Page 9 of Fletch

“You knew we were coming,” she replies cooly. “That’s why there was a gap in the fence, and why we got in on the first hit on what was supposed to be an enforced door. We were guided to that entrance, and it’s why the club was clear of anything.”

I rest my elbows on the table and fix her with a confident stare. “I don’t know what you expected to find, officer, but as I’ve already said, I run in clean circles these days.”

“I’m getting married in a few months,” she admits, leaning back and breaking the tension that was beginning to build. “We opted for a winter wedding at the castle.”

“Cliché,” I reply, draining my drink.

“He’s amazing,” she coos. “Good job, stable, the perfect man.”

I grin. “Sounds it.”

“He’s a surgeon, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

“And he doesn’t give my friends a second look. I can trust him around them.”

“Good for you.”

“Do you have contact with her?” she asks, suddenly looking less confident.

I shake my head, knowing instantly she’s referring to Kate, the woman I fucked behind her back. “We weren’t a thing.” She rolls her eyes. “Seriously,” I reassure her, “we weren’t a thing. It was a one-off, which I came to regret.”

“Sure.”

“Do you still see her?”

“Sometimes,” she admits. “She’s related to my fiancé.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised. “Weird.”

“Not really. I was friends with Kate for a long time, and when everything happened with you and her, Pete was there for me.”

“Pete?” I repeat, racking my brain to fit a face to that name. My eyes widen. “Her brother?”

“Half-brother,” she corrects.

“He was a wanker,” I point out.

“He just never liked you. Can’t say I blame him.”

I grin. “Pete’s a surgeon? Wow. Who did he screw to get there?”

She narrows her eyes. “Actually, he’s a damn good one and he worked his backside off to get there.”

I’m amused and I can’t hide it. Back then, she couldn’t stand Pete. He was arrogant and self-assured. He’d always put both girls down, especially Gemma. “Did you tell him about me and Kate?”

“Of course. He didn’t speak to her for years.”

“What a hero.”

“Because he respected me,” she hisses, “and was disgusted she’d do that to her best friend.”

“So, you and he got together after that?” She begins picking at a paper napkin and it’s my turn to narrow my eyes. “What are you hiding?”

“We were flirting way before then,” she admits, and my mouth falls open. “You were being a dick, and he was there.” She shrugs. “He was nice to me.”

“So, you’ve been together for, what, over fourteen years?”