by Dara Girard
Her sister’s voice was instantly comforting and her kind words made the dam break and tears fell behind the shade of her sunglasses as her anger spilled forth. She told her sister how awful Ian had been and how furious she was. Mariella was totally unaware of people looking at her. And for the first time, she didn’t care and didn’t try to put on a face.
Once Mariella stopped talking, her sister simply said, “Of course you’re going back.”
Initially Mariella couldn’t speak. “Go back?” she repeated. “I’ll never go back. He treated me terribly, Izzy.” She rested a hand on her chest. “Me.”
“I know,” Isabella said in her usual gentle way. “But I’ve never known you to leave without a fight. Besides, this may be the break you’ve been looking for. His being rude to you isn’t the worst thing in the world. It’s happened to you before.”
It might not seem to be a big thing to Izzy, but it was to her. Ian Cooper had ignored her. No, he had humiliated her. Getting attention was what she did. It was who she was. His actions had embarrassed her and she despised how ordinary and unimportant he had made her feel.
“What would Jeremiah say?” Isabella said.
“I don’t care. He’s not Jeremiah.”
“How about Dad?”
Mariella looked at a passing cyclist.
“Mariella?”
“I’m still here.”
“Just think. Are you sure it was that bad?”
Mariella gasped, outraged. “Do you think I’m making this up?”
“No, it’s just sometimes…” Her words died away.
“Sometimes what?”
“You tend to overdramatize things.”
Mariella stamped her foot, catching the attention of passing pedestrians. “I do not!”
“It’s just that there may have been a reason for his behavior.”
“There is a reason. He’s a barbarian. I can’t believe you’re defending him. I’m hanging up.”
“No, you’re not. You’re going to think about this rationally.”
Mariella rested a hand on her hip. “Fine.”
“I’ve never known you to run from a challenge, much less letting someone ignore you without letting them know how you feel. Mariella, you’ve never run from something you want.”
“I’m not running,” she said, insulted.
“Then why aren’t you in his office? Go back and find out what he wants. If you leave, he wins.”
She couldn’t allow that. Izzy was right. He wouldn’t force her to flee. She never fled a challenge. She quickly said goodbye to her sister, returned her mobile to her leather bag then marched back inside. In the elevator, she touched up her makeup, added more color to her lips, and adjusted any stray hair that had been misplaced by the wind.
“He’s still in his office,” Nelson said, jumping up from behind his desk when she entered the room.
“I know.” Mariella sat. She would see him if she had to wait all day. She intended to meet with him, dog his steps, stalk him if she had to. He wouldn’t get the chance to ignore her again.
Tense energy swept the office as Mariella waited. Time seemed to tick by slowly. Mariella didn’t move. She didn’t fidget or itch or tap her foot. She sat like a statue. At last, after an agonizing five minutes, the clock struck eleven. At exactly that moment the door opened and Ian stepped out. Everyone sent furtive glances at the pair, fearing something catastrophic was about to happen.
Ian looked at her and smiled. “Ms. Duvall, so glad you could make it.” He held out his hand. When she didn’t move to shake it, he reached down and seized hers. “Thank you for being so prompt.” He pulled her to her feet in an effortless tug. “Please come in.” He gently but effectively pushed her through the door then closed it behind him. He pulled out a chair and motioned to her to take a seat. She remained standing. Ian walked to his desk and sat.
Mariella studied him trying to use a dispassionate eye, but failing. No one could look at Ian Cooper dispassionately. His very nature made that impossible. He hadn’t changed from the man she had seen the day before. Why would he? What had she expected? Why did it matter? Somehow from reading his biography online and looking at the pictures he’d captured, she’d expected him to be somehow different. She’d expected to see something gentle behind the arrogant features and devilish eyes. But that wasn’t so.
She could see his eyes now and they completed her image of him, like a photograph being developed in a darkroom. He had a classically handsome face with compelling dark brown eyes, like a Benin sculpture. A very attractive man that would have Adonis weep with envy. She hated him even more. She tried to see him in three different ways. One as the talented photojournalist with a trained eye. Yes, now she could see his eyes as dark and compelling as his photographs. Then she tried to see him as a businessman running a successful magazine, which explained the arrogance that seemed to float around him. Lastly, she tried to see him just as a man, but she couldn’t put that image together. He was an enigma. The photojournalist and businessman she could capture, but the man proved elusive.
Mariella stood in the middle of the room determined to put him in his place. “I am furious.”
“Why?”
“First, I will not be manhandled.”
“Manhandled?” he said, confused.
“You forced me in here.”
“Did I? I thought you wanted to see me.”
“I did.”
“I usually meet my visitors in my office.”
“Yes, but I will come into a room when I want to and—”
“So you have,” he said.
“You’re not making sense.” Mariella could feel her temper beginning to rise again. He was toying with her.
“Of course I am. You’re the one who’s not. You say you want to see me in my office and here you are yet you’re furious.”
“I’m furious that you ignored me.”
“But I just said ‘Hello’ to you.”
