“So anyway, I met with her. She’d been a waitress there for years, and she gave me an earful. Unsanitary conditions in the kitchen. Bullying atmosphere. Sexual harassment like you wouldn’t believe. She couldn’t place an order without getting a dick in her hand.”

“Ugh.”

“And it wasn’t just her. She said she came to me because she drew the short straw. Everybody was terrified of the owner, but they all agreed that it couldn’t go on.”

“That sounds like a great story. If she was telling the truth.”

“I had her take a polygraph test. She passed with flying colors.”

“Wow.”

“It didn’t end there. A second source came forward. A dishwasher. She said the owner had raped her. Didn’t want to give her name. But she said she’d appear on camera if we blurred her face, disguised her voice.”

Robin frowned. “I don’t remember this story airing.”

He looked at her. “It never aired.”

“Why?”

He exhaled. “Because the owner—Charlie Maxwell—is a buddy of Shawn’s.”

“Oh . . .” Robin said, the name clicking in her head. Charlie Maxwell. Celebrity chef. Had his own show on the Food Network for about three minutes. Owner of Chez Chas. “This was last year.”

“Right.”

“I’d . . . Someone told me she’d seen you there. At his restaurant . . .”

“She took me to the place. Introduced me to Maxwell, so I could see for myself what a douchebag he was. She told him I was her brother. He grabbed her ass right in front of me. She did everything but give me a thumbs-up. She thought I was filming him with my phone.”

“You weren’t?”

He shook his head. “Shawn told me to convince this woman we were going to take the story, wine her and dine her, do anything and everything I could to get her to trust me enough to sign a nondisclosure agreement and a noncompete.”

“Eric,” she said. “I don’t know that I want to hear any more.”

“I sweet-talked her. Told her Charlie wouldn’t even be able to run a McDonald’s when we were through with him. She signed the NDA. Gave us exclusive rights to the story. Then we killed it. Shawn told Charlie. She lost her job.”

Robin couldn’t speak.

“She told me I was an embarrassment to journalism. A total sleazebag. I couldn’t disagree, because I was. I am.”

Outside the door, Robin’s mother called out, “You guys ready soon?”

“Just a minute,” Robin said, returning her gaze to her husband. All these months, she’d thought he had an affair. That might have been preferable. At least he would have still been the person she thought he was.

Eric took her hand in his. It was warm, his palm sweaty. “I don’t want us to have any more secrets.”