Dirty Little Secrets: A tempting friends to lovers romance

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher

For Alistair because you never seem to mind that I can be a lot like hard work.

And for my Dad because you have taught me so much about integrity.

A special thanks to Shelby Alberts for answering all my legal questions. The accused of Placer County are lucky to have such a brilliant and tenacious person on their side.

Chapter One (#u9b114370-70a0-507a-9c8b-8a829333ea81)

Megan McCoy threw her briefcase down on the marble floor of her entryway and swore under her breath as the leather case opened and spilled files across the black and white tiles.

She scrunched her eyes together and pretended not to see the paper avalanche covering her entryway. “Screw it.” She was too tired and annoyed to deal with the mess now. She needed food and drink and lots of it.

She slid out of the torture devices kids these days were calling shoes and went in search of her husband. “Ben, where are you?” She made a beeline for the kitchen. “Why do I not smell roast beef?” she demanded of no one in particular. She opened the oven only to find it empty and cold. “For goodness sake.” That was her night ruined. Thursday was roast beef night; she adhered to a positively virtuous diet six days a week, but Thursdays were for red meat and carbohydrates.

From the living room she heard the whining strings of violins followed by the rich alto of Etta James. “Damn it.” Ben was listening to ‘At Last’ again, his break-up song, his life-is-not-worth-living-I-will-never-find-love song. And she had to deal with it without roast beef. The prospect of dinner was the only thing that had got her through her day in court. Beef and roast potatoes covered in artery-clogging gravy were all that had kept her from climbing into the witness box and punching the defendant in his tattooed throat.

She took a deep breath and fought the urge to call for a pizza before she went in to comfort Ben; it was a close call but her conscience beat her stomach. She opened the pocket doors to the study. Ben was holding a bottle of red wine in one hand and a full glass in the other as he stared into the open flames of the fire.

“Bad day?” Megan asked. She took the bottle off him and took a swig from his glass. If she didn’t have the dinner she wanted, she was definitely going to fill her belly with the drink she wanted.

“He doesn’t want to be…friends any more,” Ben said. He hung his head in his hands. His shoulders rose and fell and he silently wept.

Instantly her annoyance melted away. She climbed into his lap and wrapped her arms around her husband of five years and best friend of nearly fourteen. He was so different to the man he presented to the world. No one outside their brick house in Georgetown ever got to see this Ben McCoy. To the world, Ben was as in control as any man could hope to be. Some would even say he was vicious and cut-throat, and they would not be wrong; his politics certainly were, but one did not become the frontrunner for Vice-Presidential pick without a certain hardness.

That was public Ben, but private Ben was something entirely different, something entirely hers.

“Oh Ben, I’m sorry. I know how much his…friendship meant to you.” Megan tried to console him but it was hard to know where to start. It was an unwritten rule that they never acknowledged the nature of the two men’s friendship. And they never discussed Ben’s sexuality. It was enough that they both knew.

Ben shook his head. “No, not this time. He wants us to be open. Can you imagine? He wants me to throw away my entire career.” His voice cracked under the strain.

Megan kissed him gently on the cheek. No, she could not imagine it. For other men she could, but not for Ben. His sole focus since he was a child had been the White House. And, rightly or wrongly, be believed he could not aspire to it as an openly gay man. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too. He means a lot to me.” Ben wiped his face as tears welled up in the corners of his brown eyes.

“I know. But you always have me. I’m not going anywhere. Even if you did forget to put on dinner and completely ruined roast beef Thursday.” She took another swig from the bottle. The wine wasn’t dulling the hunger any but it was making her more able to tolerate it with a smile.

“I’m sorry. I forgot to text you. I got a message from James Emerson. He wants to do a piece on us. Some shit about the all-American family. Little does he know.” Ben laughed bitterly.

Megan shook her head. She recognised the name but could not place the context. As a politician’s wife, she met hundreds of people every year. “Who’s that again?”

“James Emerson – the owner of Global Media Network. You know the one. The Australian guy you said looks like an underwear model. Has a new blonde on his arm at every event.”

Megan rolled her eyes. “Oh him? I hate him.”

“How can you hate him? You don’t even know him.”

“He is a journalist, what else do I need to know? He belongs in prison with his father. His company should have been dismantled and sold off into thousands of tiny pieces. He has far too much power.” Just the idea of him made her skin crawl. The motto for one of his networks was “always unbiased”. Bullshit was what it was. His father had bankrolled politics for a quarter of a century. There was nothing unbiased about him or his company.

“Are you OK? I haven’t seen you this angry in a long time.”

She took another long sip. “I’m fine.”

“Fine huh? That good?”

Megan shrugged her shoulders. “I am hungry. I am working on the case from hell and then you mentioned a journalist. You know I hate them.”

“Some people hate lawyers,” he reminded her.

“Those would be people that have never needed them,” she retorted. She slid off his lap and grabbed a crystal goblet from the sideboard and poured herself a proper glass of wine.

“People need journalists too.”

“Oh shut up. Don’t argue the opposite side with me, just to make a point.” She wagged her finger at him.

“I would never do that.”

“Bullshit, you live to do that.”

“You are hungry. You only swear when you’re hungry or pissed.”

“I’m both. Your lucky day.” As if on cue, her stomach growled. “I’m going to call for a pizza. If you’re nice I will share.”

“No carbs for me.”

“Stop being a stereotype and have dinner,” she said. Megan reached for the phone and began to dial. She didn’t want to think what it said for her culinary skills that she had memorised the numbers for at least a dozen take-out places.

“I have a favour to ask.”

“Yes I will get your half without cheese.”

“No not that, but thanks. I need you to do the Emerson interview on your own.”

Megan’s head snapped up. She put the phone down before the call went through. “No. I am starving. I will probably end up stabbing him in the throat with a ballpoint pen. That is the kind of day I’ve had.”

“Just smile and play nice. He’ll just want to talk about how my career has impacted your life.”

“No,” she said again. She had reached her threshold for stupid men today.

“Please, Megan. I can’t face an interview tonight.” Ben put his arms around her and hugged her to his chest. “I need you, Megs. Do this one for me.” His voice faltered.