“You said hello to me now, but not before.”
“Before what?”
“Before now. I was here nearly an hour ago and you didn’t even look at me.”
“Impossible. How could I have seen you when you weren’t here an hour ago?”
Mariella stomped her foot. “But I was here.”
“No, you couldn’t have been.”
“I said I was.” Mariella took a deep steadying breath, taking hold of her temper. She knew he was playing a game and she meant to win it.
“Ms. Duvall, there’s no need to shout.”
She raised her voice even more. “I will shout at someone who appears to be clearly hard of hearing. I was here nearly an hour ago.”
“But you weren’t here,” he calmly replied. “What would you be doing here an hour ago?” Ian rested back in his chair waiting for her next response.
She leaned on his desk. “Waiting to see you.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“Because I wanted to see you then.”
“But I didn’t have an appointment with you until now. Don’t confuse yourself, Ms. Duvall. I’m sure you wouldn’t have come an hour early for an appointment when you have better things to occupy your time. I know you are a considerate woman so you wouldn’t have so arrogantly assumed that I would have seen you earlier than the time agreed. Your schedule must be so full that you’re confusing me with someone else.” He smoothly changed the subject before she could reply. “Mother, this is Mariella Duvall. Ms. Duvall, my mother.”
Mariella started. She hadn’t even noticed that there was anybody else in the room, much less a well-dressed attractive older woman, a toy Chihuahua and a large black Labrador.
“A pleasure,” Shirley said, offering a tentative smile.
Mariella didn’t return the expression. “I offer you my condolences. It seems that your son is unfortunately in the early stages of dementia.”
Shirley blinked, casting a wary glance at Ian.
Ian merely smiled. “Considerate and she h
as a wonderful sense of humor.”
Shirley’s gaze darted between the two. She didn’t know how to reply.
Mariella stared at him, the level of her contempt evident in her voice. “You’re—”
Ian interrupted her. “Let’s get down to business. Please take a seat.”
Mariella folded her arms. “I prefer to stand.”
Ian stood. “Of course. Forgive me. I forgot to take into account your delicate sensibilities. That chair won’t do.” Ian came from behind his desk and pulled up another chair then pushed it into the back of Mariella’s legs, forcing her to sit. “There, that’s better.” He glanced at his mother who looked as though she wanted to leave but knew of no way to exit. She shifted her body, looking out the window while stroking Candy, who lay fast asleep on her lap.
Mariella glared up at him and started to rise.
He rested a hand on her shoulder that felt like a vise and kept her in place, but his tone remained courteous. “No, don’t get up. If you need something just tell me and I’ll get it for you.”
When she opened her mouth to reply, he turned and went back to his desk. “Good. Now that we’re both comfortable, I have a question for you. You’ve taken pictures of celebrities and even had Look Out magazine approach you. Why did you turn them down?”
Mariella stared at him. How did he know this?
Ian clasped his hands together behind his head. “Take your time. I have all day. I wouldn’t want to rush you. We all can’t be quick thinkers.”
I’ll get you for that one. “I like to work for myself,” she replied calmly. All feelings of irritation, carefully tucked away.
“It would have been nice on your résumé.”
“I already have enough impressive qualifications on my résumé.”
Ian let his hands fall and leaned forward on his desk. “Not impressive enough, but I admit you have an eye.” He sat back. “Let me tell you why I asked you to come. We are looking for a photographer to complete the second part of my father’s last project. It is a photo layout displaying East Coast seasons in a creative way. He had completed the photographs of the West Coast last year and planned to do the East Coast this year. He completed summer and spring. It was my father’s expressed wish that you complete fall and winter for him. He was impressed with your work. It will be an exclusive contract for six months to include a full spread in the magazine and a gallery showing.”
It was too much. “You must be mistaken. I’m not good enough yet.”
“He obviously thought you were.”
“But what do you think?” She immediately regretted the question. She didn’t care what he thought.
He flashed a cool smile. “It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s what he stated in his will. I agreed to follow his wishes.”
“But you—”
“The reasons why I agree are immaterial. We both know that a project of this magnitude, with the publicity you’ll gain from our magazine, will launch your career.”
“And I’ll be working with you?”
“For me. Yes. So what do you think?” He shook his head. “Never mind. I already know.”
She looked at him, incredulous. “You know what I think?”
“Yes.”
She blinked. “You don’t even know me.”
“You knew my father. That tells me all I need to know.”
“Then you don’t know very much.”
“Do you want the job?”
Mariella stood. “It is a fantastic opportunity.”
He flashed a smug grin. “Once in a lifetime.”
“Yes.” She lifted up his gold-plated nameplate and studied it. “I’d be crazy to say no.”
“Yes.”
She set the nameplate down and glared at him. “Then I must be certifiably insane because I wouldn’t work with you, for you, beside you, or above you for any money in the world. I find your behavior appalling not to mention insulting.”
His smile fell. “Now wait—”
“You claim to know me, but I know you more. You’ve always gotten your way, spoken your opinion, bombarded people with your power, made quick judgments, all the while dazzling people with your handsome face.”
