All's Fair in Lust & War

by Amber Page

  “Yeah, right. I’m pretty sure you don’t give up that easily,” she said, giving him a sideways smile.

  Then she turned away. It was either that or give in to the temptation to rub her hands over the hard planes of his chest.

  “I’m going to check my email and then head out for the night,” she said. “You?”

  “I think I’m just going to head out,” he answered. “I need to hit the hay so I’m ready to rock tomorrow. See ya in the morning.”

  Becky waved vaguely in his direction as he left and fired up her laptop. She didn’t really need to check her email—that was what smartphones were for. But she did need some time to get used to her new surroundings and wrap her head around the situation.

  Truth really was stranger than fiction. If she’d set out to write a book she’d never have come up with anything as screwy as this. It was almost reality-show-worthy.

  She could see it now: Flung: Where One-Night Flings Compete.

  Giggling, she peeked at her inbox. She was surprised to see it was flooded with messages of support from the whole creative team. The guy in charge of the agency might be a sleaze, but he sure did hire good people.

  She was just about to close it up when she saw a name that froze her heart.

  Pence.

  What did he want?

  She considered deleting the email without reading the message, but knew that was the coward’s way out. Taking a deep breath, she clicked on his name, willing herself to stay calm.

  Hey Babe

  Saw you at AdWorld, but I knew you wouldn’t want to talk to me so I didn’t say hello. Couldn’t stop thinking about you, though. You look good. Done good, too. I’d like to say I’m surprised, but you learned from the best—me.

  Did you know my agency is pitching to Eden, too? I’d say may the best man win, but we both know who that is—me.

  I’m sorry I’m going to have to crush you. But, hey, there’ll always be a job waiting for you here! Oh, and Chelsea hit the road, so there’s a room for you, too.

  Pence

  Becky read it twice, unable to believe what she was seeing. Unfortunately the message only got more infuriating the second time around.

  Could the man be any more repulsive? Was he really inviting her to take his wife’s...er...his ex-wife’s place over email?

  Unable to contain her rage, Becky screamed. Her shriek echoed in the mostly empty office, carrying her pain right back to her ears.

  She slammed her laptop shut and got up to pace.

  There was no reason this should affect her so much. She’d outgrown him. Outstripped him. She was twice as good as that scum-sucker had ever been on his best day.

  Seeking confirmation, she grabbed one of her awards off her desk, stroking the golden statue. She was good. Damn good. And nothing that man could say would convince her otherwise.

  But still she heard the echoes in her brain. “No-good hack,” they spat. “Bed-hopping social climber,” they hissed. “As terrible on paper as you are in bed,” they screamed.

  Unable to help herself, Becky chucked the award across the room. It landed with a dull thud, the thick red carpet seeming to reach up to protect it from damage.

  Becky caught the sob before it could escape from her throat. It was time to go home.

  * * *

  Becky turned the key in the faded red door that marked the entrance to her third-floor walk-up and trudged up the stairs.

  This morning she had felt so confident. So alive. She’d been sure that the world was hers to conquer.

  Now? Now all she wanted was a giant glass of wine and the oblivion that came with sleep.

  Without bothering to flip on the light switch, Becky stepped into the kitchen and opened the tiny fridge. Wincing at the glaring light, she pulled the Pinot Grigio from the top shelf and took a swig straight from the bottle.

  A cockroach scuttled across the bloodred countertop directly opposite her. Without thinking, she slammed the bottle down, reveling in the sickening crunch that sounded as it met its demise.

  “There’s one pest that’s out of my life forever,” she said, grabbing a paper towel to wipe its remains from her salvation.

  She grabbed a plastic tumbler and filled it to the top before collapsing in the purple velvet chaise that was her prized possession.

  Gazing out at the gently waving branches of the oak tree that graced her front window, she tried to relax.

  It was no good. As soon as she let her guard down memories started to invade. And they weren’t all bad. For a long while Pence had been everything she’d needed.

  She remembered how patient he’d been when critiquing her first efforts at advertising copy. He’d never laughed or shown disdain, no matter how awkward the headline or script construction.

  And how he’d loved to surprise her. A midweek picnic aboard a chartered sailboat here. Front row seats to the summer’s hottest concert there. A private dinner prepared by the city’s top chef whenever anything was seriously amiss.

  All wrapped in miles and miles of seemingly sincere promises. He’d painted beautiful pictures of the life they would create together—working opposite each other all day, then playing together all night, making sweet love whenever the mood struck them. He’d even included children in their mythical future: a girl with her hair and his height, and a boy with her eyes and his strength.

  She’d thought she’d been transported from her dreary hand-to-mouth existence straight into a fairytale. Unfortunately her happily-ever-after had never put in an appearance.

  At least not with Pence. And not in Detroit.

  But she’d spent the last five years here in New York, creating a new direction for her story. And, unless she was sadly mistaken, she was almost to the good part.

