“But...” he started.
“Don’t worry, it’s perfectly legal. Natalie Powell is my penname.”
“This is you?” he asked, holding up the pre-nup.
“Of course it is, and sweetheart, just ignore what you read about me on the internet. I didn’t mean to shoot him.”
“Shoot who?”
“My first husband.”
He deeply wrinkled his brow and stammered, “Your...first husband?”
She stood up, walked to the door, and then turned around. “Can you believe it? Our wedding is only two weeks away. What time are you picking me up for dinner?” Just now, the expression on his face was completely blank, so she simply shrugged. “Call me.” Her smile was warm and adoring when she said, “I do love you so.”
With that, the pretty young woman with long dark hair and blue eyes left his office. Although it was summer, she intentionally chose to wear a crisp white blouse, and a Ralph Lauren black skirt with a matching jacket. Her expensive black, four inch heels were Christian Louboutin and had just a touch of red on the soles. Stewart once said it was his favorite outfit, so she wore it just for him.
She had been in his office several times in the past few weeks, met some of the people working there, and remembered to happily nod to each of them as she steadily walked down the spacious pathway between the cubicles. Funny – before that day she never noticed how many of the desks were cleaned off and lacked an employee.
Natalie Powell was still smiling when she approached the elevator. She pushed the call button, turned around, winked at the friendly secretary, and continued to hold her composure as she waited for the elevator door to open. She stepped inside and even though she was all alone after the door closed, she kept her same happy expression. It seemed to take forever for the elevator to descend from the executive offices on the fifth floor to the spacious lobby on the first floor, but at last the door opened.
The clicking of her heels seemed outrageously loud in a room where no customers waited and no friendly receptionist sat behind the large horseshoe shaped desk. The floor, she noticed, had not been polished in a while, nor had the dark brown Naugahyde furniture been dusted. The magazines were old and two bulbs were burned out in the hanging ceiling lamps above.
Outside, Philip was waiting and as soon as she came out of the building and started down the walkway, he opened the back door of a white limo. Dressed in his usual neatly pressed white uniform and cap, Philip was one of her favorite people. He owned his own limo service, loved to chat, and never kept her waiting. It was Philip she called when she needed to go somewhere special or wanted to impress someone.
Impressing someone was something she vowed never to do again.
Before she got in, she paused, and just in case Stewart was watching from his office above, she continued the façade of being a happy bride-to-be. “Take me home, please.”
“You don’t want me to take you to the airport?” Philip asked.
“Do you mind meeting Josh’s plane without me?”
“Are you ill?”
She felt like her plastic smile might actually freeze on her face, but she didn’t let go of it – not just yet. “No, just...I would rather go home and wait for him there.”
“Very well. What time is his plane due to arrive?”
“Not until two-thirty. I’ll send you a text with the airline and flight number.” Philip waited until she was comfortably seated inside, closed the door, got in the driver’s seat, and started the engine. They were barely out of the parking lot when she made a call on her cellphone. “Cheryl, this is Natalie Powell. Cancel all the wedding plans.”
“Cancel it?” the woman on the other end gasped.
“Yes please. The wedding has been called off. Just send me the bill.” Natalie didn’t wait for an answer before she hung up and put the phone back in her purse. By then, her happy expression had long since faded and instead, one deep sigh was followed by another. The moment the limo picked up speed on the 522 freeway from Woodinville to downtown Seattle, her shoulders slumped, and a tear rolled down her cheek. Fortunately, Philip kept a supply of tissues on hand, so she grabbed a couple out of the console in front of her and just let her tears flow. She knew Philip was watching her, but he let her cry without asking questions and for that she was grateful. A short time later, she managed to compose herself, gathered her strength, and stop her tears.
It was several minutes later before Philip asked, “You okay?”
She nodded. “Just mad. I always cry when I’m mad.”
“Most women do. Men hit things and women cry. You want to talk about it?”
“Not today.”
“Okay, but you have my card if you need a friend.”
She wiped one last tear off her cheek and tried to smile. “Thanks.”
“How long is your cousin staying this time?”
“Josh has to be back at work Monday.”
“Then you’ll need a ride to the airport on Sunday?”
She leaned forward a little. “Oh no, did I forget to tell your wife?”
“Probably not, my wife just forgot to tell me. She keeps track of my schedules and I sure would be lost without her.” He paused to watch Natalie’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “Guess I shouldn’t be talking about a happy marriage just now.”
“I don’t mind. I’ve heard there are happy marriages out there – somewhere.” She leaned back and relaxed a little more.
“Josh isn’t married?”
“No, he’s waiting for the kind of perfect woman that doesn’t exist.”
Philip chuckled. “Sounds levelheaded to me.”
“Except that I’m already twenty-three and he’s two years older. By the time we have children, we’ll be too old to take care of them.” She turned to look out the window hoping Philip wouldn’t ask any more questions. He didn’t.
The drive around the northern tip of Lake Washington on the 522 Freeway was one of the most beautiful thoroughfares in the city. Tall cottonwood, aspen and pine trees grew on both sides, and thick cement walls helped mask the traffic noise for apartment dwellers and home owners alike.
