CONFESSIONS ON THE 7:45
Author Lisa Unger
ISBN: 9780778310150
Publication Date: October
6, 2020
Publisher: Park Row
Books
BOOK SUMMARY:
Bestselling and award-winning author Lisa Unger returns
with her best novel yet. Reminiscent of the classic Strangers on a Train,
Confessions on the 7:45 is a riveting psychological thriller that begins
with a chance encounter on a commuter train and shows why you should never,
ever make conversation with strangers.
Be careful who you tell your darkest secrets...
Selena Murphy is commuting home from her job in the city
when the train stalls out on the tracks. She strikes up a conversation with a
beautiful stranger in the next seat, and their connection is fast and easy. The
woman introduces herself as Martha and confesses that she's been stuck in an
affair with her boss. Selena, in turn, confesses that she suspects her husband
is sleeping with the nanny. When the train arrives at Selena's station, the two
women part ways, presumably never to meet again.
But days later, Selena's nanny disappears.
Soon Selena finds her once-perfect life upended. As she is
pulled into the mystery of the missing nanny, and as the fractures in her
marriage grow deeper, Selena begins to wonder, who was Martha really? But she
is hardly prepared for what she'll discover.
Expertly plotted and reminiscent of the timeless classic
Strangers on a Train, Confessions on the 7:45 is a stunning web of lies and
deceit, and a gripping thriller about the delicate facades we create around our
lives.
BUY LINKS:
I relish the release days for a new Lisa Unger novel! There
aren't enough steadily great thriller authors,
while there are a ton, I need consistency for my hard earned dollars and
time. Unger has yet to disappoint my needy mind seeking devious people and reckless
actions. Really, it is such a guilty
pleasure! Confessions on the 7:45 was even more of a treat than I expected!
Unger gives us a taunt psychological suspense that is a weaving twisted mess of
secrets, lies, and mysteries to untangle. It is everything I love about these
books! Unger excelled in weaving together characters and a plot, both so
twisted it was obsessive!
This story is not one to miss! I really felt as though the story had a plausible feel to it. I think that could be the reason it felt eerie to me... the thoughts that it could be. The chance meeting of a stranger. The conversation that just seems to flow effortlessly. Unger pulled out all the stops for this story. She played it like an expert at her craft, knowing just when and how to pull the story off. It has to be Unger's best novel yet... or at least the best novel I have read from Miss Unger! I'll be eagerly awaiting her next! I wouldn't mind seeing her go a bit darker.
I received an ARC of this book, from Harlequin Trade Publishing, with the hope that I would leave an Unbiased Opinion. I was not required to leave a review, positive or otherwise, and my opinions are just that... my opinions.
Chapter
Two
Anne
It had been a
mistake from the beginning and Anne certainly knew that. You don’t sleep with
your boss. It’s really one of the things mothers should teach their daughters.
Chew your food carefully. Look both ways before you cross the street. Don’t
fuck your direct supervisor no matter how hot, rich, or charming he may happen
to be. Not that Anne’s mother had taught her a single useful thing.
Anyway, here she
was. Again. Taking it from behind, over the couch in her boss’s corner office with
those expansive city views. The world was a field of lights spread wide around
them. She tried to enjoy it. But, as was often the case, she just kind of
floated above herself. She made all the right noises, though. She knew how to
fake it.
“Oh my god, Anne.
You’re so hot.”
He pressed himself
in deep, moaning.
When he’d first
come on to her, she thought he was kidding – or not thinking clearly. They’d
flown together to DC to take an important client who was considering leaving
the investment firm out to dinner. In
the cab on the way back to the hotel -- while Hugh was on the phone with
his wife, he put his hand on Anne’s leg. He wasn’t even looking at Anne when he
did it, so for a moment she wondered if it was just absent-mindedness. He was
like that sometimes, a little loopy. Overly affectionate, familiar. Forgetful.
His hand moved up
her thigh. Anne sat very still. Like a prey animal. Hugh ended the call and she
expected him to jerk his hand back.