  She put the tumbler of wine to her lips, only to find it empty.

  It was time for bed.

  She shuffled into the closet that served as her bedroom and crawled beneath the sky-blue goose down duvet that was her biggest extravagance. Her bed was her sanctuary, and normally her lavender-scented sheets relaxed her within minutes.

  Not tonight.

  Tonight she could only toss and turn, searching for a comfortable place to lay her head.

  She was tormented by images of the flowered treasure box that lay hidden under her bed. The one that contained memories she couldn’t stand to destroy—and that destroyed her to remember.

  Sighing, she twisted the knob on the delicate crystal lamp on her nightstand and clambered out of bed.

  With the box settled in her lap, she gently lifted the cover.

  Resting there was a picture of her, snuggled against Pence’s broad chest at sunset aboard a sailboat. The camera had caught him midlaugh, his blue eyes crinkling, looking happy and relaxed. She could remember the exact moment. She’d felt so safe. So loved. So incredibly sure she was right where she belonged.

  The ruby promise ring he’d given her was also there, nestled in its green velvet box. As was the long gold chain he’d insisted she hang it on, so she could wear it “next to her heart.” She’d loved to feel it hanging between her breasts, imagining it was him touching her every time the ring had brushed a sensitive area.

  There were other pictures, including one taken at the dinner held in honor of her first award-win. He was scowling darkly at the camera, unhappiness obvious in every line of his body.

  That was when things had started to go wrong. He hadn’t liked it when she’d started succeeding on her own.

  At the bottom of the box was the memory she was most dreading. A grainy black-and-white photo of the peanut-size blob that had been her baby at eight weeks.

  The baby she had aborted a week later.

  She remembered the day the picture had been taken as if it was yesterday. She’d known she wa
s pregnant for three weeks. After the first test had come out positive she’d bought an economy-size pack of pregnancy test strips and taken a new one every morning. The little pink line indicating the baby’s existence had got darker and thicker with each passing day, but it hadn’t been until her doctor had shown her the blurry black-and-white ultrasound image on a video monitor that she’d allowed herself to believe it was real.

  And when he’d found the heartbeat her soul had melted, reforming itself around the tiny little being growing inside her. She’d promised the little peanut that she’d take care of it. That she’d be the best mom ever.

  What a joke that had turned out to be.

  The next night she shaved every last hair from her body and perfumed every crevice before sliding into the sexy white lace lingerie Pence loved. She’d donned silky back-seamed thigh-highs and a skintight black dress that showcased her newly voluptuous breasts.

  Her one and only pair of Manolos had been the finishing touch.

  When she’d arrived at the intimate French restaurant where she’d arranged to meet Pence she’d known by the slack-jawed look on the face of every man she’d passed that she’d done well.

  But by the time the maître d’ had shown her to the table and helped her settle into a chair under Pence’s watchful gaze, her confidence had already been taking a nosedive. His eyes had scraped over her body, taking in the size of her breasts and the curve of her hips.

  “Have you gained weight, Becky?” he’d asked.

  “N-no,” she’d stuttered. “It’s just this dress. It forgives nothing.”

  “Good. You look great, but you know how important it is to stay thin if you want to make it in advertising.”

  Becky had nodded. “I know,” she’d said quietly.

  But inside her mind had been screaming. Pregnant women got fat. Would Pence love her when she was fat? It would only be temporary, but his attention span was notoriously short. By the time this baby was born and her body had returned to normal he might have forgotten all about her.

  Then what would she do?

  “What’s wrong?” Pence had asked, reaching out to stroke her hand. “Did I say something to upset you?”

  “No, not at all,” she’d said with a small smile. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

  “That’s right.” He’d groaned. “You wanted to ‘talk.’ What is it this time? Is your mom after you to get married again?”

  She shook her head. “No, not so far this month,” she’d said.

  Just then their server had arrived, giving Becky a reprieve. He’d offered Pence a sample from a bottle of freshly uncorked Syrah. Pence had inhaled deeply, then swished the purple liquid around in his mouth. After a long moment he’d given a sharp nod. The waiter had smiled and filled their glasses before fading away.

  Pence had looked at her over the rim of his glass. “So what is it?”

  Becky had taken a deep breath and reached into her black sequined bag with a trembling hand. “I have a surprise for you,” she’d said.

  He looked at her suspiciously. “I don’t like surprises,” he’d said.

  She’d pulled out the small silver-wrapped package she’d stowed in her purse and handed it to him.

  “I think you’ll like this one.”

  Lord knew he’d talked about his longing for children often enough.

  “Humph,” he’d muttered as he undid the bow. “We’ll see about that.”

  He’d torn off the wrapping paper in one fell swoop. Becky had felt her heart rise into her throat as he lifted the lid of the box, unsure of what his reaction would be. He’d frowned when he saw the framed picture inside.

  “What is this?” he’d demanded.

  “It’s a picture,” she’d said. “An ultrasound.”

