Free Never Con a Corgi by Edie Claire Page A

advised. "I have a feeling he'll tell you the same thing. By coming forward with the whole ugly story, you can level the playing field. And if you can verify that she's threatened you, that's a point in your favor."
    Gil nodded solemnly. "You're right."
    Leigh was seconds away from spontaneous combustion.
    Cara rose from the table. "If you'll excuse me," she said stiffly, "I need to go break something. Leigh, can I help you with the dishes?"

Chapter 9
    Leigh's dishes had thus far remained whole. Her sanity, not so much.
    "Cara," she began finally, after restraining herself throughout the transport and rinsing processes. She was trying to be sensitive to Cara's mood, but no way could she make it through the loading. "You do realize I'm going to pop an artery if you don't tell me what's going on, right?"
    Cara paused, dirty spoon in hand, and looked up at Leigh as if seeing her for the first time. "Oh," she said vaguely, straightening up. "That's right. I didn't tell you about Diana, did I?"
    Leigh struggled to keep her voice even. "I think I would remember if you had."
    "Sorry," Cara replied, dropping the spoon into the dishwasher's utensil tray and leaning heavily against Leigh's countertop. "I wanted to, at the time, but Gil was so uptight about it. He made me swear I wouldn't tell anybody, most especially you or my mother."
    "But Warren knew!" Leigh said before she could stop herself. She hated it when she sounded like a teenager. She was forty-freaking-two years old; she could handle this stuff.
    Cara's brow furrowed. "Warren did know, didn't he? Gil must have told him. I guess he thought Warren could sympathize."
    "Excuse me?" Leigh spouted.
    Cara's own brow furrowed. "For heaven's sake, Leigh—Warren's an attractive, successful man who's every bit as prominent in this town as Gil is. Of course he's been through it."
    Leigh's arteries would never make it. She would bleed out right here on the floor, with the dishwasher only half loaded.
    "Through what?!"
    Cara's eyes flashed with impatience. "Through being hit on by a soulless, gold-digging homewrecker, that's what! What did you think?"
    Leigh stared back at her cousin a moment, her blood pressure in free fall. "I... thought just that," she said lamely. "Of course."
    Cara returned the briefest of glares, but moved on. "I don't know why Gil insisted on its being such a secret. It's not like he did anything wrong. But he was embarrassed by it—this incident way more than any of the others over the years. I guess because she went so much further. He said he didn't want to have to look at my relatives and know that they were trying to picture the whole thing."
    Leigh's eyes widened.
    Cara let out a short, rueful chuckle. "It was pretty ridiculous, really. I mean, the woman had no shame. If Gil had let me interview her when she first applied for the job, I would have had her number in thirty seconds, 'highly recommended' or no. But men can be so dense about these things."
    She scooped up a few more utensils from the counter and dropped them in the tray. "Gil hired her about a year ago. Her credentials appeared impeccable. For the first few months, she was the picture of efficiency and professionalism. Then the claws came out. She started dropping hints, letting him know she was interested. At first, Gil ignored them. He was hoping"—Cara shook her head with an eye roll—"that she would give up and stop, without things getting any more awkward. But of course, she didn't. Her suggestions only got more blatant, until finally he had to address it straight out. He told her that he wasn't interested, and if she wanted to keep her position, she needed to act more professionally."
    Cara sighed. "I wanted him to fire her then. And if she'd been any less fantastic at her job, I'm sure he would have. But apparently, the woman is brilliant at making herself indispensable. By the time any of this became a problem, she was up to her elbows in sensitive information, running processes