Page 3 of Done Dirty

Paige waved and started giggling and Becca joined her as they stumbled toward the elevator.

“In and out,” Becca said, pressing the button more times than was necessary. She hiccupped again. “We get your things, we leave. No detours. Except the bathroom. I’ve gotta pee.”

“I make no promises.” The doors opened and Paige caught her reflection in the mirrored wall, mimosa flushed and pleased with herself. They stepped inside and the doors closed behind them.

“This is very Ocean’s Eleven of us.”

“It is not.” Becca giggled despite herself. “Those guys had a plan. And Brad Pitt. We just have an empty Stanley cup and the pepper spray in my purse.” She paused and her nose scrunched in confusion. “I actually think I left my purse in the car.”

“So we have nothing,” Paige said.

“Nope.” Becca giggled again. “This is not a good plan.”

“It’s not NOT a good plan,” Paige said, waving a hand.

“And if he comes back early—” Becca said.

“He won’t.”

“But if he does he might shoot us, and then we’ll be on the news.”

“He doesn’t have a gun.” She paused for a second. “At least I don’t think. Besides, he’s not cancelling his classes. It’s probably the longest relationship he’s ever had.” The elevator was slow, and they watched the old-fashioned dial crawl toward four. “And even if he does come back early, I have every right to be here. I paid July’s rent.”

“You have terrible taste in men,” Becca said. “But I love you anyway.”

Then the elevator dinged, and the laugh died in her chest as fast as it had come, the vodka buzz suddenly not enough to cover the nerves beneath it. The hallway on the fourth floor was quiet. She wiped her damp palms on her yoga pants.

“Okay,” she said, and made herself walk toward the door. The key was still on her key ring, and she slipped it into the lock. She’d pictured this moment more than once—Wade’s face when he came home to find her things gone, his stupid organizational systems all thrown into chaos.

The lock gave a soft click and she pushed open the door.

Inside, the condo was still. She’d come home to this condo for the last four months and she’d never felt like an intruder until now. Something was off. Wade was meticulous about his space. Everything in its place, surfaces clean, nothing left out or forgotten. It was the thing she’d found so attractive about him at first—the precision, the sense that he paid attention to everything, including her. She understood now that the attention had never really been about her at all.

She’d started lining her shoes in the closet the way he liked them, moving her bag to the hook he’d designated for it, apologizing when she left a mug in the sink too long or forgot to straighten the dish towel. She hadn’t noticed how much of herself she’d folded away just to fit.

Paige shook the thought off and made herself step farther inside.

The kitchen light was on. She frowned. Wade was a stickler about turning lights off when you left the room. But the thought dissipated with Becca’s sharp gasp.

“Wow,” Becca said. “No wonder he wanted you to move out.”

Paige saw what Becca was talking about. A pair of black lace panties lay slightly under the couch.

Two days. He hadn’t even waited two days.

She’d suspected there’d been other women, but she’d told herself she was just paranoid. That he wouldn’t have made the commitment of having her move in if he wasn’t serious. When would he have the time? He was always working, and when he wasn’t they were together. Unless she was working.

Dread crawled along her spine and landed somewhere in the pit of her stomach.

That was the thing she was going to have to live with—she’d known and she’d talked herself out of knowing, over and over, for months. The way he’d kept his phone facedown so she couldn’t see texts. The late nights he said were client appointments. After all, isn’t that how they’d met? She’d taken his group classes for months, but he’d seduced her after their first private session right here in this room. She’d thought she’d been special.

“Paige,” Becca said, quietly. “Are you okay?”

“You think she’s still in there?” Paige’s voice came out flat, almost mechanical, like the question belonged to someone else entirely.

“They could both be in there.”

“Not Wade,” she said. “Nothing could make him miss one of his classes. That studio is his baby. He’s obsessed.”