by Helen Brooks
The coolness made him think they were lying, that they knew something. He parked at the end of the street and lurked there for several hours, but there was no sign of Ellie.
He drove back over to her apartment and waited…and waited. Finally, at 3:00 a.m., he pounded on the door of the downstairs flat where Ellie’s landlord lived, and convinced the man to unlock her door in case she was hurt. Squinting in the glare from the kitchen lights, Garek looked at the bare walls, the packed suitcases.
“She said you two were getting married tomorrow,” the landlord said. “You think she’s changed her mind?”
Garek’s gut twisted, squeezing the air out of his lungs and making it difficult to breathe. “No,” he said more sharply than he’d intended.
“Uh-huh.” The landlord looked pityingly at him.
Garek felt a sudden, strange sense of disorientation. The cramped, dark apartment faded from his consciousness, replaced by a memory of a different place—a brightly lit place with stark white walls. He’d been standing outside the hospital emergency room where the surgeons were operating on his father, waiting for someone to come out and tell him what was going on. The minutes had ticked by, turning with agonizing slowness into hours. He’d alternated between trying to calm his mother’s and sister’s hysterical crying, assuring them over and over again that the hospital had the city’s finest doctors, that everything would turn out all right. They’d both finally fallen asleep on the couches in the waiting room. So he’d been the only one to see the expression in the doctor’s eyes when he’d come in to talk to them—an expression very similar to the one in Ellie’s landlord’s eyes.
“No,” Garek said again.
But this time his voice emerged a harsh, cracked whisper.
“I always thought he was a jerk,” Robbie growled. “You should have let me smash his face that first time—”
“Robbie!” Ellie shifted on the dingy couch in his apartment. Her back still ached from sleeping on its springless cushions and she had a headache from Robbie’s cologne, which he had a tendency to apply too heavily. She was in no mood to listen to his threats. “I need advice, not violence. I need logic and common sense.”
“And you came to me?” Robbie, sitting on the couch next to her, dumped some more salsa on the cold taco he was eating for breakfast. A diced tomato flew into the air and landed on the prenuptial agreement lying on the coffee table next to his plate. “Hmm, well…” He grimaced. “You need to talk to your grandfather. He would know about this kind of stuff.”
“No.” Ellie brushed the tomato off the document and frowned at the slight red stain left on the paper. “I can handle this myself.”
“But you can’t,” Robbie pointed out with impeccable logic. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have asked me for advice.”
Ellie glared at him while he chomped on his taco. Yesterday, she’d just wanted a place where she could think without having to explain everything. But this morning, she wanted to talk about it—she wanted advice.
“You know, Ellie,” Robbie said, swallowing a large bite, “I don’t think you can really blame the guy for trying to protect his company.”
“I don’t. Not exactly. It’s just…” She paused, struggling to put her feelings into words.
“It’s just what?” Robbie asked.
“It’s just that Garek has obviously put a lot of thought and time and consideration into his company.” She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “I just wish he’d spare the same thought and time and consideration for me.”
Robbie sighed. “Look, if the guy doesn’t love you, he’s an idiot and you should dump him.”
“I think he does love me. I just don’t think he knows how to love me.”
“He’s a virgin?” Robbie glanced down at his limptaco. “Well, if you want me to give him a few pointers—”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” Ellie said. “I mean he doesn’t know how to have a relationship. I don’t think he knows how to discuss things, how to compromise, how to allow himself to be vulnerable.”
A doubtful look crossed Robbie’s face. “Does any guy know how to do those things?”
“Maybe not.” Ellie felt aburning behind her eyes. The sad thing was that she suspected that if Garek ever let down his guard, he would be more than capable of all those things—and much, much more. But it would take a long time for her to breach the walls he’d erected around himself. If she were lucky, in five or ten years, maybe—maybe—he would actually admit that he loved her.
Was she just wasting her time?
That’s what she needed to know.
She never should have come to Robbie. She should have called Martina. Or Aunt Alma. Robbie was hopeless when it came to advice. He’d never had the least bit of common sense. He never let logic, or anything else, get in the way of his feelings.
But then again, maybe that was exactly the answer she was looking for.
Chapter Sixteen
Garek sat at his desk, staring blearyeyed at the paper in front of him, the words running together in an unintelligible mess. He’d been trying to read it for the last hour, but his aching eyes and pounding head refused to cooperate. It was almost four o’clock in the afternoon and he still hadn’t heard from Ellie. He’d told Mrs. Grist not to put any call through unless it was from her. So far, the phone had been completely silent.
He yanked at his tie, then pulled it off completely. He rose to his feet and paced around the room, rubbing his unshaven jaw. He’d left a note at her apartment. “You don’t have to sign anything,” he’d scrawled hastily. “Call me.” Her landlord had promised to give it to her when she came back for her suitcases.
Garek had gone home after that, but he hadn’t been able to sleep, so he’d come to the office. He had plenty of work to do.
Only, he hadn’t done any of it.
He paced back to his desk, picked up the phone and dialed a number.
“Hello?” a slightly accented voice said.
“Mrs. Hernandez, this is Garek Wisnewski,” he said. “Have you heard from Ellie?”
