The Tattered Bride

by Peri Elizabeth Scott

  Crap. “Okay. Thanks. Anything else?”

  “Nope. It’s all under control. You’ve whipped this place into shape. Mr. Crisp spun his wheels.” Dawna winked bawdily, her entire face screwing up. “He was all talk, no action.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I know I’ve pushed people.”

  “You have, and they needed it. They all speculated, you know. About you coming here right off … right from the not getting married thing. Whether you’d be able to handle the job or fall apart.”

  Victoria had heard some of the speculative thinking, shut down when she approached. At least only Jason had thought to take advantage of the jilted woman. As for falling apart, she’d heard them talk about her overcompensating. She smiled, the conversation with her mother having numbed her to any impact of the personal comment. “I’m sure they did. But we’re headed for the black and I plan to keep us going in that direction.”

  “So you’re staying on?” Curiosity and happiness vied on Dawna’s pleasant features.

  Was she? She’d stay wherever Logan—and his blondes—weren’t. “Could be.”

  Settling behind her desk, she opened the file, her brow furrowing. The book-cover option had been picked up—for a comic book? She dropped the papers and shoved them away. What in hell? Laughter bubbled in her throat, making her ears pop and then escaped, a bitter caw filling the room. She could see it now, some graphic artist making a parody of her baby. Big boobs spilling over the torn bodice, puffy lips and heavily-lined eyes staring from the pages. Probably blood and gore too.

  She reached for the phone. “Marketing. Jill speaking.”

  “It’s Victoria Sparrow. I’m looking at the book option offer for The Tattered Bride.”

  “Isn’t it incredible? It was a difficult sell for a romance though we tried.”

  Victoria pressed a fist against her sternum. “True, but—”

  “We had a few pubs inquire, the ones who publish horror, dystopian. You know. But this offer blew us away. We closed a few hours ago.”

  It was within marketing’s rights to close the deal. Victoria had granted them license to do so after the other options had gone so well. But… “I don’t know as I’m comfortable with the sale.”

  “Uh, want to talk to Barry?” Barry Walker, the head of the department.

  What would she say? Staring at the rendering, she decided. “No. I’ll have to learn to let go.” Truer words…

  “Oh, right. I know. We get attached to our creations. A couple of weeks and she’ll be out there, Victoria.”

  Mustering an enthusiasm she didn’t feel, she replied. “For sure. And thanks.”

  She applied herself during the rest of the day, her gaze straying to the file sitting squarely on the top left-hand corner of her desk until she stuffed it into a drawer. This time she wouldn’t give in to following up on it via a search, instead, would watch for the perfume advert and some of the others. It’d be fine.

  Dawna poked her head in. “It’s nearly six and I’m heading out. You?”

  “Shortly.” Her promise to her mother flickered in her head. She had to pick up some food items. “See you tomorrow.”

  The older woman’s face creased with concern. “I hoped a couple of days with your mom would have eased some of that strain, Victoria. But you look even more stressed.”

  She touched her cheek and forced a smile. “Do I look that bad?”

  “Not bad. You’re beautiful. But you’re carrying a big load. Best you cut back on your hours—and eat better.”

  At least the woman didn’t tell her she needed to get more sleep. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

  Staring at her computer screen didn’t inspire her, so about ten minutes later, she packed up and headed for the same grocery store. Sacks in hand, she drove home, curiously reluctant to do so. Maybe she should … what? Go for a drink someplace with friends? She didn’t have any here, having had no time to make any, and had been reluctant to schmooze with staff in the early days.

  She thought longingly of her friends back home. Most were Logan’s and therefore out of bounds, but Theresa and Kaitlyn were still connected. They had respected her request for space right after that awful day because she’d taken refuge with her family—and in her work.

  Both had been hurt and confused when she’d left town without sharing but had forgiven her, as good friends do, apparently. She wasn’t sure she deserved it, especially as she'd left them with horribly expensive bridesmaid gowns. At least they were suitable to wear out as cocktail dresses. She made up her mind to call them both tonight, maybe even a conference call, or Facetime. Brief emails and shorter texts hadn’t done more than ensure a slender thread of connection.

