"Aunty Anita," Linda called, grinning like a cute, innocent girl playing the part of a sweet niece who'd just spotted her favorite relative at a family barbecue.
Aunty.
That title made Anita's fork pause over her plate.
Just for a second.
Not long enough for anyone to call it a reaction, but long enough for Eleanor fumbling with a text message to freeze.
Aunty?
Why would she call Anita Aunty? They weren't related! And Anita was her boss' wife!
Was Linda stupid?
Linda didn't notice Eleanor's reaction, nor Anita's. Or perhaps she did and didn't care. She took a step closer, her heels clicking too loudly in the hush of the VIP section, her smile bright enough to blind as she stood beside Anita's table.
Anita placed her fork down with deliberate grace, her eyes still lowered to her meal.
She took her time. Sipped her drink. Dabbed the corner of her mouth.
Only then did she lift her eyes.
And meet Linda's.
The temperature in the room dropped.
