“It’s pouring.”
“I drove through the same rain to pick you up.”
His jaw tightened. A black sedan honked behind us. Rain slid down the collar of my silk blouse, cold against my skin.
Cecilia made a small trembling noise.
“I can sit in the back, Mr. Sterling,” she whispered. “I don’t want to cause trouble.”
David looked at her with an expression I had not received in years. Gentle. Protective. Almost affectionate. Then his eyes moved back to me and the warmth vanished.“Catherine is just being sensitive,” he said.
Sensitive. He knew exactly how to use that word. Sensitive meant unreasonable. Sensitive meant jealous. Sensitive meant a woman whose pain could be safely ignored because acknowledging it would inconvenience a man.
“I am your wife,” I said, measuring each word. “You are asking me to sit in the back of my own car so your secretary can sit beside you.”
David’s expression hardened. “And I’m asking you to show basic compassion to a young woman who feels ill. Are you honestly threatened by an employee?”Cecilia lowered her head. Her shoulders trembled. I assumed at first that she was upset.
Then I saw it.