  She could reassure them that she was doing fine and staying in Boston so they could consider coming to see her. The idea of living here and planning for loved ones to visit surely was a signal she was building a new life for herself. Contrary to the body blows she’d received today. Right?

  Emilio had been replaced by Gordon, a fellow she didn’t know and didn’t care to make the effort to. A hulk of a man, he frowned at everyone, and other than that, didn’t acknowledge them. Emerging from the parking garage entrance, she strode past him, and was surprised when he called out her name.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s someone waiting for you.” He gestured toward the lobby.

  “Oh. Okay. Thanks.” She reversed direction and headed there, hefting her shopping. Gordon wouldn’t have let just anyone in, even to wait.

  She wasn’t prepared when Logan’s tall frame unfolded upward from one of the chairs. Numb, her fingers uncurled and the handle of the sacks slipped through them to hit the tiles with a dull thump. Her case and purse followed, and she couldn’t summon the wherewithal to even make a futile grab for them.

  Three orange orbs rolled across her peripheral vision and she watched the fruit cluster at Logan’s feet. He wore his usual casual apparel, well-worn jeans that cost more than an average person’s monthly rent and a button-down shirt beneath a soft leather jacket he must have donned in deference to Boston’s weather.

  Neither seemed to be capable of speech, and she struggled to be the first. To shut him down. “This isn’t happening.”

  She squatted to pick up her laptop and purse, abandoning the groceries. The thought of gathering them up and letting him see her trembling hands would add insult to injury. Upright and turning on her heel in the next second, she hustled toward Gordon.

  The guard was standing at attention, watching intently, and she suddenly valued his lack of interaction as much as she intuited his now apparent resolve to protect the building’s tenants. She moved past him, picking up his barely audible, “Sorry, Miss,”, before he put himself between her and Logan who was hard on her heels.

  “Victoria! Please, baby. Give me a minute. Please.”

  No minutes. Not a second. She’d given him everything and there was nothing left. Refusing to reply, she gained the elevator and pressed so hard on the button she snapped her fingernail off. The car arrived instantly, something in her favor for a change, and she stepped inside.

  Without a glance at the tussle taking place in the lobby, she punched her floor number—and the one above. The doors inched closed and she leaned against the wall, her knees like water.

  Too fucking much. His appearance was etched on the back of her eyelids, so she popped them open, only to see his face in her mind’s eye. He’d been alone, or at least she hadn’t seen anyone else, though likely a herd of dancing elephants could have been present and she wouldn’t have noticed.

  Hurrying down the hall to her door, she somehow found the keys and let herself in. Throwing deadbolt offered her a measure of relief, though she wasn’t afraid of Logan. Terrified of herself, yes. Her immediate reaction had been to throw herself into his arms, the ones he’d opened to her. Finding the ability to protect herself came from a place she hadn’t known existed.

  Feeling lightheaded and panting as
though she’d run miles, she set her stuff down and stumbled to the kitchen. The wine she and her mom hadn’t finished was still on the counter, a robust red, with maybe a third left in the bottle.

  Grabbing a water glass, she filled it and took a great gulp of the beverage. Another followed, and by the third, she thought maybe she wouldn’t fall on her face. Her nerves steadied and she could breathe again. She filled the glass with the rest of the wine.

  She went to sit on the couch, drawing her legs beneath her, and considered that she hadn’t handled the meeting very well. Meeting? Well, it hadn’t been a confrontation. Logan hadn’t given off any hostile vibes and she strove not to interpret the look on his face and in his eyes…

  What did he want, that he’d come to Boston? You. He wants you. She stomped her hopeful heart into submission and summoned up her nasty voice. Logan had her and threw her away. There was no freaking way he’d get the chance again. She didn’t care what he wanted.

  Throwing back half of her drink, she nearly choked and then sipped at the rest. A firm knock at the door made her jump, and she watched the panels in wary fascination. Did the handle turn? Another knock, this one louder. She shoved to her feet, wavering.

