by Jane Porter
CHAPTER SIX
MORGAN glanced at his watch. That must be a record. It'd taken five frantic weeks to put the wedding together and only twenty-three minutes to empty the congested church, call the St. Regis, and cancel the reception.
Thank God everyone had gone, and having given the priest a generous contribution to the church, Morgan headed to his waiting limousine, unfastening his snug bow tie as he walked.
Who said lightning didn't strike twice? Twice he'd been engaged, twice he'd planned a wedding and both times the bride bolted.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He'd proposed to Charlotte out of love, and proposed to Winnie out of need, but both brides had turned around and run.
So much for Sexiest Man in New York.
Swearing, Morgan slid off his coat. All he wanted now was a cold drink, a change of clothes, and his plane. He was getting out of this miserable city for the rest of the summer and figure out just what had gone wrong with his life from the very private, very pristine island he owned in the Bahamas.
But on reaching his limousine he discovered Winnie's parents waiting for him. Mrs. Graham was crying. Mr. Graham looked stoic. And Morgan really didn't want to talk to either of them.
"Do you have a minute, Morgan?" Mr. Graham asked, still dressed in his black tux, sweat beading his brow. It was damn hot, unbearably hot with not a hint of breeze anywhere.
Morgan paused. He didn't feel like talking. He had no desire to make any conversation but he couldn't very well brush off Winnie's parents. He might be furious with Winnie but he didn't hate her.
"Of course," Morgan answered, wondering for the first time if perhaps the prenuptial agreement he'd presented to her had been too terse. It'd been business to him but really, had he been fair with her? Could he have been more generous financially?
Mr. Graham cleared his throat. "We're not happy at all about what happened today. Winnie's mother and I want you to know-"
"She was wrong," Winnie's mother interrupted tearfully. "There's no excuse. I don't know what came over her. She's always been a little high-strung, but really to run off like that..." Mrs. Graham shook her head, peach-lipstick lips quivering. "It makes no sense at all, especially as she's so crazy about you."
At least Winnie had done something right, he thought grimly, trying to keep his expression pleasant as he ground his teeth together. She'd convinced her parents she was marrying for love, something that all parents wanted to believe. Including his.
"I guess she had second thoughts," he said, jaw aching with the effort it took to maintain a smile.
"For whatever it's worth, she does love you. She's absolutely head over heels in love with you. And if you don't believe me, ask her yourself-"
"Margie," Mr. Graham remonstrated, placing a hand on his wife's arm. "Don't do that to Winnie."
"But it's true," Mrs. Graham vigorously defended.
"Winnie can't lie. Her face gives her away. She gets a tic, on the left side. We use to catch her all the time when she was small"
A tic? On the left side? Morgan rolled his eyes as he stepped from the elevator in his building to his third floor apartment. Give me a break, he thought, opening his door and stepping in. He didn't need that kind of nonsense today.
Mr. Foley appeared from the cool air-conditioned recesses of Morgan's apartment.
"Would you care for a drink, sir?" he asked, taking Morgan's tuxedo jacket and cast-off tie.
"A cola on ice would be great."
"I'm sorry about today, sir-"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Of course." Mr. Foley inclined his head but he didn't budge.
Morgan suppressed a sigh. "Yes, Mr. Foley?"
"Is she all right, sir?"
Morgan wished he could pretend he didn't know what Mr. Foley was talking about. He wished he were already in his plane on his way to St. Jermaine's, his tiny island with the most beautiful white sand anywhere in the world. But he wasn't on his plane, and he'd just come from the cathedral and he couldn't forget that Winnie had a tic when she lied and that somehow her mother earnestly believed that Winnie loved him.
Winnie, his dutiful talented assistant, loved him.
What were the words Marge Graham had used? Head over heels.
"I'm sure she's all right," Morgan answered wearily, feeling the first pang of guilt. But he didn't want to feel guilty, there was no reason to feel guilty, it wasn't as if he was taking advantage of her. She was being compensated. Cash, savings account, new penthouse, credit cards in her name ...
And she'd left it all, and him. She'd run off, jumping into a yellow taxicab, her white skirts filling up the car's back seat.
Morgan had chased after her to the steps of the cathedral, had watched the taxi pull away from the curb into the stream of traffic. He'd gotten a glimpse of Winnie from the back window, saw a sheen of white, and pale skin. Saw her hand reach up and press tiara and veil to the top of her head.
Did she love him?
He told himself it didn't matter, that a contract was a contract, and business was business, but it did nothing to assuage his growing guilt.
If she loved him, it changed everything. He hadn't been strategic at all. Instead he'd taken advantage of a naive young woman's affection.