Oh! I’m so sorry, Anne, she thought he’d
say, aghast at his careless behavior.
But no. His hand
moved higher.
“Am I misreading signals?” he said, voice
low.
Stop. What most
people would be thinking: Poor Anne! Afraid for her job, she submits to this
predator.
What Anne was
thinking: How can I use this to my advantage? She really had been just trying
to do her job well, sort of. But it seemed that Pop was right, as he had been
about so many things. If you weren’t running a game, someone was running one on
you.
Had she
subconsciously been putting out signals? Possibly. Yes. Maybe Pop was right
about that, too. You don’t get to stop being what you are, even when you try.
They made out like
prom dates in the cab, comported themselves appropriately as they walked
through the lobby of the Ritz. He pressed against her at the door to her hotel
room. She was glad she was wearing sexy underwear, had shaved her legs.
She’d given Hugh –
with his salt and pepper hair, sinewy muscles, flat abs -- the ride of his life
that night. And many nights since. He
liked her on top. He was a considerate lover, always asking: Is this good? Are you okay?
Confessional: Kate and I – we’ve been
married a long time. We both have – appetites. She couldn’t care less about
his marriage.
Anne didn’t
actually believe in the things other people seemed to value so highly. Fidelity
– really? Were you supposed to just want one person your whole life? Marriage.
Was there ever anything more set up to fail, to disappoint, to erode? Come on.
They were animals. Every last one of them rutting, feral beasts. Men. Women.
All of society was held together by gossamer thin, totally arbitrary laws and
mores that were always shifting and changing no matter how people clung. They
were all just barely in line.
Anne neither
expected nor encouraged Hugh to fall in love. In fact, she spoke very little.
She listened, made all the right affirming noises. If he noticed that she had
told him almost nothing about herself, it didn’t come up. But fall in love with
Anne he did. And things were getting complicated.
Now, finished and
holding her around the waist, Hugh was crying a little. His body weight was
pinning her down. He often got emotional after they made love. She didn’t mind
him most of the time. But the whole crying thing -- it was such a turn off. She
pushed against him and he let her up. She tugged down her skirt, and he pulled
her into an embrace.
She held him for a
while, then wiped his eyes, kissed his tears away. Because she knew that’s what
he wanted. She had a special gift for that, knowing what people wanted --
really wanted deep down – and giving them that thing for a while. And that was
why Hugh – why anyone – fell in love. Because he loved getting the thing he
wanted, even if he didn’t know what that was.
When he moved away
finally, she stared at her ghostly reflection in the dark window, wiped at her
smeared lipstick.
“I’m going to
leave her,” Hugh said. He flung himself on one of the plush sofas. He was long
and elegant; his clothes impeccable, bespoke, made from the finest fabrics.
Tonight, his silk tie was loose, pressed cotton shirt was wilted, black wool
suit pants still looking crisp. Garments, all garments – even just his tennis
whites -- hung beautifully on his fit body.
She smiled, moved
to sit beside him. He kissed her, salty and sweet.
“It’s time. I
can’t do this anymore,” he went on.
This wasn’t the
first time he’d said this. Last time, when she’d tried to discourage him, he’d
held her wrists too hard when she tried to leave. There had been something
bright and hard in his eyes – desperation. She didn’t want him to get clingy
tonight. Emotional.
“Okay,” she said,
running her fingers through his hair. “Yeah.”
Because that’s
what he wanted to hear, needed to hear. If you didn’t give people what they
wanted, they became angry. Or they pulled away. And then the game was harder or
lost altogether.
“We’ll go away,”
he said, tracing a finger along her jaw. Because of course they’d both lose
their jobs. Hugh’s wife Kate owned and ran the investment firm, had inherited
the company from her legendary father. Her brothers were on the board. They’d
never liked Hugh (this was one of his favorite pillow talk tirades, how Kate’s
brothers didn’t respect him). “We’ll take a long trip abroad and figure out
what comes next. Clean slate for both of us. Would you like that?”
