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  Scribbling a couple of lines on a piece of hotel notepaper, he shoved that and his business card under her door before he gave himself time to debate the wisdom of giving his name, his company, and his work number to a stranger he’d gotten kinky with. He was the picture of conservative, the suit, the tie, the dress shirt, serious when required, responsible, all that. He’d be the executive voted least likely to pick up a woman at a hotel bar while away on a business trip. It was also true that while he’d experimented a bit after his divorce, his sex life prior to that had been pretty vanilla.

  Yet he’d knocked on a woman’s door and asked to watch her masturbate.

  She’d made him feel completely alive for the first time in years. And he wanted to feel it again. The thought of acting out a few of his fantasies with her was titillating. No, too mild a word. The possibilities were downright exhilarating.

  Now he just had to hope she didn’t tear up the card.

  3

  SHE should have torn up the card. Oh my Lord. Her friends would host an intervention if they knew. He could have been a serial killer. Not that he looked like any serial killer she’d ever seen on TV, and she didn’t believe it when the neighbors all said, “But he was such a nice guy.” A serial killer had to look like a serial killer.

  Still, this morning Trinity had slipped the card into her purse instead of throwing it out, and she’d thought about him all day. Scott Sinclair. He worked at some Silicon Valley firm. Chief financial officer. He’d folded a note around the card. “Back from a trip tomorrow, Tuesday. Call me. Since you’ll go through our phone system, there’s no caller ID so you have no worries about me tracking the number back.”

  Would a serial killer bother to write a note like that? She knew his name, not the other way around. She could meet him, then disappear again, and he’d never know who she was.

  It had such delicious possibilities.

  Total control.

  Lord, that thought felt good after the morning she’d had. Returning to the condo, she found Harper had been and gone, taking one suitcase. She’d promptly had the locks changed, then called the security company and altered the alarm code. Thankfully her father hadn’t let her put Harper on the account. His reasoning: When Harper pays back the down payment, we’ll put him on the paperwork . Until then, the condo would stay in her father’s name. Thank God. Otherwise, Harper could have claimed half ownership. The last thing she’d done was to leave a note for Edith, her twice-weekly housekeeper, to wash all the sheets, towels, and bath mats. She didn’t want a trace of Harper left.

  Trinity heaved a great sigh.

  Her father’s secretary Verna Underwood misinterpreted the sound. “He’ll be done in a minute.”

  “That’s all right. I’ll wait.” What could he be talking about that he didn’t want her to overhear?

  Seated in one of the armchairs, Trinity sifted through the magazines, but neither Money nor Popular Mechanics grabbed her interest. She sometimes slipped in through Daddy’s second office doorway, which exited directly onto the executive row hallway at Green Industries. This morning, however, that door had been locked, a fact which Verna explained away as a “very important private conference call.”

  So here she was in the outer office with too much time to think about how she’d break the news. She hated to hurt Daddy or worry him. Since her mother died, she’d tried to spare him as much trauma as possible. She must have had a momentary brain malfunction marrying Harper the way she did. How could she have done that without a thought for how badly her father would feel? It was an unconscionable act. Another sigh puffed out.

  “You all right, hon?”

  Verna had been around forever, though she didn’t look older than fifty-five. Her hair had long since turned from black to blue gray, and her skirts had inched down from above the knee to below. She was now the closest thing Trinity had to a mother.

  Still, she couldn’t say to Verna, “Yesterday, I caught my husband screwing another woman in our shower, I masturbated for a total stranger last night, and today I’m filing for divorce.”

  The thought did not make her feel sick or scared. It did not. She’d made up her mind. As if her subconscious had made plans in her sleep, she’d woken this morning knowing that’s what she’d do.

  She shuddered with the thought of how upset Daddy would be. Still, she smiled for Verna, though it felt a little brittle. “I’m fine. Honestly. But thanks for asking.”

  Verna gave her a look that said she didn’t believe a word, then her phone beeped. “Oh, there he is. You can go in.”

  When Trinity walked through the door, her father was shoving a file folder in his middle drawer.

  “Hey, Daddy.” She rounded the desk and kissed his cheek.

  He worried her. As had happened while her mother was ill, he’d lost weight in the last few months since the merger with Castle Heavy Mining. Until last year, Green Industries had been an independent supplier of Castle. Her father was on Castle’s board, and he still ran Green as a subsidiary, but . . . he’d changed. The weight loss wasn’t bad on its own, but instead of looking healthier and more fit, he appeared haggard and gaunt. He wouldn’t give up his cigars, either, as the ubiquitous ashes on his blotter attested. His favorite saying was, “I’m sixty-eight and too old to give up the one last thing I enjoy in life.”