Ian rose to his feet and leaned toward her. “Kind of like looking in a mirror, isn’t it?” he said in a low silken voice.
“If the mirror were cracked.” She grabbed her handbag and portfolio, and headed for the door, nearly tripping over Sylvester, who had decided to lie sideways near it.
“Move,” she said.
The dog slowly rose and stretched then yawned. He glanced up at her and blinked, then trotted to Ian’s side. Mariella swung the door open.
“I’ll see you, say nine, Thursday for our first meeting,” Ian called after her.
Mariella turned, looked at him with pure venom, then slammed the door.
Ian sat back and laughed.
“Ian,” Shirley said, grasping the front of her chest as though experiencing heart palpitations. “I’ve never seen such a woman. It’s hard to believe your father had anything to do with her, although he was never particular as long as they were beautiful. And she certainly is.”
His good humor suddenly died, replaced by a pensive look. “Hmm.”
She fell quiet, her gaze worried. “Ian, what are you up to?”
“What do you mean?”
“You have that look. You wanted her to leave, didn’t you? Not that I blame you. She is obviously on something to behave that way.”
“Mariella has never taken anything stronger than cold medicine and she’s never been my father’s lover.”
“How do you know?”
“She told me so.”
“And you believe her?” Shirley sniffed at her son’s naiveté. “Don’t you know that women make it an art to say the things men like to hear?”
“She didn’t lie to me.”
“But the rumors.”
“Rumors mean nothing to me in the presence of facts.”
“What facts?”
“You just met her.” He gestured to the door. “Dad could never have handled her and Mariella likes to be in control too much to take anything that would make her lose it.”
“But what about the will? You can’t deny that evidence.”
“No, but I’m sure there’s an explanation.”
“When it comes to your father even an explanation isn’t good enough.” She shook her head. “I can’t see any man who would want that vain, obnoxious woman,” she said, adjusting her hair. She then applied yet another layer of brilliant red lipstick. Candy, used to the goings-on between Shirley and Ian, was resting peacefully at the end of the sofa, trying to go to sleep.
“You’re looking at one.”
“Ian, you can’t be serious. You plan to make her your lover?”
He laughed. “No, of course not.”
She smiled, relieved. “Thank God for that.”
“I plan to make her my wife.”
Chapter 5
Shirley gaped at him. “You shouldn’t joke like that. Someone might take you seriously.”
“I am serious.”
“But you can’t be. She’s horrendous, beautiful yes, but the beauty will pale in a few years. You couldn’t be in love with her. I know you too well. Is this a competition? Or are you more like your father than you’d care to admit?”
His brown eyes turned cold. “Do you want to have a place to stay tonight?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Then don’t compare me to him again.”
Shirley was quiet a moment then said, “Not that it could ever be serious with you. You’ve never stayed true to anyone, except…” She stopped. He didn’t fill in the silence. He liked that she was uncomfortable. The Coopers didn’t like to talk about his first wife. Cathleen was ten years older, coarse, raw and brilliant. A photojournalist who’d competed with the men. She was as plain as she was courageous. She’d taken him out of his placid world of beauty and shown him what life was
like for others. He’d met her at college his freshman year when she’d been presented as a guest speaker. She’d approached him and taken his picture then said, “Let me introduce you to life” and he’d taken her up on her offer. It had been the best pickup line in his life.
He remembered working with her on photo assignments. He found himself meeting people with no running water or plumbing—not in some third world country but right here in the U.S. They had traveled the globe, on several occasions, and over time he soon felt comfortable with what others turned away from, what made others cringe. He liked dark alleys, smoke-filled bars and subsidized housing. Cathleen had introduced him to a side of himself he’d tried to hide. They’d only been married five years when on a trip to Gambia their lives had changed…no, he wouldn’t let himself remember.
He glanced up and saw his mother’s worried look. She hadn’t even tried to like Cathleen. Both of his parents had thought he’d run off with her just to hurt them. As though he were some rebellious teenager, but it had been deeper than that, and he had vowed to never hurt like that again. Mariella was not Cathleen. That was why he knew she was perfect. He wanted her. He’d never be that vulnerable again, and with Mariella, he knew that wouldn’t be possible. She thrilled and excited him. There was also a fresh vitality about her that he wanted to protect. He didn’t know why, but he planned to find out. One thing he knew for certain—Mariella was the woman for him.
Gen let out a startled scream when Mariella stormed through the door of their condo.
“What happened?” she asked.
Mariella threw her purse on the dining table. “Ian Cooper.”
“Didn’t it go well?”
She tossed her portfolio on the couch. “No.”
“What did he want?”
“He wanted to offer me an exclusive six-month contract to complete Jeremiah’s project.”
“You accepted, right?”
“I certainly did not,” she said, offended by the suggestion. “I would never work with such a—well, I can’t call him a man because he isn’t one. He’s a…a bastard completely impossible to be around. Condescending, rude, utterly without civility.”
“But he’s successful and could really help your career.”
