Liv Constantine - The Last Mrs. Parrish

“I need to use the restroom,” Amber said as she hurried past her. She went in and slammed the door, her back against it. Was he getting tired of her already? Daphne’s smug expression infuriated her. It began as a tingling in her fingers, and then she was digging her fingernails into her hands to stop from screaming. She was a furnace, ready to explode, adrenaline pumping through her so fast that she couldn’t catch her breath. She wanted to break something. Her eyes went to the delicate green glass turtle on the shelf in front of her. She picked it up and threw it on the floor and stomped on it with both feet, grinding the pieces into the carpet. She hoped Daphne cut her feet on them. She flung the door open and headed back to the sunroom. This is what happened when he got out of her sight for too long. She would have to do something about it, and fast.

Daphne patted the seat next to her when Amber walked in. “So, spill. How’s it going with Gregg?”

As far as Gregg was concerned, she saw him just enough to keep Daphne’s suspicions at bay. She’d go to dinner with him, usually on a Friday or Saturday night, or she’d play the occasional tennis game at the club with him. He believed her story that she needed more time to get over the abusive ex-boyfriend she’d invented — the one that no one else but he “knew” about.

“He’s very sweet and attentive. I don’t see him as much as I’d like because of work.” She put her hand up. “Not that I’m complaining. I appreciate my job, believe me.”

Daphne smiled. “I know that. Don’t worry. The boss’s wife won’t say anything.”

Amber was inwardly seething. “I don’t think of you as the boss’s wife.”

Daphne raised an eyebrow.

Amber reached out and squeezed her hand. “What I mean is, I think of you as my best friend. If I do ever get married, I’d want you to be my matron of honor.”

“Aw. You’re sweet. I’m probably a little old for that, though?”

Amber shook her head. “Of course not. Forty isn’t old.”

“Excuse me! I’m thirty-eight. Don’t push me over the hill yet.”

She knew exactly how old Daphne was. But really, thirty-eight, forty — what did it matter? Amber was twenty-six. There was no competing with that. “Sorry, Daph. I’m awful with ages. You look young, anyway.”

“Oh, before I forget, I’ve got some clothes I’m getting rid of but thought I’d see if you want any of them first,” Daphne said.

Amber didn’t need her castoffs. She had a whole new wardrobe of her own, thanks to Jackson. But she couldn’t show her hand — not yet.

“That’s so nice. I’d love to look at them. Why don’t you want them anymore? Do they not fit?” She couldn’t resist.

The color rose in Daphne’s cheeks. “Excuse me?”

Amber looked at the floor. How was she going to get out of this one? Before she could say anything else, Daphne spoke again.

“I have gained weight. I can’t seem to stop snacking. I eat when I’m stressed, and I’m worried about Jackson. He’s acting strange, and I don’t understand it.” She sighed loudly.

“Oh, Daph. I wasn’t sure if I should tell you, but he has been spending lots of time with one of his vice presidents. She’s a new hire, and her name is Bree. I don’t know if anything’s going on, but they’ve been taking some awfully long lunches…” Bree was a knockout who had started there a few weeks ago. Amber had actually been wary of her and ready to do some sabotage until she found out Bree was a lesbian. But Daphne didn’t know that. Bree and Jackson had been working a lot together, but it was perfectly innocent — and now Daphne would start nagging him about her and drive him right back into Amber’s arms.

Daphne’s hand flew to her mouth. “I know who you mean. She’s gorgeous.”

Amber bit her lip. “I know. She’s a real snake too. I’ve seen the way she looks at him. She’s always putting a hand on his arm or crossing her legs and wearing short skirts. She’s rude to me too, suddenly going straight to Jackson to make an appointment like she has special access or something.”

“What should I do?”

Amber raised her brows. “I know what I’d do if it were me.”

“What?”

“I’d tell him to get rid of her.”

Daphne shook her head. “I can’t do that. It’s his business. He’ll think I’m crazy.”

Amber pretended to think. “I know. Go talk to her.”

“I can’t do that!”

“Sure you can. You come to the office and very quietly tell her that you’re on to her, and if she values her job she’d better leave your husband alone.”

“You really think so?”

“Do you want to lose him?”

“Of course not.”

“Then, yes, get your tail in there and show her who’s really boss. I’ll make sure to keep him occupied while you do, so he doesn’t find out.”

Daphne took a deep breath. “Maybe you’re right.”

Amber smiled. It was perfect — Daphne would embarrass him at his office, which would make him livid. “I’ll be behind you all the way.”

It was becoming more difficult to keep Gregg out of her bed. Not that she would have minded taking him for a spin — he was a decent enough kisser, and she could tell he was more than willing to please her. But she couldn’t risk it. When she got pregnant, it would be with Jackson’s kid, not Gregg’s. Besides, as soon as her position with Jackson was assured, she’d be kicking Gregg to the curb. All she had to do until then was what she’d learned best in high school. Pushing herself up off her knees, she brushed his stomach with her lips, then kissed him on the lips before going into the bathroom to wash her mouth out. He was still standing there, a dazed look on his face, pants around his ankles.

He gave her a sheepish look and pulled his trousers up. “Sorry. You’re really out of this world, baby.” He pulled her to him, and she had to resist the urge to squirm out of his arms. “When are you going to be ready to make love? I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

“I know, me too. My doctor said I need to wait another six weeks. Then everything will be healed up. It’s killing me too.” He was getting impatient, and she’d had to make up a new excuse. She told a lame story about having some cysts removed that necessitated holding off on intercourse. When she’d started to get graphic, he’d put his hands up and told her to stop, that he didn’t need to know the details.

“Better get dressed, we’ll be late for the play if we don’t start dinner soon,” she said sweetly. Snap out of it , she wanted to say. They had come into New York to see Fiddler on the Roof and were spending the night at his parents’ apartment across from Central Park. Amber had wanted to see Book of Mormon , but when she’d mentioned it, Gregg had said he wasn’t interested in seeing a religious play.

She’d stupidly agreed to prepare dinner for them before the show — packaged grilled chicken over minute rice and a green salad. Now she was rummaging through cabinets for pots, bowls, and utensils when she felt Gregg bump into her from behind. She turned around and stared at him.

“Oh, sorry,” he said. “I was trying to help you find things.”

“I’ve found everything I need,” she answered curtly.

As Amber turned on the faucet to fill the pot, Gregg’s arm reached out in front of her.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m trying to help you. I was going to take the pot from you and put it on the stove.”

“I think I can handle that,” she said, walking to the stove, but Gregg ran ahead of her to turn the burner on, and they collided. The pot bobbled in Amber’s hand, and water flew everywhere, soaking the front of Amber’s dress.