Clara screams. My fiancé swears.
“Maggie! Shit, oh shit.” Jeff disentangles himself from Clara’s dress, yanking down the hem. They were full-onfucking.
So much for that low libido he’s been struggling with.
I open and close my mouth like a fish. But I don’t have any words. None except “Nice dress.”
Nice dress?
It is a nice dress. And I’m an idiot. A fool.
I turn on my heel and run.
My fiancé’s voice calls after me. “Don’t tell anyone, Maggie. Please! You know I’ll be ruined!”
He will be ruined if this gets out. I cling to that little bit of power I have as I pump my legs, my whole world crumbling.
Because my fiancé’s family is rich and powerful, his father a developer with ties to the community.
But not nearly as many as Jeff, the local pastor.
Chapter Two
Irun down the hallway, Jeff calling after me.
He sees his reputation in shambles. I see nothing except the two of them, tangled up in each other. And I can’t help the bizarre thought that somehow, I knew.
He always talked about how Clara, with her cool, wild hair and tattoos, was someone he couldn’t tell his parishioners about, but she knew exactly how to do his hair just right.
She’s not anywhere near my type, Maggie. My type is you.
“Bastard!” I scream.
It’s the last word I cry before I smash through the door and back into that rose garden.
I spin around. Where do I go?
The gardener appears in the doorway I just came through. He fills it.
Then Jeff is behind him, yelling. Clara’s nowhere to be seen, of course.
Jeff tries to shove past the big man in his way.
The man doesn’t let him. It’s like he barely notices Jeff’s there.
All his attention is on me. He searches my face, as if asking me what to do. I get the strangest feeling that the man would turn around and clock Jeff if I told him to.
I pause. Then I stalk back to the door. “Don’t come out, Jeff. You stay inside and think about what you did.”
Okay, so my confrontational skills are normally limited to dealing with eight-year-olds drawing mustaches in picture books.
So I tag on “youfuck.”
Well, that felt good.
“Maggie, come on, there’s no need for profanity,” Jeff says. “Let’s talk about this.” He’s still trying to get past the giant in the doorway, which is also very satisfying.
“Oh, I disagree,” I say. “I believe this is the perfect time for profanity.”
