The drive back to Seattle the following afternoon was quiet. Pascal held her hand the entire way, his thumb drawing slow, reassuring circles over her knuckles. To anyone else, it would have looked like the perfect picture of domestic bliss.
But Rebecca’s mind was whirring with the quiet, lethal efficiency of a woman going to war.
He is lying to me, her instincts chanted with every rotation of the tires against the asphalt. Find the c***k. Find the proof.
Her opportunity arrived on Tuesday morning. Pascal had a non-negotiable video conference with a European client that he couldn't cancel. He kissed her forehead, apologizing profusely, and promised he would only be locked in his study for an hour.
"Take your time," she smiled, pouring herself a cup of the coffee he had brewed for her. "
