“Oh, honey,” the red-haired woman interrupted, sounding horrified by Audrey’s verbal diarrhea. “You’ve got to get it together.”

Irritation wriggled its way through Audrey’s misery, and she glared at the interloper. “Respectfully, you don’t know the first thing about what’s going on here.”

“Well now, that’s the thing,” the redhead said, looking down at her manicure. “I sort of do.”

Claire jolted in surprise, looking as shocked as Audrey felt. These two women didn’t know each other, Audrey realized. Whatever she’d walked in on, it hadn’t been one friend comforting another, but two strangers.

Claire’s next words confirmed it. “Who are you?” she asked the redhead.

Instead of answering Claire, the redhead studied Audrey, and though she wasn’t usually so bold, this time, she studied her right back. Even with the oversize sunglasses, she could tell the other woman was gorgeous, and not just because of the vibrant red hair. The woman herself was vibrant—seemingly crackling with an energy and confidence that was perfectly suited to the designer dress, flawless makeup, and not-so-tiny diamond studs in her ears that Audrey would bet her favorite Chanel bag on were real. Again, she was struck with the sense that there was something familiar about her…

The redhead pushed her sunglasses on top of her head, her gaze steady on Claire. “I’m Naomi Powell. The other other woman.”

Audrey felt her mouth drop open in surprise, both at the woman’s identity and her bombshell. Brayden Hayes hadn’t just been cheating on his wife with Audrey. He’d also, apparently, been sleeping with one of New York’s most well-known female entrepreneurs. The ultimate girl boss.

Audrey had never been introduced to Naomi Powell personally, but anyone who was anyone in Manhattan recognized the name of the Bronx-born up-and-comer who’d built a wildly successful jewelry empire.

Claire, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have the same recognition. That, or she was too stunned that her husband had been sleeping with two women. Who were now sitting with her on a park bench. On the day of his funeral.

Audrey resisted the urge to giggle at the absurdity of it.

Claire continued to stare at Naomi. “What?”

The redhead sighed. “Your husband was putting his pickle into one too many sandwiches. Well, two too many if you count her.” She jerked her chin toward Audrey.

Audrey did giggle this time, lifting a hand to her forehead, trying to sort out her thoughts. “Did you just compare… pickle… oh my God, sandwiches.”