Page 21 of The Truth of Our Secrets

She happily agrees. Our bodies crave each other.

Chapter nine

Emmet

Itext Madyson a GIF as I get out of work. She mentioned Jayce is out of town and I’m half hoping she’ll want to meet me somewhere. I might be an asshole for pursuing a friendship with a married woman.

She was my teacher first and then she became a mentor and a friend, but that was before meeting Jayce. We weren’t romantic, so I’m only pursuing what we had before Jayce forced her out of my life.

It’s not spite. She’s the only person who tried to save me from my situation. And she had her own issues, which I helped with.

Men and women can be friends without a sexual relationship. Alec has tons of women friends, including Madyson. Of course, he’s gay and I can’t use him to justify my actions.

Me subjecting myself to further rejection. Idiot.

If Madyson wants me in her bed, I would one hundred percent agree. Jayce or no Jayce. That thought shouldn’t make my dick hard.

She sends me a gif of a woman with her eyes rolling back and falling out of the picture. That’s not good, so I text her back.

Me: What’s up

Madyson: Bad day

Me: ???

She doesn’t text back, which makes me nervous. Paranoid and worried that Jayce isn’t around and she’s having a bad day. I’m probably being ridiculous. I know I’m being ridiculous, but I dial her number instead of heading up to my room above Unframed Art.

She picks up after four rings and my heart lurches.

“Are you okay? What happened?” I try to keep all the worst-case scenarios out of my head.

“Emmet,” she breathes, “don’t worry, I’m fine. Just annoyed.” A frustrated growl reverberates over the phone.

“So talk to me.” Leaning against the side of the building in the alley, I prepare to listen.

“My assistant was supposed to close the gallery but had a family emergency. The artist scheduled with her has the flu, so he called in sick.” Her tone lacks her usual sympathy.

“Your assistant? Are you the manager?” She showed me the gallery but didn’t give me details.

She blows out a breath. “I own the gallery.”

The statement hangs in the air. I’m hurt she didn’t tell me sooner, but I didn’t tell her where I work. She just showed up. So I guess we’re even.

I focus on what she said about her assistant.

“There’s more to the story about your assistant.” I walk to the subway stop.

“I’m not accusing my assistant of lying,” she hesitates.

“But…” I encourage.

“She said her grandmother’s in the hospital but strangely, in two years, she’s had three grandmothers die. There are blendedfamilies and different circumstances…” She doesn’t finish her train of thought.

“So she lied.”

“Her purse was wide open in the breakroom, and she had a dress and a makeup bag sitting on top. I figured she was going out after work. Then an hour before closing, she got a call and had to leave immediately.”

“What did you say to her?” I’m jogging down the steps to the subway and I only have a couple of minutes before I’ll lose service.

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