  “Who is it?”

  “Gordon Perrault. From downstairs.”

  She ventured closer, lightheaded from too much alcohol, too quickly, on her empty stomach. Because that’s all it was. “What do you want?”

  “To apologize again. He said he was your fiancée and had forgotten his key.” The words were a little muffled, but she heard them.

  She cautiously threw the locks and opened the door. Gordon looked sheepish and very apologetic. She figured he was afraid of losing his job. Holding onto the door for support, she said, “Don’t let him in again. Or anyone I don’t put on the list.”

  “I won’t. But he showed me pictures of you. Both of you. Together. You looked like a couple.” He sat bags of groceries inside.

  Ignoring the storm of emotion his words set off in her, she asked, “He’s gone?”

  “Yes. Not willingly. I had to, uh, well, he’s a scrapper.”

  Logan? She knew he was in good shape, worked out and took care of his body, but she didn’t think he knew how to fight. “He fought?”

  Gordon shrugged. “He didn’t want to leave until he spoke with you. I figured you didn’t want that to happen. Do you have a restraining order?”

  “No. What did you do to him?” Yep, she was the crazy one. Worried about the man who’d wrecked her.

  “A shot to the ribs and one to the kidney settled him down. I put him in a cab. He can go to Emerg if he thinks he needs to. And you should think about that restraining order if you don’t want him to come after you again. He’s obsessed. I know that look.”

  Shock had her nodding and backing away, closing the door on yet another apology. She relocked it on autopilot and wandered to her bedroom. Confused and worried, she stripped off her suit and underwear and left them in a crumpled heap on the floor. Ignoring her nighttime routine, she clambered into bed, naked, in full makeup and without brushing her teeth.

  Her stomach growled once before the wine eased her under.

  ****

  “You can wrap one of those elastic bandages around your ribs for comfort if you like, Mr. Doherty. We don’t treat bruised ribs like we used to, but sometimes the support helps.” The ER doctor made a note on the chart. “I expect you might see some evidence of blood in your urine for the next couple of days, but unless it intensifies don’t worry. The scan didn’t flag any actual injury, merely localized bruising. But come back immediately if you’re concerned.”

  “Thanks.” Merely. Logan wouldn’t have bothered seeing a doctor, except he needed to be sure he was well before his next contact with Victoria.

  “You might want to steer clear of bar fights.” There wasn’t a hint of censure in the man’s voice, nor any humor. Logan supposed they saw far worse here.

  “I will.” He hadn’t exactly told them the truth. Being beaten up had been humbling enough, but telling them he’d been trying to get past a security guard to his fiancée might have resulted in them calling the authorities. A bar fight sounded manly. He wanted to laugh at himself, but he kept seeing Victoria’s expression.

  Her pallor frightened him, and the hurt in her eyes… The sight of his woman had stolen his speech. Her beautiful hair shorn, her face and body so thin… But it was the look on her face, part shock, part horror and … pain.

  The doctor’s voice interrupted his reverie. He supposed he should be thankful, although he deserved to hurt at the memory, too.

  “Excuse me?”

  “An over-the-counter painkiller is indicated. See your regular doctor in a week.”

  “Thanks.” He threw the hospital gown on the bed, wincing with the movement and decided to invest in several of those elastic bandages. His right side above his ass sported a rapidly darkening red bruise. At least his face had escaped the damage, because that he couldn’t hide when he publicly stalked Victoria.

  The guard had called him obsessed and that hit the nail on the head. He’d caused Victoria’s pain and somehow he was going to erase it.

  Part of his plan was unfolding and her having a welter-weight champion at her apartment building door was an oversight, or he’d have made greater strides tonight. Selecting a credit card, he made his way toward the cashier. He’d only begun to pay, and while his finances might be finite, the currency in his heart was not.

  Chapter Six

  She squinted at the clock. The hour should have struck panic into her heart but instead, there was only a muted lurch. Dawna would be in the office by now, and wondering where Victoria was. First in, last out—that had been her routine for the past month. Even the cleaning staff knew her by name.