  Now Trinity had to add to his burden.

  “To what do I owe the honor of your visit, sweetie?”

  Brushing aside ashes, she perched on the edge of his desk. There was no appropriate lead-in. “I’m getting a divorce.”

  He sat back in his leather chair. He’d had that chair so long that his bottom left a permanent imprint. Everything else in the office was relatively new, and definitely luxurious, but he wouldn’t give up his favorite chair. Now, he sank into the soft leather, closed his eyes, and sighed.

  “Praise the Lord,” he murmured, though he’d never been a religious man.

  Trinity flopped down in the chair opposite his massive desk. Thank God he wasn’t upset. “Didn’t you like Harper?”

  Her father leaned forward once again, both elbows on the desk. “No man is good enough for my little girl.” He reached into his middle drawer and drew out the folder she’d seen him stash when she walked in. “But Harper Harrington the Third”—he gave the title a derisive slur—“wasn’t worthy of washing the underside of your Mustang.”

  He opened the folder, and Trinity got a bad feeling. She noticed he hadn’t asked why she was divorcing Harper. He didn’t care. Or maybe he already knew why. “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Background check.”

  Her mouth was suddenly dry and swallowing hurt. “When did you do that?”

  “I had it done when you came back from Tahoe.” He tapped the top page in the file. “I have the private investigator update me monthly on Harper’s activities.”

  “You were talking to your investigator, weren’t you?” That supposed conference call.

  He nodded.

  Trinity stared at him. Her heart beat faster, and the blood rushed in her ears, the sound like a million ants going to town on a picnic table. Her breath felt harsh, like the first time she’d smoked a cigarette when she was thirteen and knew she was never going to smoke another.

  She remembered a time with Faith when she’d claimed Daddy could do a background check on Harper if she decided to marry him. She’d never given her father the chance, and now she didn’t want to know what was in the report. She’d already seen enough.

  Her father didn’t let her say no. “He’s a liar and possibly an embezzler. ” His lip curled as he spoke. “That so-called business deal is a fabrication, and the last deal he was involved with, a quarter of a million dollars disappeared. They couldn’t prove how he stole it, but”—Daddy shrugged—“you’re well rid of him. I’m so glad you’ve seen the light.”

  Thank God he didn’t ask how she’d come to see the light on her own. What he’d revealed about Harper was humiliation enough. I
t was obvious she’d been married for her money.

  She toyed with a tiny prick in the leather arm of her chair. “Why didn’t you tell me this right after I married him?”

  “You wouldn’t have believed me.”

  “I might have.”

  “Then you’d have hated me for telling you. And I’d already lost Lance.”

  Lance. Her brother. Another reason Trinity hated to add to her father’s burdens right now. Lance had never forgiven Daddy for “selling out” to Castle. Daddy had never forgiven Lance for his lies. There was more to the story, a lot more, but Trinity and her father never talked about it. She’d learned the details from Faith. She hated the rift between them, hated not knowing how to fix it, but Lance had broken Daddy’s heart, and her father had gone so far as to forbid Trinity to speak her brother’s name in front of him. Now, it seemed, Daddy had feared she’d break his heart if he’d told her the truth about Harper.

  Still. “I had a right to know.”

  He stroked his double chin. He’d lost so much weight that the flesh hung loosely. “Maybe. Then again, just because he’d screwed up in the past, didn’t mean he’d make you a bad husband. I didn’t think it fair to judge the boy before giving him a chance.” He ran a fingernail along the edge of the blue manila.

  Trinity wondered why he hadn’t given Lance the same kind of second chance, though she didn’t dare ask the question. “But you kept on checking up on Harper.”

  “I wanted to make sure you were adequately protected.” Daddy shrugged tired shoulders. “Just in case.”

  “That’s why you put the condo in your name.”

  "Yes.”

  It wasn’t only Harper. Daddy didn’t trust her, either. She had to grant he was right. She’d demonstrated appallingly poor judgment. And she felt like a gullible fool. Harper had probably seen her as a ditzy blond heiress he could bamboozle, and he’d been right. She remembered the first day she’d met him at her salon. She’d been having her nails done, and he’d claimed he’d gotten the time of his appointment mixed up with hers.

  She should have known any man having his nails done in the middle of the day was suspect.

  Her father pushed the folder halfway across the desk. “Do you want to read it?”

