The woman is in fact Frankie, but the man who has her pinned to the wall isn’t Fred. It’s Vance, one of the tennis pros at the club.

I hear their murmurings as they echo off the cement walls. They’re kissing, which is evidence enough, but from the thrusting motion of Vance’s hips, I can tell they’re doing far more than that.

My guts twists and I back away from the stairwell door.

Fuck. Chloe’s instincts about Frankie had been right. I’d had my suspicions, a woman like that with a much older man like Fred is your typical gold digger stereotype. I’d hoped I was wrong. For Fred’s sake.

Now, I’ve seen it with my own eyes.

My mind immediately goes to the deal with Fred. I can’t begin to know what his response would be if I told him about Frankie’s infidelity. He’d be hurt, maybe embarrassed. And I’d be the messenger of that pain. No matter how good my intentions would be, saving Fred from further heartache and financial loss, he might not see it that way. Fred is prideful, he’s already making me earn this acquisition. I’ve been jumping through hoops to get this deal closed. He could walk away with Voltaire, give Ryan Shaw the chance to swoop in and take it out from under me.

No. I can’t let that happen. I can’t do anything to jeopardize the deal with Voltaire moving forward.

We’re a month out from signing. Surely, not much harm can be done in four weeks.

Besides, it’s not my place to tell Fred something so personal. We don’t have that kind of relationship. It’s just business.

I head for the men’s locker room, determined to forget what I saw in that stairwell.

22. Chloe

CHAPTER 22

Chloe

“So, when do the cat claws come off?” Jules asks, reaching for another bag to fill with books.

We’re spread out in the conference room at St. Clair Press. The table is covered with books and other supplies to assemble the takeaway bags for the Books 4 Kids event.

“The photoshoot is at ten. Then I’m going straight to the nail salon to have them removed.” I glance at the clock. I’ve got forty-five minutes before the photoshoot.

“I don’t know how you’ve managed all week.”

I press the sticky part of a sticky note onto the stack of bookmarks. When I lift it, the bookmark comes with it, then I detach the bookmark and place it into the bag.

“It’s called getting creative.” I smile.