  “An ultrasound? What? Do you have a tumor?”

  “N-no,” she’d stuttered, taking a deep breath. “I’m pregnant. That’s a picture of a baby. Our baby.”

  Pence fell back in his chair. “Pregnant? But how could that be? We take precautions.”

  Becky had shrugged her shoulders, knowing full well that she wasn’t as religious about taking her birth control pills as he supposed she was.

  “Apparently not enough,” she’d said.

  “So this is real? You’re not joking?”

  “No,” she’d whispered. “I’m not.”

  “But this can’t be. You can’t be pregnant. I have a wife!”

  Her heart had plummeted, smashing into the polished cement floor at their feet. “You’re married?” she’d whispered.

  “Of course I’m married. I thought you knew that? Didn’t you ever wonder why I never spend the night? Or why I never invite you to my house?”

  “N-no. I just thought... Well, I didn’t think. You said you loved me! You talked about getting married!”

  He’d taken her hand again, stroking it gently. “I do love you. And I would love to marry you. But I can’t divorce my wife. Her father owns the agency. If I left her I’d lose everything.”

  “But what about our baby?”

  “There can’t be a baby. Don’t you see? You have to get rid of it. It’s the only way.”

  “Get rid of it?”

  “Yes. Have an abortion.”

  “But I don’t want an abortion,” she’d said. “I want to keep it.”

  “Then you’re on your own,” he’d said. “I won’t have anything to do with it. If you don’t take care of this problem we’re done.”

  “But you just said you love me,” she’d whispered.

  “Love has nothing to do with it. This is business. And I can’t let a little accident like this jeopardize my position with the agency,” Pence had said. “Please, just think about it?”

  At a loss for words, she’d nodded.

  “Good,” Pence had said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to attend a dinner party. With my wife.”

  And with that he was gone.

  Becky had stared after him, mouth agape. What was she supposed to do now?

  The next week had been a nightmare. She’d crunched numbers, searched the internet and racked her brain, trying to find a way through the predicament she had suddenly found herself in.

  Eventually, though, she’d admitted the truth to herself.

  She was twenty-three. She had seventy-five thousand dollars in student loans and only made twenty-four thousand dollars a year. There was no way she could raise this baby on her own. And there’d be no help coming from the man she had thought loved her.

  Worse, if she kept the baby her career would take a nosedive just when it was starting to get off the ground. The financially secure future she had imagined would disappear in a puff of smoke.

  She’d end up like her parents, working two jobs and worrying over every penny she spent for the rest of her life. That was no way to live—or to raise a child.

  There was only one choice she could make.

  When she’d arrived for her appointment at the family planning clinic it was with cold anger and hot despair stomping on her heart. Rubbing her still-flat belly, she’d made her soon-to-be-aborted baby a promise.

  She would never forget him—for it had become a him in her mind—and Pence would pay dearly for this betrayal if it was the last thing she did.

  Hot tears leaked down her face now, as she stroked the image. She’d never forgive herself for not standing up to him. For allowing him to control her and for letting him convince her to do something that had felt so wrong.

  No man would ever have that much power over her again.

  Wiping her tears away with her sleeve, Becky slid the box back under the bed. She had to get to sleep. She had a competition to win—and a living nightmare to defeat.

  FOUR

  Mark arrived
at the office bright and early, doughnuts and coffee in hand. After the relaxed evening they’d shared he was looking forward to working with Becky today.

  Tucking the breakfast items under his chin, he opened his office door, expecting to see it empty. But Becky was already there, pounding away at her computer, punishing the keys with every clack.

  “Good morning, early bird! I brought breakfast.”

  Becky looked up. If the dark circles under her eyes were any indication, Mark thought, she’d never left the office.

  She smiled frostily. “Nice of you to make an appearance. Considering how much work we have to do, I thought it would be best to get an early start.”

  Whoa. Okay. Apparently they were playing a new game.

  “Sorry. I thought eight-thirty on a Saturday was plenty early.”

  “And that’s why I’m going to win and you’re not,” she snapped. “This job takes dedication.”

  “I’ve got news for you, princess. Neither one of us is going to win if we can’t find a way to merge these two campaigns.”

  She waved dismissively at him.

  “I’m working on it. Why don’t you go over there and look for some pretty pictures or something?”

  All right. Enough was enough.

  “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to go over there and come up with another, even more kick-ass idea. And when David asks what your contribution was I’ll tell him you didn’t make one. How’s that sound?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Just be quiet about it.”

  Mark stomped over to his desk and slammed the coffee down. Forget quiet. He was going to work the way he always did. With music blaring.

  Seconds later, the discordant sounds of a heavy metal guitar filled the room.

  She glared at him, then reached into her drawer and pulled out a pair of headphones.

  He loaded up his photo editing program to look at the images he’d already created, but the glare from the overhead lights was killing him. He got up and flipped the lights off. He’d hardly even sat down before she was turning them back on.