Chapter 4

The next day, Harvey came over for dinner as promised. I'd prepared a whole table full of dishes. When he arrived, I was still in the kitchen wearing an apron, battling with the spatula. A fine sheen of sweat covered my fair skin. I'd smudged a bit of flour on my cheek, just enough to look charmingly helpless without ruining my makeup. More importantly, I made sure the bandaid on my finger was visible. Sure enough, he came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. He took hold of my injured finger and cradled it in his palm, gently blowing on it. "Did you hurt yourself cooking? You need to be more careful." I looked up at him, eyes soft and pitiful. "I just wanted to make you a home-cooked meal." He glanced at the trash can where I hadn't yet thrown away the takeout containers, but he was still willing to play along. "As long as you made it, I love it." The performance didn't need to be perfect. Letting a few cracks show and letting him know I was willing to put in effort to please him was part of the charm. Just as he went to the bathroom, his phone buzzed on the dining table. The name "Jane" on the screen was like forbidden fruit, tempting me to open it. I quickly answered. "Harvey, are you really not going to make this up to me?" Her voice was half coy, half accusatory. "Ms. Graham, he's busy," I said. "Is there something I can pass along?" She froze, then her tone turned vicious, like she was forcing each word through clenched teeth. "Stella Wynn, you bitch." I hung up, and Harvey came out of the bathroom. "Did my phone ring?" I met his eyes without flinching. "No, you must've imagined it." Harvey said nothing. He just looked at me, those hawk-like eyes boring into me as if trying to see straight through. But in the end, all he said was, "Let's eat."