The Corporate Wife

by Leigh Michaels

  Husband, she thought. There’d been a little twist in the way he’d said it, as if it felt as strange to his tongue as it did to her ears. Husband...

  Erin’s smile felt forced. “No, you haven’t seen the dress before. I bought it for the opening party at the convention we threw last spring for all our customers, but I wasn’t moving in your circles then, I was still in the public relations department.”

  Slater nodded. “That was the convention where I wandered by the PR booth on the last day just as you were launching a promotional pitch, and I heard the best presentation ever for Control Dynamics.”

  “The speech that got me promoted to be your personal assistant? That’s the one.”

  “Tell the truth, Erin. Did you really not know I was there when you started talking?”

  “Of course I didn’t – and it’s a good thing, too. If I had, I’d have been completely tongue-tied.”

  Slater half-smiled. “You? I doubt that.”

  “Cross my heart.” She looked around the foyer; she’d never seen it in such deep shadow before. “I thought sure Jessup would have the place ablaze in celebration. He left the party a couple of hours ago, didn’t he?”

  “He’s taking a day or two off.”

  I wonder, Erin thought, whose idea that was. She suspected that Jessup could fade into the wallpaper at the drop of a hat, but Slater might have felt her adjustment would be easier if it was just the two of them. And perhaps he was right. “Very thoughtful of him.”

  “He said he’d leave a casual supper for us.” Slater crossed the foyer and snapped on the living room lights, adjusting the momentary glare down to a soft glow. In front of the fireplace was a small table, draped in white linen and set for two, with gleaming crystal, silver flatware, and covered appetizer plates already in place. Nearby, on a glass cart, was a warming tray which emitted heavenly smells.

  “A two-course meal is his definition of a casual supper?” Erin said.

  “Oh, I’m sure he’s left dessert somewhere. Unless he assumed we’d be bringing the rest of the wedding cake home instead of leaving it for the hospital staff. Perhaps I should have warned you that Jessup is quite the romantic.” Slater lit the gas fire and held Erin’s chair.

  “If this is casual, I wonder what he called the breakfast you brought to the hospital.” She was uneasily aware that she was talking almost at random. She’d never had so much trouble finding things to say to him, at least not since the day shortly after that convention, when she’d been summoned to his office without a hint of the reason and been offered a new job.

  Slater uncorked a champagne bottle, removed the silver covers from the appetizer plates, and seated himself across from her. Erin looked down at her soup, pale green creamy cucumber swirled together with rich tomato bisque, served on a plate which had been packed in chipped ice. “If this wasn’t cold, the red and green combination would make it perfect for a Christmas party,” she said.

  “We’ll keep it in mind.”

  His noncommittal tone made Erin think of the upcoming events and schedule of customer visits, and that reminded her of the fat leather notebook where she kept the details not only of her schedule but Slater’s. At the moment, she couldn’t remember where she’d left it. On her desk, perhaps? She’d never lost track of it before – but today with its wedding nerves had been far from ordinary.

  “I don’t even remember what’s coming up next,” she admitted. “The Senator, maybe? I forgot to ask Sarah if that’s been rescheduled.”

  “No, it’s still hanging at the moment. I sent the ballet tickets to a dance studio Sarah had heard about that gives free lessons to underprivileged kids.”

  “I’m glad they didn’t go to waste. I’d forgotten all about the tickets.” She tried to smile. “If I don’t get my scattered brain under control pretty soon, you’ll no doubt be looking to hire a different personal assistant.”

  “It’s good for me to be reminded now and then of all the things you normally take care of. How efficient you are, how level-headed…”

  Erin managed, with effort, to keep her voice steady. “Am I hearing a little sarcasm there?”

  “Not at all. Why?”

  “Just that it wasn’t very level-headed of me to conclude that you’d decided, entirely on your own, to patch up the rifts in the Reynolds family, without even bothering to get a clue what they might be.”