There was a slight pause. “In the fifteen minutes since you last called? No,” she said.
“Will you please call me if she contacts you?”
“Yes, I will,” she said, her voice a mixture of sympathy and impatience. “Goodbye, Mr. Wisnewski.”
He sat back down, resting his head on his hands. The same fear he’d felt last night standing in her apartment was twisting his gut again, only more tightly, more viciously than before.
Had he lost her?
An image floated in his head, a vision of how she’d looked the day before, her face pale, her eyes wide and dark with hurt.
He squeezed his tired, burning eyes shut, trying to banish the picture. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He never should have given her that prenuptial agreement. He was an idiot. If she would just come back, he would apologize, tell her what a fool he’d been. He would make it up to her…
If he ever got the chance.
Why didn’t she call?
Maybe something had happened to her. What if she’d been in an accident? What if she’d been mugged and her purse snatched? She was a fool for going around the city in that damn train at all hours of the day and night. What if she was in the hospital right now, critically injured, with no identification, unable to speak—
He jumped to his feet, picked up the phone and buzzed Mrs. Grist.
“Mr. Wisnewski!” her voice came on the line. “I was just about to ring you—”
“Has she called?” Hope flared in his chest.
“No, but Mr. Larson wants to talk to you—”
Hope turned to ashes. “Tell Larry to go to hell,” he growled. “I want you to call the local hospitals. See if anyone answering to Ellie’s description has been admitted in the last twenty-four hours—”
“Yes, Mr. Wisnewski, but—”
“No buts. Call the police, too. See if there’ve been any accidents—”
“Bu
t Mr. Larson said it was about Ellie—”
“And have security see what they…Ellie? What about Ellie?”
“I don’t know exactly. He just said you need to come down to the conference room. He said it’s important.”
Garek frowned. Had Larry found out something? Was Ellie here?
He hurried down to the second floor, but when he entered the conference room, there was no sign of Ellie—just a phalanx of gray-suited, black-briefcased businessmen. They looked like robots—except for the short, red-faced man in a green plaid suit at one end of the table.
The man looked familiar, although it took Garek a moment to place him—Calvin G. Hibbert, financier and wealthy scion of the blue-blooded Hibbert family. One of his companies had been competing with Wisnewski Industries for the Lachland Company. What the hell was he doing here?
“Ah, Garek, there you are!” Larry’s usually neatly combed hair was disheveled, the bald spot in plain view. In an undertone, he added, “You are not going to believe what’s happening—”
“Mr. Garek Wisnewski?” One of the robotic clones spoke when he heard Garek’s name. “I am Rex Rath-skeller, senior partner of the firm Rathskeller, Broad and Campbell. These gentlemen are Mr. Broad, Mr. Campbell and our associates, Mr. Pesner, Mr. White and Mr. Kiphuth.”
Garek frowned. He’d heard of the firm. Headquartered in Philadelphia, it was considered one of the best in the nation. “If this has something to do with Lachland—”
“Lachland?” The lawyer appeared confused until one of his colleagues whispered in his ear. His forehead cleared. “Ah, I see. No, Mr. Wisnewski, this has nothing to do with your company’s business. No, we’ve been hired by our client to discuss a prenuptial agreement—”
A ringing sounded in Garek’s ears, obscuring the rest of the man’s sentence. He’d spent the last twenty-four hours rushing all over the city looking for Ellie, half out of his mind with fear and worry—and she’d been off hiring a pack of lawyers? And not just any lawyers. She’d hired the most experienced, most cutthroat, most expensive lawyers in the business. She’d certainly changed her tune—
Larry’s frantic voice penetrated the haze. “Mr. Rath-skeller claims that Ellie isn’t penniless. He claims that she has money of her own. He claims that—”
“He doesn’t claim anything,” the old man in green announced coldly. “He states facts. I am Calvin G. Hibbert, and Eleanor Graciela Hibbert Hernandez is my granddaughter. And she possesses a trust fund in excess of two hundred million dollars—”
Larry’s eyes bugged out. “Two…hundred…million…!” he gasped, sinking into a chair.
For a moment, no one spoke, the silence broken only by Larry’s choking noises.
Then, suddenly, the door to the conference room swung open.
A small woman with tousled black curls and large blue eyes peered in. For a moment, she appeared startled by all the men in the room. Then she saw Hibbert.
“Grandpa?” she gasped. And then, “Grandpa!”
Suddenly, she ran to the head of the table and threw herself into his arms, laughing and hugging and kissing him. “Grandpa, what on earth are you doing here?”
Chapter Seventeen
Garek’s immediate reaction upon seeing her had been relief that she was all right. But before the relief could even sink in, she’d flown into the old man’s arms, hugging and kissing him. Garek clenched his teeth. Not only had she lied to him…she hadn’t even noticed he was in the room.
All her attention was wrapped up in the old man. Calvin G. Hibbert. One of the wealthiest men in the country. Her grandfather.
“Your cousin Robert called me,” Hibbert was explaining. “The first time in his life that young man ever showed any common sense, I’m sure. He told me that my only granddaughter was getting married.”
