Dirty Little Secrets: A tempting friends to lovers romance. Kierney Scott
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into the open flames of the fire.
“Bad day?” Megan asked. She took the bottle off him and took a swig from his glass. If she didn’t have the dinner she wanted, she was definitely going to fill her belly with the drink she wanted.
“He doesn’t want to be…friends any more,” Ben said. He hung his head in his hands. His shoulders rose and fell and he silently wept.
Instantly her annoyance melted away. She climbed into his lap and wrapped her arms around her husband of five years and best friend of nearly fourteen. He was so different to the man he presented to the world. No one outside their brick house in Georgetown ever got to see this Ben McCoy. To the world, Ben was as in control as any man could hope to be. Some would even say he was vicious and cut-throat, and they would not be wrong; his politics certainly were, but one did not become the frontrunner for Vice-Presidential pick without a certain hardness.
That was public Ben, but private Ben was something entirely different, something entirely hers.
“Oh Ben, I’m sorry. I know how much his…friendship meant to you.” Megan tried to console him but it was hard to know where to start. It was an unwritten rule that they never acknowledged the nature of the two men’s friendship. And they never discussed Ben’s sexuality. It was enough that they both knew.
Ben shook his head. “No, not this time. He wants us to be open. Can you imagine? He wants me to throw away my entire career.” His voice cracked under the strain.
Megan kissed him gently on the cheek. No, she could not imagine it. For other men she could, but not for Ben. His sole focus since he was a child had been the White House. And, rightly or wrongly, be believed he could not aspire to it as an openly gay man. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too. He means a lot to me.” Ben wiped his face as tears welled up in the corners of his brown eyes.
“I know. But you always have me. I’m not going anywhere. Even if you did forget to put on dinner and completely ruined roast beef Thursday.” She took another swig from the bottle. The wine wasn’t dulling the hunger any but it was making her more able to tolerate it with a smile.
“I’m sorry. I forgot to text you. I got a message from James Emerson. He wants to do a piece on us. Some shit about the all-American family. Little does he know.” Ben laughed bitterly.
Megan shook her head. She recognised the name but could not place the context. As a politician’s wife, she met hundreds of people every year. “Who’s that again?”
“James Emerson – the owner of Global Media Network. You know the one. The Australian guy you said looks like an underwear model. Has a new blonde on his arm at every event.”
Megan rolled her eyes. “Oh him? I hate him.”
“How can you hate him? You don’t even know him.”
“He is a journalist, what else do I need to know? He belongs in prison with his father. His company should have been dismantled and sold off into thousands of tiny pieces. He has far too much power.” Just the idea of him made her skin crawl. The motto for one of his networks was “always unbiased”. Bullshit was what it was. His father had bankrolled politics for a quarter of a century. There was nothing unbiased about him or his company.
“Are you OK? I haven’t seen you this angry in a long time.”
She took another long sip. “I’m fine.”
“Fine huh? That good?”
Megan shrugged her shoulders. “I am hungry. I am working on the case from hell and then you mentioned a journalist. You know I hate them.”
“Some people hate lawyers,” he reminded her.
“Those would be people that have never needed them,” she retorted. She slid off his lap and grabbed a crystal goblet from the sideboard and poured herself a proper glass of wine.
“People need journalists too.”
“Oh shut up. Don’t argue the opposite side with me, just to make a point.” She wagged her finger at him.
“I would never do that.”
“Bullshit, you live to do that.”
“You are hungry. You only swear when you’re hungry or pissed.”
“I’m both. Your lucky day.” As if on cue, her stomach growled. “I’m going to call for a pizza. If you’re nice I will share.”
“No carbs for me.”
“Stop being a stereotype and have dinner,” she said. Megan reached for the phone and began to dial. She didn’t want to think what it said for her culinary skills that she had memorised the numbers for at least a dozen take-out places.
“I have a favour to ask.”
“Yes I will get your half without cheese.”
“No not that, but thanks. I need you to do the Emerson interview on your own.”
Megan’s head snapped up. She put the phone down before the call went through. “No. I am starving. I will probably end up stabbing him in the throat with a ballpoint pen. That is the kind of day I’ve had.”
“Just smile and play nice. He’ll just want to talk about how my career has impacted your life.”
“No,” she said again. She had reached her threshold for stupid men today.
“Please, Megan. I can’t face an interview tonight.” Ben put his arms around her and hugged her to his chest. “I need you, Megs. Do this one for me.” His voice faltered.
She sighed. Her day was already shit so she may as well just write the whole thing off. “Fine,” she muttered. She would do anything for Ben, and he knew it.
“That’s my girl.” Ben kissed the top of her head.
“What time will he be here?” She was going to order double cheese on the pizza, only saturated fat could get her through a torture of this magnitude.
Ben glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantle. “Two minutes ago.”
“Seriously Ben?! That is not time to stuff my inner bitch back into her cave. I will end up stabbing him. Just be warned. And then it’ll be in all the papers. Because he owns all the damn papers in this country. And two television networks. Stupid man.”
The doorbell rang. She wasn’t finished ranting, but it would have to wait. Now was the time to straighten her public mask, and face James Emerson.
Megan stood behind the door and counted to ten. She summoned her public persona, the person everyone thought she was. She could do this; she could do anything for Ben. She exhaled slowly as she opened the door. “Hello, Mr. Emerson? It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
James Emerson reached for her hand. His palm was hot and strangely calloused, not the smooth hand she had expected. “Please call me James.” He smiled and small lines fanned out around his moss-coloured eyes. She had never seen a colour so peculiar and intense, a deep green with golden flecks that caught the light.
“Please call me Megan.”
James moved up from the bottom step and she could see how tall he was, probably about 6’4”. She wondered why she had not noticed his height before. Maybe because she had always seen him seated at charity dinners and when he was standing, it was always beside the leggy model type, so his large frame was in proportion to his date.
“Thank you, Megan. Do you mind if I come in and we get started? I know how busy you and your husband must be with all the campaigning.”
His voice was unfathomably low, simultaneously rich and menacing. His Australian accent was more pronounced than she expected. His broad shoulders nearly filled the doorway. His body was lean and muscular, no spare fat was wasted on him; even his cheeks had a hard edge. Apart from his smile, there was nothing comforting about his appearance.