  “What else would you think?”

  “Now that I stop to consider, you didn’t precisely say it was your idea to invite my father. But you didn’t tell me it wasn’t, either.”

  “Let’s just say I wasn’t as hopeful as your mother was that if you found yourself face to face with your father, you’d be pleased to see him.”

  Erin was silent for a long moment. “Slater... if I had thrown a tantrum about it—”

  His eyebrows arched. “Are you telling me that wasn’t a tantrum? You could have fooled me.”

  She ignored the interruption. “Would you really have let me keep on believing you’d been such a bungling meddler?”

  She thought for a moment he wasn’t going to answer. “Probably,” he said finally. “Your mother was worried about how you’d take it, and if you’d blame her.”

  “Then why did she do it?”

  “Because she was even more worried that when things slowed down and you had a chance to think, you’d regret not inviting him.”

  Erin spooned up the last bite of her soup. “Maybe she’s right.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be pleased to hear it.”

  “And at least she’ll know for certain that it was worth putting herself through the strain,” Erin agreed. “Even though it wasn’t as bad as it might have been. I still can’t believe he was in her room, just shooting the breeze. I wonder…”

  Slater removed the soup plates to the side cart and served the main course, a spicy chicken-and-rice casserole with steamed vegetables on the side. “What?”

  “Whether he was telling her about his new wife.”

  “I noticed he was wearing a wedding ring. You didn’t know he’d remarried?”

  Erin shook her head. “No. Though why shouldn’t he? Mother’s dated, off and on. She just hasn’t found anyone she wanted to marry. I wish he’d told me, though.” She took a deep breath. “I didn’t even have a chance to talk to him today.”

  “He said you could call him any time,” Slater reminded.

  “And chat with his new wife? The one whose name I don’t even know? I suppose I should keep in touch, though. I might have little brothers and sisters someday.”

  “They might even like to come and play with Aunt Hermione’s nieces and nephews.”

  Erin was paying no attention. She’d put a hand to her throat, reaching for the slender gold chain around her neck, and she panicked when she didn’t feel it.

  “What’s wrong, Erin?”

  “My necklace.” Her fingertips fumbled past the silky collar of the cocktail dress. “I must have broken the – oh, no, here it is. It was caught on one of the spangles.”

  Slater was looking at her oddly, but Erin was so relieved that it took her a second even to register his expression.

  She pulled the chain free. “How incredibly lucky that it didn’t break. It would be just too ironic to lose my mother’s wedding ring today, of all days.”

  “That’s what you cherish so much? Your mother’s wedding ring?” Slater’s tone was almost flat.

  Erin tipped her head to one side in puzzlement. “Of course. She gave it to me when the divorce was final, and I’ve worn it ever since.”

  He neatly dissected a broccoli stalk. “I thought perhaps it had something to do with the man you’re so fond of.”

  For a moment Erin was honestly puzzled. “What man? Oh, the one you thought I’d want with me at the hospital? There’s nobody, Slater.” She saw his eyebrows lift and suddenly it was horribly important to convince him, to reassure him that he had no competition. “If there had been someone special in my life, I
would never have...”

  She stopped herself, but it wasn’t in time; the unspoken words echoed through the room nonetheless. I would never have married you, because you’re not special.

  “I mean...” she said faintly. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  “Of course you didn’t. You were just reminding me of our partnership.” He glanced at her plate. “Don’t you like the casserole?”

  I would choke if I tried to eat another bite. On the other hand, maybe it would be better to choke on food than on words. “It’s wonderful. I’m just not very hungry.”

  “Then I won’t go searching for dessert.”

  She looked down at Angela’s ring, still clenched in her hand. There was something odd about it, she thought, and dismissed the notion as fanciful. In any case, she had more important things to think about. She couldn’t let that tactless comment fester. “I’m sorry, Slater.”

  He began to gather up the dishes. “Sorry for what? Keeping to the rules we set? Don’t be silly.” His voice was perfectly calm.