****
Winnie dragged her crescent-shaped tiara and starchy white veil from the top of her head, plucked the pins that twisted curls back from her face and slumped at her desk, chin in hand.
Well, the fairy tale was finally over.
The prince had kissed the frog who claimed to be a princess and it turned out the frog was really just a frog and very green and very lumpy.
Winnie had never felt like such a lumpy green frog in all her life. There was no more pretending, no more fantasies of true love. She'd taken those three little words, I need you, and turned them into something huge and elaborate-a castle in the air.
Yes, he needed her, but not the way she wanted him to need her. He just needed a smokescreen. A shield. A semi warm body to deter the press.
She'd been fine with that, too, had told herself that being needed was practically the same thing as being loved, but standing in the church, dressed up like a princess bride, she realized she might be able to delude the press, but she couldn't delude herself. She was too much of a romantic to settle for marriage without love.
Sighing at her folly, and wondering if she'd just messed up her one chance to do something really different with her life, Winnie rolled back in her chair, away from her desk, to look around the office.
This was Morgan's world. She'd loved his world. She'd really miss his world.
For a moment she couldn't move, could hardly breathe, remembering how she'd come here four years ago on a job interview.
She was fresh out of college and Grady Investments was looking to hire an entry-level position for their research department. Grady Investments was Wall Street's hottest investment firm and they only took on the best and the brightest for their research team and Winnie had been thrilled when they read her resume and requested an interview.
She spent two weeks preparing for the interview. She read every Fortune 500 press release available, tracked the hot stocks and graphed companies she believed were overvalued.
Winnie couldn't have been more prepared. Yet when she arrived for the interview she bombed. It was just like at the church today. She started thinking and criticizing herself and before she knew it she lost all her confidence.
She stood in Grady Investment’s entry, hugging her briefcase that still had the new leather smell and she watched the people come and go through the reception area, all deep in conversation or engrossed in reading, and she felt like a fish out of water.
She wasn't smart like these people. She wasn't sophisticated like these people. She wasn't successful like these people.
The longer she stood there the more nervous she became. By the time she was led to the conference room for her appointment, she was a mess. Every i
ntelligent thought had left her brain. Less than five minutes into the interview, Winnie apologized, picked up her portfolio, and ran.
It wasn't until she reached the busy street that the terror gave way to grief. Despite her degree, her university honors, and the expensive wool suit, she still couldn't do anything right.
That botched interview changed her career path.
Instead of pursuing entry-level positions in finance she accepted a clerical position with another finance company. Her future had been decided.
Just like it'd been decided today.
Morgan had given her the opportunity of a lifetime so what if he didn't love her? She could still have been part of his world and traveled and tried new things but no, she had to overanalyze and over think and ruin everything.
She'd blown it again.
"Going somewhere, Winnie?"
That voice was the voice she'd heard on the intercom for the last seven months and she responded to it even now, heart accelerating. Morgan. Slowly, Winnie turned in her chair, hands resting on her white silk skirt. "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you."
Her stomach did a somersault, her pulse leaped, and she felt like a teenager all over again. "I'm here."
"So I see," he said, advancing toward her and moving the box from her desk to the ground. He sat on the edge of the desk, facing her. "How are you?"
Her stomach flip-flopped again. He'd changed from his tuxedo, but even dressed down, casual in a black knit shirt and khaki slacks, he looked gorgeous. The black shirt made his eyes look bluer, his hair glossier, his jaw more pronounced.
"Fine." She swallowed convulsively, nerves and tears battling for each other. "How are you?"
"Fine."
The strained civility made her want to laugh. Or cry.
This had been one of the worst days of her life. She had no idea what would happen now.
Morgan hesitated, appeared to pick his words with care. "It was rather awkward with you leaving so suddenly."
She had a mental picture of him standing up front at the altar with the priest and the ring boy and the flower girl watching Winnie turn around, white skirts billowing, as she ran.
It was an awful mental picture and she pressed her nails to her skirt to erase it. "Was it that terrible?"
One of his black eyebrows lifted. "What do you think?"
So it was really terrible. No use kidding herself. He'd been humiliated. Winnie swallowed hard around the lump filling her throat. "I'm sorry."
He shrugged. "Fortunately I've been through this before so I'm getting adept at handling high-strung brides."
Her eyebrows puckered. "Be serious."
"I am." He smiled faintly, but hard glints shone in his dark blue eyes. "Don't believe me? Ask my mother. Rose will tell you all about it. It was fifteen years ago. Her name was Charlotte and I thought we were deeply in love."
Winnie didn't know what to say. The office seemed too huge and empty, too silent. She flexed her fingers, knuckles aching. "Did she really leave you at the altar, too?"