A trip to Seattle in her senior year of high school convinced Natalie that the Northwest was the place for her, and for the past three years she had been happy with her decision. She almost bought a house on Lake Washington but decided against it. Peace and quiet were a must in her profession, but a woman alone had to think of her security first. She just wasn’t sure she trusted all those electronic security systems. A safe room might be the answer, but how many houses had one of those? Instead, she chose to live in an apartment building where security came in the form of actual people.
Before long, the 522 intersected with the I-5 freeway and by the time they reached the plush thirty-five story Barrington Tower in downtown Seattle, she had sufficiently composed herself enough not to concern the doorman. She waited for Philip to open the car door for her, stepped out of the limo, and asked, “Isn’t your daughter getting married in September?”
“That’s the plan,” Philip answered as he closed the car door.
“Do you like her fiancé?”
“I do. He’s a computer hacker.”
Her eyes widened. “A hacker?”
Philip chuckled. “Says he works for the government.”
“Do your daughter a favor and check him out. If he’s telling the truth, she need never know. If not, maybe you can keep her from making a terrible mistake.”
Philip looked worried so she tenderly patted his arm. “I’m fine. Truly, I am. Would you wait here for a minute? I have a gift for your daughter.” As soon as he nodded, she hurried through the door the smiling doorman held open for her. A couple of minutes later she returned and handed Philip the gift.
His mouth dropped. “Your wedding dress?”
“I don’t need it now and it’s been altered so I can’t return it. If your daughter can’t wear it, maybe one of her friends can. The veil is in there too.”
For a moment, he stared at the bunched up white dress that appeared to have several rows of lace, “Oh, I think she can, she’s about your size. Thank you, Miss Powell. I could never afford a dress like this.”
“You are very welcome.” When he put an arm around her, she fought back a new wave of tears and returned his hug. “Away with you before my cousin thinks we’ve left him stranded at the airport.”
Philip chuckled, opened the trunk, and carefully laid the plastic wrapped dress inside. When he turned to thank her a second time, Natalie had gone back inside her apartment building.
THE BARRINGTON TOWER boasted of having the best of everything the Emerald City had to offer. Open to the public, the lobby took up the middle section of the first floor with a restaurant and bar on one end. The other end held fashionable shops where guests could buy anything from Seattle Mariner and Seahawk memorabilia to toothpaste. Downstairs, an Olympic size indoor pool, a sauna, and workout rooms were exclusively used by the residents. There was even a masseuse available, but by appointment only. Security was of the upmost importance and like many hotels, a card key issued only to residents prevented public use of the elevators and the stairs that led to the upper floors. Naturally, each apartment had a private card key and only management had the duplicate.
Natalie’s second favorite person in Seattle was Jonathan Hayes, the Tower’s daytime doorman. An older gentleman with a touch of gray on the sides of his dark hair, Jonathan had a fatherly attitude when it came to paying special attention to his resident’s needs. He was also the first line when it came to security. If a visitor didn’t have the resident’s permission, there was no way Johnathan would let anyone go upstairs.
Several of the apartments on the upper floors were rented for guests by various businesses. The out-of-town guests didn’t come often, but often enough to justify the expense. That meant Natalie rarely had to put up with loud parties and other unwanted noises. She normally ate at home, but having a restaurant in the building for those times when she was incredibly busy was very convenient, and if she wanted, she could ask housekeeping to do the heavy cleaning in her apartment. Normally, Natalie preferred to do her own cleaning.
As soon as she approached the desk, the receptionist handed Natalie her mail while Johnathan used his card key to summon the elevator. As though everything was perfectly fine, she warmly greeted each and rode the elevator to the twelfth floor. She walked down the empty hallway to the last door on the right, unlocked it, went inside, and then locked the door behind her. She laid her things and the mail on the island between the kitchen and the living room and for a long moment, stared at the counter top.
The kitchen had everything a cook could possibly want, including more electrical outlets than one woman living alone could ever use. Just off the kitchen was a small utility room with a washer, dryer and extra closet space. The dining room was Natalie’s office. Aside from a dining room table and chairs, it held her desk, her computer, a laptop, and her corporate check book along with a calendar, a pile of bills, and various other pieces of paper. Compared to the neatness of the rest of the apartment, her office was a mess, but it was just the way she liked it.
The living room was enormous and even the big screen TV, a bookcase, a large white sofa, and two matching chairs didn’t fill it sufficiently. Even so, she liked how the sofa and chairs looked on the smoky blue carpeting. Natalie preferred simplicity, so her coffee table and end tables were glass with gold trim around the edges. The apartment even had two bathrooms, one for each of the two bedrooms, both of which had walk-in closets and still more storage closets than she had managed to utilize.
At length, Natalie stopped staring at the counter and made a decision. When it came to choosing between tears and anger, she almost always chose anger. She kicked off her shoes and headed for her bedroom where she changed into jeans, a blouse, and tennis shoes. Finished, she picked the expensive three-piece suit up off the floor and carried it to the kitchen. Her anger growing, she harshly stuffed the suit in an ordinary grocery bag and went back to get the shoes. When she shoved the first shoe in the bag, the heel tore the plastic.