  Oh, he’d really needed reassuring, all right, Erin told herself. He’d married her thinking there was another man in her life, a man she cherished – so why should she expect that the idea that there wasn’t one would bother him? It hadn’t, of course, because it simply didn’t matter to him whether there was a man or not. So long as they lived by the rules...

  You’re a fool, Erin Reynolds... Erin Livingstone...

  “You look exhausted, Erin.”

  She stood up. “I’m not too tired to help clear the mess. At least I presume you’re not planning to leave it for Jessup whenever he gets back?”

  “No, but all I’m going to do is load the dishwasher, and then I’m going to settle down with Bob Brannagan’s technical drawings for a while so I’ll be ready for our conference tomorrow. Why don’t you get some sleep? Jessup’s put your things in the guest room next to the library.”

  Erin’s hands stilled on the plates she was stacking.

  It was absurd to be surprised at the arrangements he’d made, she told herself. The first time they’d discussed the possibility of making their marriage more than businesslike had been on that crazy evening when he’d brought up the idea in the first place, when he’d said the decision would be hers to make – and it had ended up a moot point because she’d turned him down.

  Since then -- yes, they’d joked about Aunt Hermione’s nieces and nephews, but in a kind of unfocused, maybe someday kind of way. They’d never approached the question seriously again. Erin had actually let it slip from her mind – which was pretty astonishing in itself, come to think of it.

  She knew she ought to be feeling grateful that Slater was keeping his word, that he was too much of a gentleman to force the issue. He’d said he’d wait till she was comfortable with the idea, and he...

  And precisely when, she asked herself in astonishment, had that happened? Exactly when had she gone from uneasiness with the entire idea of a physical relationship to expecting that their marriage would include lovemaking? Because there was no denying that she had changed her mind.

  Erin didn’t remember a decisive moment. She only knew that her thinking had altered sometime in the last few days. Perhaps it was just part of the reality she’d accepted when she’d decided to marry him without love on either side. Perhaps she’d simply realized he was right; even though they wouldn’t ever feel the blinding passion of love for each other, they could still have the comfort of family. Raising children would be just another facet of their partnership.

  But this, of course, was a difficulty neither of them had foreseen. I’m content to leave that decision for the future, Slater had said, and that was exactly what he was doing. But they’d left the future undefined.

  How was Erin supposed to let him know that she’d changed her mind? Drop hints? Wait for him to read her thoughts? Send him a telegram?

  She supposed the most direct way would be to throw herself into his arms and say, By the way, I’m absolutely panting to go to bed with you. She could feel her face growing hot at the very idea.

  His fingertips brushed her cheek. “It’s all right, Erin. Don’t torment yourself.” His lips pressed briefly against a feathery lock of hair at her temple, and then he pulled back and smiled down at her. “Good night, dear.”

  And what else could she do but walk away?

  The bedroom to which he’d directed her was the one she’d used on the night of the dinner party. The addition of a few of her own things had softened the edges, but the room was still just as impersonally beautiful as when Erin had first seen it. Her hairbrush lying on the polished dresser, her suitcases lined up precisely in the closet, her sweaters neatly folded in the drawers, were not enough to make it hers. Only time could do that – and she was quite sure she didn’t want it to. She didn’t want to be comfortable here – for as long as she used this room, she was nothing more than a guest in his house.

  At home, in her bedroom at the townhouse, she would have dropped her spangled cocktail dress in a heap on the bench at the foot of her bed as a self-contained reminder to take it to the dry cleaners. Here, she thought, she would feel guilty about doing anything of the sort, so she hung the dress neatly in the closet even before she put on her nightgown.

  The sheets were cream-colored satin – gorgeous, luxurious, and completely impractical. No matter how carefully she folded them back, they slipped and slid, and her silky gown didn’t help matters at all. She constantly felt that she was sliding out of bed, and every time she tried to pile up the pillows into a nice stack to prop herself up, at least two of them squirted out of the heap and shot across the room.