“Of course,” she
said. “That would be wonderful.”
Anne liked her
job; when she’d applied and interviewed, she honestly wanted to work at the
firm. Numbers made a kind of sense to her, investment a kind of union of logic
and magic. Client work was a bit of a game, wasn’t it – convincing people to
part with their cash on the promise that you could make them more? She also
respected and admired her boss – her lover’s wife -- Kate. A powerful,
intelligent woman.
Maybe Anne should
have thought about all of that before she submitted to Hugh’s advances. He
wasn’t the power player; she’d miscalculated, or not run the numbers at all.
She made mistakes like that sometimes, let the game run her. Pop thought
it was a form of self-sabotage. Sometimes, sweetie, I think your heart’s not
quite in it. Maybe he was right.
“Ugh,” said Hugh,
pulling away, glancing at his watch. “I’m late. I have to change and meet Kate
at the fundraiser.”
She rose and
walked the expanse of his office, got his tux from the closet, and lay it
across the back of the couch. Another stunning item, heavy and silken. She ran
her fingers lovingly along the lapel. He rose, and she helped him dress,
hanging his other clothes, putting them back in the closet. She did his tie. In
his heart, he was a little boy. He wanted to be attended to, cared for. Maybe
everyone wanted that.
“You look
wonderful,” she said, kissing him. “Have fun tonight.”
He looked at her
long, eyes filling again.
“Soon,” he said.
“This charade can end.”
She put a gentle
hand to his cheek, smiled as sweetly as she could muster and started to move
from the room.
“Anne,” he said,
grabbing for her hand. “I love you.”
She’d never said
it back. She’d said things like “me, too” or she’d send him the heart- eyed
emoji in response to a text, sometimes she just blew him a kiss. He hadn’t
seemed to notice, or his pride was too enormous to ask her why she never said
it, or if she loved him. But mainly, she thought it was because Hugh only saw
and heard what he wanted to.
She unlaced her fingers
and blew him a kiss. “Goodnight, Hugh.”
His phone rang,
and he watched her as he answered.
“I’m coming,
darling,” he said, averting his eyes, moving away. “Just had to finish up with
a client.”
She left him, his
voice following her down the hall.
In her office, she
gathered her things, a strange knot in the pit of her stomach. She sensed that
her luck was about to run out here. She couldn’t say why. Just a feeling that
things were unsustainable – that it wasn’t going to be as easy to leave Kate as
he thought, that on some level he didn’t really want to, that once things
reached critical mass, she’d be out of a job. Of course, it wouldn’t be a total
loss. She’d make sure of that.
There was a
loneliness, a hollow feeling that took hold at the end. She wished she could
call Pop, that he could talk her through. Instead her phone pinged. The message
there annoyed her.
This is wrong,
it said. I don’t want to do this anymore.
Just stay the
course, she wrote back. It’s too late to back out now.
Funny how that
worked. At the critical moment, she had to give the advice she needed herself.
The student becomes the teacher. No doubt, Pop would be pleased.
Anne glanced at
the phone. The little dots pulsed, then disappeared. The girl, younger,
greener, would do what she was told. She always had. So far.
Anne looked at her
watch, imbued with a bit of energy. If she hustled, she could just make it.
Excerpted from Confessions on the 7:45 by Lisa Unger,
Copyright © 2020 by Lisa Unger. Published by Park Row Books.
About the Author
Lisa Unger is the New York Times and internationally bestselling author of eighteen novels, including CONFESSIONS ON THE 7:45 (Oct. 2020). With millions of readers worldwide and books published in twenty-six languages, Unger is widely regarded as a master of suspense. Her critically acclaimed books have been voted "Best of the Year" or top picks by the Today show, Good Morning America, Entertainment Weekly, Amazon, IndieBound and others. Her essays have appeared in The New York Times, Wall Street Journal, NPR, and Travel+Leisure. She lives on the west coast of Florida with her family.
Follow the author here:
Author Website: https://lisaunger.com/
TWITTER: @lisaunger
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