Chapter 9: Delaney Drops the Voice

"Well," Delaney said.

She leaned one shoulder on the doorframe and folded her arms.

"You're up early."

Her voice was lower than the one Claire knew.

It was smooth and flat and amused, and it did not apologize for anything.

"Your ankle's better," said Claire.

"It was never bad."

"You told Preston it was a fracture."

"I told him it hurt. He did the rest. He always does the rest, you know that better than anyone."

She stepped back and held the door.

"Come in. You'll make the hall nervous."

Claire went in.

It was a large white flat with a piano by the window and a view of the park.

A man's jacket lay over the arm of the sofa.

It was navy, and she had bought the tie that hung from its pocket.

Delaney poured herself coffee and did not offer any.

"Say it," she said. "You've got that look. I'd like to hear it before I get dressed."

"I came to hear you say it."

"Say what? That I've been sleeping with Preston since before you met him?"

The words went in cleanly.

Claire kept her hands still on the folder.

"Since college," Delaney said. "Off and on. Mostly on. You were never the story, Claire. You were the furniture."

"I was his fiancée for four years."

"You were his placeholder."

She said it kindly.

"Thurston has wanted Preston married to me for years. My father chairs the board of Vanderveer Group."

"A wedding between our families keeps the company in the right hands."

"Preston didn't want to."

"Preston wanted to do it on his own timetable."

"A fiancée who is plain and kind and a little grateful is a good excuse. Not yet, Dad, I'm engaged."

She sipped her coffee.

"You kept Thurston off his back for four years. It's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for him."

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