  This is ridiculous, the little voice at the back of her brain whispered. There’s no reason for you to be here. What you need to do is march down that hall and into the library and interrupt Slater at his blueprints and tell him you’ve decided you don’t want separate bedrooms after all.

  She quailed at the thought. But maybe she could just tell him she wasn’t comfortable in this room. Or she could ask if there were some ordinary sheets to use instead.

  Before she’d quite decided what she was going to say, she found herself at the library door, already easing it open.

  She was trying to brace herself for the questions he would inevitably ask, when she realized that apart from a moonbeam flickering through the skylight, the room was dark. So was the living room, the dining room, and the hallway which led to the kitchen wing.

  Either Slater had changed his mind about reviewing Bob Brannagan’s technical drawings, or he’d taken them to his bedroom. Wherever that was.

  Erin had never felt so alone in her life.

  The moon ducked behind a cloud, and the dim, ghostly light which had shown her the outlines of the library vanished. Erin felt her way to the nearest chair. Perhaps if she just sat here quietly for a while, soaking up the sense of his presence which seemed to remain in the room, she’d feel better. Maybe then she’d choose the dullest book she could find and take it back to bed with her.

  But despite her resolution not to feel sorry for herself, tears brimmed and overflowed, and very quietly she began to sob.

  A door opened on the balcony almost directly above her, a door she hadn’t noticed before because it appeared to be part of the bookshelves. A shaft of light cut through the library. “Erin?” Slater stepped onto the balcony. His shirt was unbuttoned, his tie loose.

  She turned her face into the cushioned wing of the chair and tried to smother her sobs. It would have been difficult enough simply to have told him why she’d come looking for him, but to be discovered crying about it...

  He came down the spiral stairs from the balcony, his step light, and perched on the arm of her chair. “Poor darling. You’ve had about all you can take, haven’t you?”

  The gentle touch of his fingertips against her hair, soothing her as he might comfort a child, was the last straw. She sniffed and said, illogically, “You didn’t even kiss me goodnight!�
� She remembered the brush of his lips against her temple. “Not a real kiss.”

  As if in shock, his hand stilled on her hair, but though she couldn’t see his face, she knew from his tone that he was smiling. “And you wanted me to?”

  “Of course not!” she flared, sensitive to the hint of laughter. “Only...” Her voice quavered. “Only if you felt like it.”

  “Oh, I felt like it.” The last trace of humor had vanished. “Shall I show you how much?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. Slowly his hand tightened on the back of her neck, and he leaned closer.

  The moon peeked forth once more, showing Erin the shadowed angles of his face for a moment before she closed her eyes and gave herself up to his kiss.

  Slowly he explored her, his lips tender as he caressed and nibbled her temple, her cheekbone, her ear – then growing urgent as he returned to her mouth, becoming demanding as she answered with an urgency of her own.

  When ultimately he raised his head, his breathing was as unsteady as Erin’s own. “I don’t want to stop, Erin.” His arms were still around her; slowly his hold loosened.

  She leaned against him, her voice shaky and almost hoarse, her face pressed against his bare chest. “You don’t have to. Stop, I mean.”

  He was very still. She could feel the thud of his heartbeat against her cheek. “I want you to feel right about it.”

  “I do.” The simple words were every bit as much a vow as when she had said them that afternoon, before the judge.

  He said something under his breath, and he kissed her again. Only then did she begin to realize how firmly he’d restrained himself before, for this embrace left her gasping for oxygen – and for him.

  He guided her up the spiral stairs, kissing her on each step, and across the narrow balcony to the door he’d left open. Beyond it lay a bedroom so huge the corners lay in shadows despite the golden glow of the bedside lamps. But Erin had no time or energy to notice more, for she was in his arms again in a world where nothing existed except the two of them and the need to satisfy his hunger – and her own.