  Would it mention Harper’s cheating? She didn’t want to know if last night was the first time or if it had been going on their entire marriage. All those months ago, Faith had been right when she claimed she didn’t want to know if Connor was cheating on her. She wanted to believe in him. She’d made the right choice.

  Trinity would have chosen the same. If her father had given her the folder six months ago, she wouldn’t have believed. She might even have resented Daddy. She certainly would have given Harper a chance to prove the background check wrong.

  But there were no second chances now. Her husband had brought that woman into their home. He’d made love to her in their shower. He’d called her baby.

  “I’ll make sure he doesn’t get one thin dime, sweetie.”

  Not even a thick one. “Thank you, Daddy.”

  She was free. Her marriage could be swept under the rug as if it had never happened. As if she’d never made a bad choice. She could go back to being . . . what, Daddy’s little girl?

  “Don’t think about him another second. He isn’t worth it.”

  No. He wasn’t. But how much was she worth now?

  Will the real Trinity Green please stand up?

  She didn’t know who she was anymore. She didn’t know what to do with herself. She certainly couldn’t go back to her lackadaisical debutante days.

  She thought of Scott Sinclair’s card still in her purse. He wasn’t an answer, either.

  She needed to do something big. She needed purpose.

  “Daddy, have you got a job opening I can fill?”

  “SO I want to say I’m sorry for running out early from your baby shower, but my headache is totally gone. Completely.”

  At least it would be as soon as Trinity had the divorce papers. Daddy’s lawyer had started drawing them up right after she talked to her father this afternoon. It did have the flavor of her being a little girl who needed to be taken care of instead of a grown woman who could take care of herself. But Daddy had the contacts. It made sense to let his people handle it. This would be the last time, though. Starting next Monday, a week away, she’d have a job. She’d do everything for herself. She’d make her father proud of her.

  “Don’t be silly, Trin.” Faith closed the blinds over her big kitchen window, shutting out the late-January night, then reached for the boiling kettle. “You don’t need to apologize for having a headache.” She poured three cups of tea. “Josie, I forget, do you like sugar and milk?”

  Josie was Faith’s cousin, second or third or something. A year or so younger than Faith, they’d never been close until she got married. They were as different as night and day, too. Faith was on the short side with gorgeous hair the perfect shade of red, while Josie was at least as tall as Trinity, with dark brown hair cut fairly short, though in the last couple of months she’d been letting it grow a bit. Faith had been Trinity’s best friend almost their whole lives, most especially since they were in the seventh grade. Josie was a new friend, but fast becoming a close one. She was funny and cool and easy to be around. She never got worked up, or at least it took a lot to get her miffed. Being around Faith and Josie was . . . relaxing. Although today, with what Trinity had to reveal, it might not be so restful.

  “Can I have a soda?” Josie made a face. “You know, I never told you I hate tea.”

  “Gosh, I have water, milk, or juice. That’s it.” Faith had stopped drinking soda almost right after she got pregnant. She didn’t want the baby hooked on sugar in the womb.

  Josie chose milk, and they all settled around Faith’s kitchen table. Three months ago Faith and Connor had moved into the cutest house in a nice suburb not too far from the private school they’d already picked out. The large kitchen was attached to a great room in an L-shape, and beyond the back patio was a good-sized yard with grass, a sandbox, and a swing set. Four bedrooms for more children, too. Faith wanted a big family. And Connor, well, talk about a proud papa, Connor Kingston took the prize. Funny, Trinity never would have thought it of him.

  Speaking of which. “Where’s Connor anyway?”

  Faith stirred her tea and got that dreamy, goofy smile she always had for the man. “He’s working late.”

  Trinity’s heart lurched. Faith had no doubt her husband was working late rather than playing hanky-panky. Trinity didn’t doubt it, either. When they’d first gotten married, Trinity had some misgivings, but she’d learned pretty quickly that Connor wasn’t a cheat and liar.

  Connor was nothing like Harper Harrington the Third. The third what, she wondered. The third asshole in his family? Or was it the terrible triad—cheat, liar, and embezzler? God.

  “I’m getting a divorce.”

  Faith gagged on her cookie, and Josie almost snorted her milk out her nose.

  “Oh man.” Josie made another face, this one suggesting disgust. “Men are dickheads. You’re better off without him.”

  Had Josie had a bad experience, or was she commiserating? Whatever the reason, Trinity appreciated the support.

  “Why?” Faith asked.

  Trinity felt a knife right through her chest. “He cheated.”