A small muscle pulled in his jaw. "Not exactly. She gave me a little more notice-she was kind enough to cancel a week before. But that didn't make it less difficult. People want to know what happened. They don't want to ask, and most don't, but every now and then you get the daring few who do."
"What was her reason for canceling?"
His shoulders shifted and he walked to the window to gaze out at the enormous Federal Reserve Bank of New York. "It's complicated, but the bottom line was that she had concerns about my ... " He hesitated, searching for the correct words. "Family tree."
The Gradys were one of the oldest most-respected families in Boston. How could anyone have a problem with his family? "That doesn't make sense."
He looked at her over his shoulder, his expression almost mocking. "It does if you know my family tree. In terms of lineage, I'm an O'Connell, not a Grady. Charlotte didn't discover this until a couple weeks before our wedding and she panicked-" he broke off, wincing at the word "-changed her mind. She didn't want an O'Connell. She wanted a Grady. A real Grady."
Winnie struggled to assimilate his words, and the meaning. "You're not Rose and Reed Grady's son?"
"I'm their adopted son." His lips twisted tighter, his smile harder.
"Same thing."
"Not to Charlotte."
Indignant, Winnie rose from her chair. "Then she didn't deserve you! She doesn't have a heart and she never loved you-"
"Who are you to talk about love?" He interrupted, facing her. "You weren't marrying me for love, were you?"
Winnie turned away, she couldn't look at him, couldn't answer. She hated lying. Was terrible at lying. Her parents used to say she couldn't keep any wrong a secret.
"Do you love me?" he repeated, walking toward her, tension in every muscle of his body.
Winnie sat down again, still averting her head. But Morgan turned her chair toward him so she couldn't avoid his gaze.
She touched her tongue to her upper lip. "I-”,
'You what”
"I care about you. Yes, definitely, I care about you. I've worked with you for seven months now. We've worked closely together in the last month, too."
"But you don't love me. This was business, right?"
She slowly looked up at him, her eyes wide, her expression anxious. "Mmm-hmm."
"Say it. Tell me with words."
Winnie took a quick breath. "I don't love you," she blurted, but even as she said the words, her cheek tightened and her left eye twitched.
Morgan stood, backed away, forehead deeply furrowed. Winnie watched him cross the floor, rub his nape, ruffling his hair.
"Was it hard to get over her?" she asked softly, thinking of this beautiful but callous Charlotte.
He shrugged carelessly, broad shoulders twisting beneath the snug black knit fabric. "She was beautiful, elegant, graceful" His hard expression eased, turning rueful. "Yes. It was."
"I'm sorry she hurt you."
His smile faded. "It was a long time ago. I was just a kid." He took a step back, sat down again on the desk. "Fifteen years," he said softly. "Fifteen years and I'm facing the same problem. How ironic."
Yes, she thought, ironic was the word for it because seeing Morgan now, being alone with Morgan now, made her realize she'd made a huge mistake today, running away from the church.
"So what do we do?" he asked.
"I don't know."
"We can't stay here forever."
"No."
"We're going to need food, rest, a change of clothes."
That's right. Clothes. Winnie glanced down at her lavish wedding gown with the snug off-the-shoulder sleeves and the tiny crystals stitched across the fitted bodice. She could see the headlines in the morning paper: Bride-to-be Jilts Grady At The Altar. Man of the Year Claims Runaway Fiancée At The Office.
"Photographers outside”
He grimaced. "In droves."
Of course. When weren't there? Morgan Grady was still everyone's favorite bachelor. "I didn't bring anything with me."
"I've got some clean dress shirts in the closet in my office. You could wear one of my button-down shirts out with a pair of gym shorts. It's not high fashion but it's better than petticoats and silk."
Winnie changed in his office but needed his help to undo the endless little hooks hidden on the back of the dress.
It was strange having him help undress her. They'd never been so personal before, never dealt with much beyond contracts and copies, flight plans and schedules. His hands against her back, his fingers against her bare skin made her feel so much, made her want new things.
His hands, his mouth, his body, him ...
She was glad he couldn't see her face, glad he couldn't see her blushing. Winnie Graham, she silently lectured herself, you're not his type, you'll never be his type, and just because you've made a deal with him doesn't mean it'll ever be love.
Hooks unfastened, Morgan left her alone to f
inish undressing and Winnie slipped out of the white boned corset, unclasped the white garter belt and rolled down the white silk stockings.
She stepped into the gray cotton gym shorts he'd left on his desk and then slid her arms into his starched blue pin-striped shirt. The shirttail hung down to the middle of her thighs leaving just two inches of shorts peeking beneath.
Winnie buttoned the pin-striped shirt to her breastbone and rolled up the long sleeves so they no longer extended past her hands.