“That figures,” she mumbled. In retaliation, she grabbed two more bags, one for the clothes, and one for the shoes. Then she tied the plastic handles together, knotted them, grabbed her card key, and headed out.
As soon as Johnathan spotted her coming out of the elevator and heading toward the back of the building, the doorman hurried after her. “Miss Powell, let me do that for you.”
“I can manage,” she said.
“It is no bother.”
She stopped and turned to him. “Believe me; throwing these in the dumpster myself will give me great pleasure.”
“Very well, but I’m going with you. It’s not always safe out back.”
“Okay,” she agreed and then followed him down the long hallway behind the restaurant’s kitchen. He needn’t have worried, for the alley was empty. Even so, Johnathan held the door open while she lifted the lid, tossed her trash in, and then let the heavy lid come crashing down. It didn’t make her feel nearly as good as she hoped it would, but at least that much was done. Johnathan looked worried, so she smiled to reassure him when she came back inside. As they passed, she glanced through the kitchen door. “Busy morning?”
“Unusually so, but then it’s Friday and some like to have a quick lunch and get an early start on the weekend.”
“Friday, yes so it is.” In the lobby, she watched as Johnathan glanced at the front door, saw a taxi pull up, excused himself, and hurried off to tend his duties.
She was about to go back upstairs when she thought of something. Natalie cautiously peeked into the room adjoining the restaurant, assured herself the coast was clear, and boldly took a seat at the bar.
The barroom was decorated in the usual black and red, with red globes hanging from the ceiling that cast the barest of light as if to give the illusion of nighttime. The only real light was on the floor inside the actual bar so the barmaid could see what she was doing. A long painting on the wall behind the bar was of Seattle at night and looked very much like the real view from Natalie’s apartment window.
The woman behind the bar seemed happy to see her. She looked to be in her thirties with red hair and always had a friendly manner. She only had a few customers but that would change soon enough. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Miss Powell.”
Her name tag said, Gretchen, which was fortunate because for the life of her, Natalie couldn’t think of the woman’s name. “I’ve been busy.”
“You’ve been crying too.”
“Does it show that much?”
“Not that much. Another woman can always spot it though.”
“Make me a margarita to go, will you?”
“Sure. Man troubles?”
Natalie moaned. “Isn’t it always? I sure know how to pick ‘em.”
“Me too. Around here, the drunker they get, the better I look. Makes it hard to find a real man.” Gretchen put some ice in the blender, added the ingredients, and salted the rim of a glass while the mixer ran. Soon, she poured the drink and set it in front of Natalie. “Need someone to talk to?”
“Not now, still too fresh.”
“I understand. I saw you peek in. Are you looking for someone or making sure Hunter isn’t here?”
Natalie hesitated. “I...”
“It’s okay, you know. He’s got an eye for the ladies, which is why he likes tending bar. Sometimes he comes on a little too strong though, and as pretty as you are, I thought...”
“He hasn’t bothered me.”
“Okay, but if he ever makes you uncomfortable, you can...”
“Truly, it’s not a problem.” Natalie took a sip of the drink so she wouldn’t spill it and then stood up. “Put it on my tab, will you?”
“Sure.”
AT LAST, SHE WAS ALONE in her apartment with time to think – although thinking was the last thing she truly wanted to do. She took another sip of her marg
arita, and then set it on the coffee table. Next, she grabbed a throw pillow off the sofa, sat down, curled up, and held the pillow to her chest as if it could somehow comfort her.
All the warning signs were right in front of her eyes, but she just didn’t pay attention. What was it she saw in him again? For the life of her, she couldn’t recall. It was as if that very morning was the first time she’d really taken a good look at Stewart. He was not ugly, but not nearly as handsome as she thought either. In fact, he was not her type at all. She preferred men with dark hair, his was a rusty shade of brown, and his chin was pointed. Long ago she decided against pointed chins unless accompanied by a dimple like her father’s. How did she manage not to notice that? He was dressed well enough in the blue business suit he often wore, although there was a stain on the lapel. She hadn’t noticed that before either.
Natalie closed her eyes and remembered how eager Stewart was to marry her. If she let him have his way, he would have whisked her off to Vegas and married her in a chapel with none of her friends or family in attendance. Natalie talked him out of it. She was a successful author, wanted all the glitz and glamor of a real wedding and found working with the wedding planner enchanting and exciting. He agreed as long as she could accomplish it within the month.
Now, her wedding plans seemed as superficial as her husband to be.
There was one thing Natalie regretted most of all. She shouldn’t have called Josh. She should have known he would hop on the first plane out of Atlanta and come to her rescue. She told him not to come because last minute flights were too expensive, but he insisted, so the least she could do was have a ticket waiting for him at the airport.
The truth was, she did need a shoulder to cry on. Not literally, though. Crying always gave her a headache and dehydrated her. Natalie ignored the margarita, got up, went to the refrigerator, and grabbed a cold bottle of water. She should have ordered groceries, but she was too upset to think about it that morning.
Greed and a Mistress Page 21