Ellie blushed guiltily. “I’m sorry, Grandpa. I wasn’t sure—”
“I came straightaway,” he said, waving away her faltering explanation and casting a disparaging glance at Garek. “I wanted to meet this fiancé of yours. I must say, Eleanor, I don’t think much of your choice—”
“Grandpa—”
“But Robert says he’s better than the last one. At least he appears to have a little bit of his own money. I don’t like the sound of this prenuptial agreement, though. I don’t want you to get cheated out of your inheritance.”
“What inheritance?” Her smile faded and her tone grew cool. “You disowned me, remember?”
It was Hibbert’s turn to blush, the hue of his skin changing from red to scarlet. “Nonsense,” he blustered. “You know I didn’t mean it. I was just angry.”
“You meant it when you disowned my father.”
“Well, harrumph, I learn from my mistakes.” His voice turned gruff. “You’re all I have, Eleanor.”
Her eyes grew misty. “Oh, Grandpa…”
“Ms. Hibbert, I hate to interrupt this touching reunion,” a sarcastic voice intruded. “But may I speak to you a moment? Alone.”
Ellie glanced up to see Garek holding the door open to a small adjoining office. Black bristles stood out on his tightly clenched jaw. His eyes were narrow red slits.
Uh-oh.
She walked the length of the room, conscious of the roomful of lawyers watching her, and into the office. Garek closed the door and leaned back against it, his arms folded across his chest.
“Well?” he demanded.
She glanced at him uncertainly. “What happened to you? You look awful—”
“Don’t try to change the subject…Eleanor.”
She looked down to where her fingers weret wisting the strap of her purse. “I suppose I should have told you—”
“You suppose? Exactly when were you going to tell me that you had two hundred million dollars sitting in the bank?”
“It wasn’t like that. My grandfather and I had a fight when I moved out. I haven’t even seen or talked to him in over a year. I didn’t want to be controlled by him and his money anymore. He disowned me, and that was fine with me.”
“He doesn’t appear to consider you disowned.”
“Apparently he changed his mind.”
“You must have known that was likely.”
“Actually, it seemed highly unlikely. He did the same thing to my father. My parents lived in poverty because Grandpa disapproved of his son’s marriage to a Mexican house cleaner. It wasn’t until my mother and father died that he took me in. And he soon let me know who was in control. He picked my school, my friends, even the men I dated. When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I moved out.”
“That really doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me about all this.”
She darted a quick glance at him. “Sometimes people act…differently toward me when they know how much my grandfather is worth.”
“I see. So I had to believe that you loved me for myself and not my money, but you weren’t willing to extend the same trust to me?”
“It wasn’t like that! It didn’t seemimportant. Especially since Grandfather had disowned me. I would have been perfectly happy if it were true. Money spoils everything.”
“That’s bull.” Garek took a step forward. “Everyone has to have money to survive. You just want to live in a fairytale world where you can pretend money doesn’t exist, where you don’t have to accept responsibility for your own survival. Money makes everything better.”
“Not everything,” she said quietly.
“Get over it,” he said curtly. “So maybe your grandfather tried to control you—there’s lots worse problems—like not having enough food to eat, not having a home.”
She nodded slowly, remembering her father’s futile efforts to hold on to a job and how tired her mother had been coming home after cleaning houses all day. “I know I shouldn’t complain…but it’s not just the control. When I moved in with my grandfather, everyone treated me differently. People who never would have given me the time of day suddenly sought me out. Everyone laughed at every stupid joke I told. Men told me
I was the most beautiful, exciting, wonderful woman ever to walk the earth. I never knew for sure who really meant what they said.”
Garek opened his mouth to dismiss her excuse, then paused. Actually, what she said had some truth in it. He’d experienced it himself.
“Rafe told me he loved me, but he couldn’t dump me fast enough when my grandfather disinherited me,” she continued, not noticing his distraction. “People think about me differently, knowing I have all that money. You probably think of me differently.”
Again, he started to deny it, then paused, realizing that it was true. In a few, fundamental ways, their relationship had completely changed. No longer was he the wealthy businessman rescuing the poor working girl from a life of poverty. In some way that he hadn’t even recognized until now, his money had given him an advantage over her. A sense of superiority, perhaps, a sense that she should be grateful to him.
His financial status no longer gave him that edge over her—in fact, the exact opposite was true. She had more money than he did. The thought wasn’t pleasant.
Frowning, he looked at her. “I suppose it does change things—”
She stepped back, a stricken look coming over her face. “I understand—”
He reached out and grabbed her arm. “No, you don’t, Ellie. I can’t deny that it changes how people will look at us. But it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
She looked at him. “And exactly how do you feel about me, Garek?”
He let go of her arm. He stood silently, not speaking. Ellie felt as though her heart was cracking in two. She turned again to leave, but then he spoke, his voice quiet.
“That painting,” he said. “Woman in Blue.”
She stopped in her tracks.
“I didn’t like it at first. It made no sense, the colors and shapes seemed haphazard and inexplicable. But when I looked harder, I noticed a balance in the picture, an equilibrium that somehow connected all the elements together. And then I noticed how intense the blue was. How bright. How true.”