  She wasn’t thinking about those few minutes in the lobby last night. Instead, she focused on the danger of becoming dependent on alcohol. The tumblers of wine, consumed in such a short period of time without any food to soak it up had given her a long, restful sleep. That alone numbed her to the warning of drinking too much.

  Her cell rang, out in the living room, and she contemplated the distance to where it reposed in her purse. It wasn’t worth it, and she closed her eyes. It rang again, and she grudgingly felt her way to the edge of the mattress. Swiveling her feet to the floor, she heaved her torso upright and nearly fell on her face.

  “Geez.” Her lips felt chapped and she had a slight headache. Had to have been the wine and not the bizarre scenario in the lobby—nope, she wasn’t thinking about that.

  Nude, she shivered her way to locate her cell, dragging it from the depths of her bag. Two missed calls from Dawna. Reluctantly, she called the woman back, deciding to take a sick day. There was another bottle of wine, unopened, and she needed her rest.

  “Victoria? Are you okay?”

  Wincing at the shrill voice, she held the phone away. “I’m not feeling very well. I slept through the alarm.” She didn’t even know how to set the alarm on her phone but it sounded good.

  “Oh, dear. Something you ate? The flu? You don’t sound stuffed up. What can I do?”

  Something she knew. Someone. Victoria pinched her thigh. “Probably flu. I don’t think I’ll be in today.”

  “You mustn’t be feeling well. But best you stay home if you’re contagious. I can bring you soup?”

  She nearly laughed. Contagious. “I have what I need here, thanks.” Although the thought of red wine for breakfast…

  “Would you like me to send some of these flowers over? To cheer you up?”

  “Flowers?” It wasn’t unheard of for clients to send a bouquet as a thank you. “From who?”

  “I haven’t a clue. There’s no note. Not with any of them. But there have to be a dozen bouquets. Red roses with baby’s breath. Stunning.”

  She gripped the phone in a suddenly sweaty palm. Her voice wouldn’t work.

  “Victoria? Are you there?”

  “Uh huh. I’m here.
And no, don’t send the flowers. The scent will be too much for me. In fact, get rid of them.”

  “All those beautiful blooms?”

  “All of them. Give them away, throw them up. Out. Whatever.”

  “I’ll deal with it. You take care and I’ll check with you later.”

  “I’ll call you. In case I’m asleep.”

  Setting the cell on the coffee table, she became aware of how chilled she was and rushed to grab a robe. Detouring into the bathroom, she surveyed the damage in the mirror as she used the facilities and shrugged. The scarecrow look suited her mood.

  Ignoring the beckoning bottle of wine, she put a pot of coffee on and rummaged in the fridge for the alcoholic creamer. Compromise was a good thing. While the coffee dripped, she dragged out her laptop and searched restraining orders. Oh, she knew she’d never apply for one, because Logan was no risk to her, not physically, but she wondered about the language involved. Because she knew she’d better have the verbiage when she next saw him. That man never gave up on anything in his life.

  Well, he’d given up on their marriage, but besides that. Not when it came to him getting his own way. How was it that she’d never found that quality distasteful before? She shut her inner voice down before it came up with a positive—and unpalatable answer. Because he was never wrong that you noticed—fair, and kind and loving—and it was always in your best interest. Tapping through a menu, she frowned. She had no control, not even over her own damn inner voice.

  Was he hurting today? Did he seek medical care? She was too tired to be angry with him and her worry leaked through. Though she’d beat him with one of those bouquets if she saw him again. Which wasn’t going to happen. Restraining Orders. Where to apply. Information required.

  With a shuddering sigh, she clicked out of the screen and then went and poured a coffee, doctoring it with the creamy booze. She took a swallow. Nectar of the gods. It didn’t influence her predicament, however, and she couldn’t sit on it very long. Meaning, she couldn’t hide in this apartment for however long it took Logan to give up.

  Pinching the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger, she considered her options and snatched up her cell.