by Leanne Banks
“Good evening,” the man at the door said. “Your name?”
“Elle Linton,” she said, then corrected herself. “Elle Linton Maddox.”
His gaze flicked over her in assessment and he nodded. “Welcome,” he said and opened the door for her to enter.
Elle was immediately hit with the sights and sounds of an opulent party. The scents of gourmet food and wine filled the air. She heard a string quartet and smelled fresh-cut roses. Mirrors reflected guests dressed in couture fashions. She hoped the black gown with dark embroidered rosettes just below the bodice would pass muster. She brushed a strand of hair from her face and searched for Brock. She’d waited a few extra minutes to leave, not wanting to arrive before him.
A waiter offered her a glass of champagne and she shook her head. “No, thank you. Do you have water?”
He pointed to a waitress as the other end of the room where the chandeliers flashed light and brilliance that was reflected in the mirrors. “Thank you,” she murmured, searching the crowd for Brock. She didn’t see a soul she knew in the entire room, and wondered where the hosts were. She should at least be able to identify Walter Prentice since he had been in Brock’s office before. Accepting a glass of water from the server, she nodded her thanks and backed against the wall. Perhaps she would be able to see Brock from here.
A group of men on one side of her discussed the terrible performance of the Giants. A group of women on her other side discussed plastic surgery. Elle caught fragments of each conversation.
“They need to trade the pitcher. He can’t do anything,” one man lamented.
“Have you heard about Dr. Frazier? He does amazing things with filler.”
“If you ask me, it’s not the pitcher, it’s the management,” another man said.
“I hear he worked on Carol Maddox. She looks a little too tight to me,” a woman said.
Elle’s ears perked up at the mention of her mother-in-law.
“She looks better now that he’s plumped up her face a little. Speaking of Carol, did you hear about Brock? He’s off the market,” a woman said.
“Oh, no,” several women murmured. “Who got him?”
“I hear he knocked up his assistant. The only reason he married her is because she’s pregnant,” the woman said.
Elle felt her face heat with embarrassment. Even though she knew the woman’s words were true, the humiliation struck at the core of her. She wanted to defend her relationship with Brock. She wanted to tell the woman that she and Brock had experienced a closeness that neither of them had expected, yet both had cherished. But she wouldn’t. Because the bottom line was, Elle had betrayed him and he’d married her because of the baby.
Taking a long drink of water, she strongly considered leaving. She could tell Brock she hadn’t felt well…
“Well, well, Mrs. Maddox, what are you doing in the corner?” Walter Prentice said with a big smile and booming voice. “Come and meet my wife. She’s been dying to see who finally slayed Brock Maddox and brought him to his knees.”
Elle forced her lips into a smile and accepted the arm he offered. “Good evening, Mr. Prentice. You have a lovely home. And I wouldn’t call it slayed,” she said, referring to Brock. “I definitely didn’t bring him to his knees.”
“Oh, don’t tell me Brock didn’t give you a proper old-fashioned proposal?” he asked, ushering her through the crowd.
“Well, you know Brock. He’s a breathtaking combination of tradition and cutting edge,” she managed.
“Too true,” he said. “Now, here’s my wife, Angela. Angela, this is Brock’s new bride, Elle.”
The elegant woman gave her a warm, curious glance. “How lovely,” she said. “Walter and I were so happy when we heard Brock had gotten married, although you two did a good job keeping it secret. Shame on you. Everyone loves a wedding.”
“Brock wanted to keep it low-key. Neither of us expected our feelings to grow like they did,” Elle said, working hard to keep the smile on her face.
“Brock has a good head on his shoulders,” Walter said in approval. “Where is he?”
“I’m not sure,” Elle said. “He was running a little late at the office. I’m certain he’ll be here soon.”
“He shouldn’t keep his bride waiting,” Mrs. Prentice said. “Let me introduce you to a few of my friends.”
For the next half hour, Elle’s head swam with new names. Mrs. Prentice, clearly an overachiever like her husband, introduced her to several people. When Mrs. Prentice emphasized the fact that Elle was Brock Maddox’s new wife, Elle felt curious glances sizing her up. After fielding questions about their small wedding and nonexistent honeymoon, Elle managed to slip away to call Brock.
He picked up on the fifth ring. “Brock Maddox,” he said curtly.
“Elle Linton Maddox,” she returned just as curtly. “Where are you?” she asked. “The Prentices are asking for you.”
“This cosmetics contract is a major headache,” he said. “I’m running late.”
“You said you were running late an hour and a half ago. What am I supposed to say to Mr. and Mrs. Prentice?”
“I’ll leave now,” he said. “See you in fifteen minutes.”
He disconnected the call and Elle tucked her cell phone inside her evening bag. The house felt as if it were closing in on her. Desperately needing some fresh air, she walked outside to the patio where guests mingled, enjoying the beautiful night. She moved toward a column in a dark corner and sucked in the air. She looked up at the cloudy sky, shielding the stars, remembering a similar party that could have been a thousand years ago, or just yesterday.
