Mad About the Man

by Tracy Anne Warren

  But she didn’t show up, the hour growing later and later. He kept calling her cell, leaving message after message, but she didn’t pick up. He considered calling her family but figured he’d just upset them if they didn’t know where she was either. He tossed around the idea of calling the hospitals as well, but told himself he was overreacting.

  She was fine. She had to be fine. Anything else was unthinkable.

  Then it occurred to him that maybe they’d gotten their wires crossed and he was supposed to be over at her place tonight. Maybe she was there waiting and was worried just like him, wondering why he hadn’t shown up. But if that were the case, then why not call him? Even if her cell wasn’t working, she could still have found a landline phone to call his private number or leave a message with the hotel switchboard.

  Forcing down his growing panic, he’d put on his coat to protect against the cold November wind and headed out to check out her apartment.

  And so he’d let himself in, his chest knotted, heart pounding with a mixture of hopefulness and dread.

  It was dark inside, so he didn’t see her at first. Then he caught sight of her shape, seated in the middle of the living room sofa, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

  “Brie?” he said.

  She didn’t move.

  He snapped on the overhead light.

  She flinched and squeezed her eyes closed; her face looked red, ravaged. Had she been crying? Was she ill?

  “Please, turn that off,” she told him, her voice strained and oddly pitched.

  He complied. Making his way deeper into the room, he found a lamp to switch on instead. Soft illumination spread in a small circle through the space.

  “Brie, baby, what’s happened? Are you all right?”

  He sat down next to her on the couch, started to put his arm around her shoulders.

  She moved away, jumpy as a wet cat, practically sprinting off the sofa. She went to stand on the other side of the room, her arms crossed at her waist.

  He looked across at her. “What’s wrong? I’ve been calling you all evening. Why didn’t you answer? Is your phone broken?”

  For a moment, she looked as if she might not answer. Then she took a breath. “My phone’s fine. I just didn’t pick up.”

  “Why not? I must have left you at least a dozen messages. Are you sick? Something’s obviously wrong—you look like you’ve been crying. And I’ve been worried.”

  “Have you really?”

  He frowned. Her words sounded strange, hard and brittle.

  “Of course I have. When you didn’t show up at the penthouse, I knew something must have happened. I called your work, but they said you’d left for the evening. I called you again, several times, and when I still didn’t get an answer, I naturally started imagining all sorts of awful scenarios. I was about to start calling hospitals and the police but decided to come over here first and check. Guess it’s a good thing I did.”

  Her expression flickered for a moment at that; then the odd, remote look returned. “Yes, well, now that you know I’m not dead or under arrest, you can put your mind at ease.”

  He studied her, confused by her mood. He got to his feet, started toward her.

  She backed away, held out her palm as if warding him off.

  He stopped. “Brie, what on earth is the matter?”

  “Nothing, other than the fact that I was working on the Mergenfeld suit today and my team came across some rather interesting information.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “A name on the deposition list.” She tightened her arms around her waist again, hands cradling her chest as if she were fighting to hold herself together. “Ellen Kilkenny. I’m sure you recognize it, seeing that she’s your wife.”

  Maddox stared, Brie’s words slamming into him like a sledgehammer.

  Shit.

  “Brie, it’s not what you think—”

  “Oh, really?” Her odd, cold voice grew even colder. “Then what is it? You either have a wife or you don’t. Am I wrong? Is my investigator mistaken?”

  “No, you and your investigator are not mistaken but—”

  Her eyes went flat. “Get out.”

  “What?”

  “I said get out. And leave your key, the one I gave you to my front door. I’ll messenger over everything I have for your penthouse and the hotel tomorrow.”

  “Brie, you’re upset and I understand, but let’s talk about it. Give me a chance to explain.”

  “Explain? Explain what? The fact that you’ve been lying to me this entire time or that you conveniently forgot to mention the fact that you happen to be married? Which one of those would you like to explain?”

  “I never lied to you. If you’d asked me if I was married, I would have told you. But you didn’t ask, and frankly, it’s not something I think about much, since my so-called marriage amounts to little more than a technicality.”

  Her hands curled into fists, her eyes like chips of blue ice.

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “Look, Ellen and I have been separated for over a decade. We don’t have a marriage except on paper. I don’t see her; she doesn’t see me. We’re not married, not really.”

  “And yet, as far as the law is concerned, you are,” she said, sounding like a prosecuting attorney. “I guess you’ve never heard of a little thing called a divorce. They have those now, you know, in all fifty states. Even here in New York. And Washington. Isn’t that where she lives?”

  “Brie, please, come and sit down.” He gestured toward the sofa. “Let’s talk. Let me tell you everything.”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m good here. And I don’t need to hear everything, I’ve already heard more than enough.”

  “But you haven’t.”

  He wanted to go to her, wrap her inside his arms, and soothe her. But he knew she wouldn’t allow it, wouldn’t let him so much as touch her now. His chest grew tight, his fingers bunching into fists of frustration.

