah’s out sick. We planned to speak with some of the people Moretti claims his fake fiancée Claire had interactions with. Since you’ve been fully briefed on the case, you’re the best candidate to help.” He didn’t sound very happy about that.

  “Right. Yes, of course.”

  I gathered my things, fumbling a few times. Cameron looked almost pained as he watched me drop and retrieve several items. It wasn’t my fault though. Like I said, his presence made me, and many others in the office, nervous.

  “Ready?” he asked, eyebrows raised as I finally got everything into my handbag.

  “Yes, lead the way.”

  Outside, I offered to drive us in my Fiat 500, but his only response was, “I’d rather not.”

  “What’s wrong with my car?” I asked as I strapped myself into the passenger seat of his very sensible black Volkswagen.

  He let out a sigh. “You want the truth?”

  “Always.”

  “Your car is ridiculous.”

  I gaped at him. “It is not. It’s adorable.”

  “It’s a bubble on wheels. I shudder to think of the damage if you ever got into an accident.”

  “It’s compact and environmentally friendly. Though I guess people who purchase Volkswagens don’t care much about the environment,” I responded archly.

  Cameron gave a low chuckle. “Are you referencing the emissions scandal of 2015?”

  “I am.”

  Another chuckle from him.

  I suspected few people made Cameron Grant laugh and I quite enjoyed amusing him. “I don’t care what you think. I like my car. When I look at it, I feel happy. It’s cute and delightful.”

  Cameron looked like he was deliberating on how to reply. Finally, he said, “A little like you, then.”

  It took me a second to realise he was complimenting me and a warmth spread across my cheeks. “Well, they do say people pick dogs that look like them. Maybe that’s also true of cars.”