Her grandfather had given permission for her to attend a Christmas party at his home. Elle had been eight years old and her mother had bought her a red velvet dress with lace at the hem and collar. Elle had been so excited. She’d hoped to meet her father, but he didn’t show up. The other children had avoided her as if she were somehow less than them. The whole experience had been a disaster and she couldn’t wait to get home and tear off her dress, put on her pajamas and go to bed. She remembered the feeling of not belonging all too well. She had the same feeling right now.
She stood there for several moments in the dark, wondering if she should leave, and if she did, whether anyone would notice. Then she heard a familiar male voice in the background.
“Walter, great to see you. You really know how to throw a party,” Brock said as he walked within just a few feet of her. Her heart skittered at the sight of him.
“I met your wife earlier. She’s beautiful. You shouldn’t leave her on her own. Someone might steal her away,” Walter said.
Brock gave a forced laugh. “You’re right. Elle is beautiful. Do you know where she is?”
“I’m sure she’s around here somewhere. The Missus was introducing her around,” Mr. Prentice said. “I remember Elle was your assistant.”
“Yes, she was,” Brock said. “When I realized we had feelings for each other, I decided we should make our relationship official. I didn’t want to muddy the professional waters.”
“Good move,” Walter said. “Keep business separate from romance. Congratulations again on your marriage.”
“Thank you,” Brock said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better go search for my bride.”
Walter laughed and thumped Brock on the shoulder. “If anyone can find her, I’m sure it’s you.”
From the shadows, Elle watched as Brock pulled out his BlackBerry and sent a text message. Glancing around, he accepted a glass of wine from a server. He loosened his collar, looking impatient.
Elle wondered if she should step forward, but something kept her from it. Her wedding to Brock was all for show and she no longer knew if she could keep up the performance. Elle moved along the wall to the French doors and scooted through the crowd. All those years of being the Koteas’s dirty little secret played through her mind, and here she was again, having been Brock’s little secret. She felt like such a fraud. Brock didn’t
really want to be married to her. She couldn’t help feeling like he resented her for the pregnancy.
Unable to bear the return of feelings she’d suffered since childhood, she dashed out the front door and asked the valet to hail a cab for her.
Although her mother didn’t know the whole truth about her relationship with Brock, she did know Elle’s history. She didn’t know that Elle had accepted a deal with her grandfather to keep her mother well, but she knew just about everything else. Elle needed to see her.
“What a lovely surprise,” Elle’s mother said as she rose from the sofa where she’d been watching television to greet her daughter. She studied Elle from head to toe. “You look lovely. What are you doing here?”
Elle flew into her mother’s accepting arms. “What do you mean? Are you suggesting I usually look like a hag when I visit you?” Elle asked.
“Well, no,” her mother said, pulling back slightly. “But you’re not usually dressed to the nines. Want to tell me what this is about?”
“Can’t we just enjoy the visit?” Elle begged.
“Hmm,” her mother said doubtfully, dipping her head. “Sit down on the sofa and I’ll pour you some green tea.”
Elle made a face. “It smells like stinky socks,” she said, but sat down, anyway.
“It’s soothing,” her mother retorted, heading for the kitchen, “and the antioxidants are good for both you and the baby.”
Elle’s cell phone rang and she frowned, fumbling in her small bag.
“Is that your cell I hear?” her mother asked.
Elle silenced her phone. “Oh, you’re watching a Sandra Bullock movie. I miss our girls’ nights together,” she said.
Her mother reappeared with a cup of tea. “Who rang on your cell phone?”
“I’m not sure,” Elle said, reaching for the tea. “It stopped.”
“Uh-huh,” her mother said and sat down beside her. “Elle, what’s wrong? You know you can talk to me.”
Elle’s throat grew swollen with emotion. She’d carried so much during the last several months—the weight of her mother’s illness, the deal with her grandfather, her secret affair with Brock and the pregnancy. And now, her misery over being married to a man who didn’t love her.
“I just wanted to see you,” Elle said. “I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a chance to get over here during the last few days.”
“Hmm,” her mother said, but she slid her arm around Elle’s shoulders and hugged her. Thank God for unconditional love. Elle felt the tears back up in her eyelids.
A knock sounded at the door.
Her mother turned, frowning. “Security didn’t call. How odd.”
Elle knew who it was. “Don’t tell him I’m here.”
Her mother stared at her. “Who?” she asked. “Elle, who?”
“Brock,” Elle whispered and shook her head. “I just can’t deal with him right now. I just can’t.”
Her mother sighed. “Elle, this is ridiculous. You can’t hide from your husband.”
“Please,” Elle said.
“Is he abusing you?” her mother asked, grave concern on her face.
“Of course not,” Elle said.
“Just a minute,” her mother called and walked to the door. She opened it. “Hi, Brock. Elle and I were just talking about you.”
Eight
“I searched for you at the party, but I couldn’t find you,” Brock said, looking at Elle. She was beautiful, dressed in a black, slinky gown that hid her pregnancy but accented her curves. Her eyes were smoky blue, her lips shiny and inviting. Her gaze, however, was cautious and guarded.