  “I was young and stupid when I married Ellen. We were both kids, barely into our twenties and too naive to really know what we were getting into. It wasn’t even a year—hell, not even six months—before we both knew we’d made a huge mistake. She and I fought all the time, over everything, big and small. We both realized it was never going to last, that our marriage was a total disaster.”

  Sighing, he stuck his hands inside his pockets. “You asked about why we never divorced. I wanted to, even had the papers drawn up, but she’s Catholic, very devout as it turns out, though I didn’t realize how devout before we got married. Ellen doesn’t believe in divorce. To her, if you make a mistake, you accept it—you don’t try to run away, as she calls it.

  “I’m Catholic too but more what you’d call lapsed. I don’t attend Mass and religion just isn’t a big part of my life. So when she asked me not to press for a divorce but to separate instead, I agreed. I was sure I was never going to want to get married again. Hell, why would I, since the first marriage was so horrible? I figured it didn’t matter whether I was separated or divorced, so long as Ellen was out of the picture and I was free to do as I liked. And I have. She doesn’t bother me and I don’t bother her.”

  He paused and unclenched his hands, trying to get Brie to look at him. But she wouldn’t.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but when we first met, I never expected things to go all that far between us. There didn’t seem any point in mentioning my situation with Ellen, not when we were just fooling around and having fun for a little while. But then things changed. Our relationship became something else. Something more.”

  He reached out a hand. “Please, Brie, won’t you come over here? You look like you might collapse.”

  But she didn’t move, just held her ground, still refusing to meet his eyes.

  A sigh escaped him. “I don’t blame you for
being angry and upset with me. I was wrong and realize now that I should have told you; you should never have found out about this the way you did. Hurting you is the last thing I would ever want to do. I hope you can forgive me.”

  He hesitated, wondering what more to say, how to get through to her when she had so obviously shut him out. All he could do, he realized, was say what was in his heart.

  “These past few months with you have been wonderful,” he said. “I’ve never known anything like them. Or anyone like you.”

  She didn’t acknowledge his statement by so much as an extra twitch.

  Dragging his fingers through his hair again, he went on. “Look, I wanted to do this some other way, to make it romantic, exciting, but I guess this will have to do. I love you, Brie Grayson. I love you as I’ve never loved anyone before or will ever love anyone again. I want us to spend our lives together, to grow old and gray in each other’s arms.”

  Briefly, she closed her eyes.

  Encouraged, he continued. “I’m getting that divorce you mentioned. I’ve already been in touch with Ellen and told her that I’m proceeding with the divorce this time. I explained that I’ve met someone and that her objections no longer concern me. Brie, I realize I can’t make it official yet and that this isn’t the most conventional way to propose, but please, sweetheart, will you marry me?”

  He waited, sure that his heartfelt words must have had some impact, that she would lower her guard again and turn back into his Brie again. The one who was warm and happy and whose eyes shone with what he’d come to think was love.

  Instead, she didn’t move, her face and body as cold and motionless as a statue. “Are you finished?” she said at last.

  He looked at her, his hopes sinking when he realized she hadn’t melted toward him at all. “For now.”

  “Then would you please go? I’m tired and have to work in the morning.”

  “Brie—”

  “Leave the key. As I said, I’ll have yours returned tomorrow.”

  His hands fisted at his sides. “Not until you give me an answer.”

  Her eyes finally lifted and met his. “To what?”

  He didn’t know why he was forcing the issue, since her answer was obvious, but for some peculiar reason he wanted her to say the words, to reject him out loud. “To my proposal, that’s what.”

  “Oh, my apologies. I didn’t know I needed to respond, since that wasn’t a real proposal.”

  “Of course it was real.”

  “No, it wasn’t. How could it be when you’re not free to ask any woman to be your wife? You already have a wife, Mr. Monroe, unless you’re going to confess to bigamy now.”

  “I told you—”

  “Yes, I know.” Her voice took on a mocking, singsong quality. “You’re married in name only and your wife means nothing to you. You hate her, she’s a bitch who’s never understood you, and you’re getting rid of her at the first opportunity. I just need to be patient and forgive you because it’s me you really love. In the meantime, we can continue to shack up and have lots of hot sex while we wait for the divorce papers to come through. Then we’ll run off together, maybe fly to Vegas and tie the knot at one of those quickie wedding chapels. Maybe even let Elvis officiate.”

  Her eyes glittered, sharp as glass. “So thank you for the proposal, but no thank you. I’ve had enough of your lies.”

  Fury burst like flames inside his chest. “I. Am. Not. Lying.”

  She made a disdainful sound under her breath and looked away.

  “This is about him, isn’t it? That bastard Jeffries, and what he did to you.”

  Her body turned rigid again, her arms tightening against her waist. “How would you know what he did to me?”

  “Oh, I know, because I had him checked out.”

  Her lips parted on a silent gasp.

  “I know he was married when the two of you were involved. I know that he strung you along, and when you’d finally had enough, you dumped your red-hot career in corporate law and ran away, taking a job with the Justice Department even though it meant a huge pay cut. I know he used you and broke your heart.

  “But I’m not the same as him, and however bad things might look, I am not lying when I say I love you and want you to be my wife. He and I are totally different, so do me the favor of not painting us with the same brush.”

  A flicker of emotion burned in her eyes, heat replacing the cold. “Oh? And why shouldn’t I, when both of your brushes are dipped in the same paint? You’re right. I don’t trust you, not anymore. And I don’t believe you. And now, I want you out. Get the hell out of my apartment and get the hell out of my life!”

  His lungs heaved, frustration and anger turning into a volatile mix. He wanted to refuse, to stay right where he was and make her see that she was wrong about him, that every word he’d told her was the truth and his intentions were good. But she was set in her opinion, and right now there was nothing he could do to sway her, no way he could prove himself right.

  “Fine. I’ll leave.” He dug into his pocket, found her key, and tossed it onto the coffee table with a metallic clink. “But don’t think for a moment that this is over. I am getting a divorce and the moment the papers are signed and the judge says it’s final, I’ll be back. And when I do, I’m going to ask you again to marry me and you’re going to say yes.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that.”

  “Oh, but I am. You love me and that will make all the difference in the end.”

  Something shattered on her face, an expression of anguish that she couldn’t quite hide. But then she pulled herself together again, the look vanishing behind the frosty facade.

  She said nothing as he walked to the door.

  He didn’t speak again as he let himself out.

  * * *

  Brie crumpled the instant after he’d gone, staggering back to the sofa and falling onto the cushions.

  She couldn’t cry; she was in too much pain for that. Worse, she felt so torn, part of her desperately wanting to believe him, but the other part of her too cynical to think anything other than the worst.

  He was right. She was painting him with Stephen’s duplicitous brush. But how could she not? She’d been a fool once; she wasn’t going to be a fool again.

  But even if Maddox meant every word he’d said, did it really matter in the end? Because at the heart of it all was the fact that he’d lied. He’d willfully deceived her. He’d destroyed her trust, and to her, that was the most terrible crime of all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Never get personally involved with your client. It was the first rule of professionalism and sound business ethics.

  So why didn’t I follow it? Brie thought as she sat at her desk the next day. Oh, right, because I’m a stupid idiot who listens to her hormones rather than her head.

  And my heart?

  Well, it really didn’t matter about her heart, regardless of how many jagged pieces it might be in at the moment. Her relationship with Maddox Monroe was over; she should have known it was too damned good to be true.

  Or to last.

  Bastard. How could he do this to me?

  But he had and now she needed to find a way to move on without him.

  If only she could get really angry, it would make everything so much easier. Anger would give her energy, and an inner fire of righteous indignation that would propel her forward in spite of the heartbreak and pain.

  Instead all she really felt was sad, her spirits so depressed this morning she’d barely been able to drag herself into the office. Yet somehow she’d forced herself up out of bed and into the shower, then into a suit and onto the subway.

  She’d let one man drive a stake through her career and chase her out of the city; she wasn’t going to let it happen a second time, and, ironically, for the same reason.

  At least
she wasn’t holding out hope this time around, waiting like some pathetic ditz for him to make good on his promises and come sweeping in like Prince Charming with a ring in one hand and a divorce decree in the other. No, this time, she knew the score. There would be no rescue and no happy ending.

  If only he wasn’t a client—and one of her biggest, most important clients to boot. She could always hand him over to one of the other partners, or to Barrett S., who’d recently been elevated into the ranks of partner and who’d taken to strutting around the office like a pin-striped peacock ever since. But trading Maddox’s account away would be like waving a white flag. Not only would it bring unwanted attention to her affair with a client—however dead their relationship might now be—but it would make her look weak and not fully capable of performing her job.

  So as much as she cringed at the idea, she was going to continue on as his lawyer and represent him to the very best of her ability. She might bleed at the sight of him and despise him for his lies, but she was a professional. Never again would she let her feelings for him show.

  And Maddox?

  Frankly, she no longer cared. He would get tired of her cold shoulder soon enough and move on to some other likely bedmate, some pretty chippie who didn’t care whether he was “technically” married or not.

  And once he’d moved on, so would she.

  Liar, she thought, her fingernails digging into the leather blotter on her desk.

  She was never going to get over him. Stephen had been a blip compared with Maddox. A calm breeze next to a hurricane. Love shouldn’t hurt this much. She shouldn’t ache from just the memory of his arms.

  No, Maddox was going to be a scar, a wound that would heal but leave an indelible mark. Now she just needed to figure out how to survive and adapt to whatever fragments of herself and her heart remained.

  Her phone rang, interrupting her wallowing. She froze, pulse speeding, half-sick, as she wondered if it was him. But he usually called her on her cell, so she was probably safe.