“I waited a long time, then I just followed a whim to visit my mother,” Elle said, her smile forced, her eyes dark with secret emotions. He wondered what was going on.
“Prentice said he and his wife were happy to see you,” he said.
“They were very gracious,” she replied.
Brock wasn’t quite sure how to approach Elle at this point. She clearly wasn’t interested in seeing him. That was a first. When they’d been working together, she couldn’t get enough of him. He’d felt the same for her. He still felt the same for her, although he didn’t know when he would be able to fully trust her again. He had no doubt that she could sense that. Perhaps that was part of the problem.
He glanced at the television. “What are we watching?’
Elle’s mother cleared her throat. “A Sandra Bullock movie,” she said. “Would you like some green tea?” Brock blinked. Green tea? He would rather drink dirty water. “Thank you,” he said and sat down on the sofa. “I hear Sandra Bullock is up for an Oscar.”
“Not for this movie,” Elle’s mother called as she walked toward the kitchen. “But she’s my favorite actress.”
“Why didn’t you wait for me?” Brock asked Elle in a low voice.
“Do you have any idea how insulting it was to have to make excuses for you for almost two hours?” she said. “If you expect me to be a Stepford wife like your mother, you can forget it. We should just end it now.”
“My mother,” he echoed, appalled. “Why would I want you to be like my mother? Trust me, I have no oedipal urges. What happened at the party?” he asked gently. “Did something upset you?”
“Aside from waiting for you endlessly,” Elle whispered, “I happened to overhear people say that the only reason you married me was because I was pregnant. Don’t even try to deny it because we both know the truth.”
Her desperation and vulnerability dug at him. “You and I both want the best for this baby,” he said.
“Yes, but you and I need—” She stopped and lowered her voice. “You and I need to have a relationship,” she whispered. “It can’t all be about the baby or it’s not going to work.”
“We have never had a shortage of passion, Elle,” he said.
“I want more than passion,” she said. “I want compassion, companionship…” She took a deep breath. “I want love.”
Brock felt his gut twist. “I can give you passion, compassion and companionship, but love is going to take a while. But I’ll work at it. I promise,” he said.
She stared at him with pain in her eyes. “I’m going to be blunt here. I don’t want a marriage like your parents had.”
Brock felt like she’d slapped him. “What the hell do you know about my parents’ marriage? You’ve never even met my father,” he said, a twinge of anger stinging a raw place inside him.
“You’ve obviously forgotten the earful your mother gave me,” she said. “Besides, if you’re a chip off the old block, then in a way, I have met your father.”
“Here’s the tea,” Suzanne said as she brought Brock’s cup to him, looking back and forth between Brock and Elle with concern. “It’s still a little hot.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“This is…nice,” she said, sitting down without taking her eyes off them. “Enjoying a movie with my daughter and son-in-law. Shall we watch the rest?”
Brock only made it through the chick flick because he was so distracted by what was happening with Elle that he could barely follow what was on screen. What had gotten into her? He’d thought she would be excited about attending the Prentices’ cocktail party.
The interminable movie finally ended and Brock rose to his feet. “Time to go. Elle needs her rest and so do you,” he said to his mother-in-law.
“How thoughtful,” Suzanne said, taking his hand and looking directly in his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re looking after Elle.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said to reassure her. “Thank you for your hospitality, Suzanne. Ready, Elle?”
Elle met his gaze with a hint of a mutinous expression that didn’t bode well for the ride home. He could feel the chill already. “Yes,” she finally said and gave her mother a hug. “I’ll talk to you soon,” she promised and joined Brock as they left the condo.
They walked to his car in silence and Brock ushered her into the passenger seat of his Porsche.
He rounded the vehicle, slid in and started the engine. “I think we should start this conversation over. First, I apologize for being late tonight. This prospective cosmetics account is almost more demanding than the Prentice account.”
Glancing at her, he noticed her arms were crossed firmly and her jaw was set. But after a long silence, she finally gave a heavy sigh. “Apology accepted. In the future, however, I would appreciate it if you would keep me better informed about delays.”
He nodded. “I can do that. Now, about us…it’s going to take time, Elle,” he said.
“Exactly. With the schedule you keep at the office, it’s going to be difficult for you to put in any time on our marriage.”
Brock had heard something similar from his ex-fiancée just before she’d left him. His gut tightened at the prospect of Elle doing the same. He’d hoped that since she’d been his assistant, she would understand his devotion to the company. He’d also hoped that because of all the nights they’d shared, she would somehow know, deep down, that his drive for his company was part of his blood, part of his very being.
“Are you complaining about my work hours?” he asked.
She narrowed her eyes. “I resent that. I’m not complaining. But let’s look at this a different way. If you were trying to build a business relationship with me, how much time would you put in?”
He blinked at her challenge.
“I’ll take a wild guess and say you might want my relationship with you to last at least as long as your relationship with Prentice,” she said.
He took a deep breath as he pulled into the driveway. “Of course I want our marriage to last,” he muttered. He parked in the garage and turned to her. “What are you trying to say?”
“It’s easy,” she said. “If we both want our relationship to work, we both need to put in the time.”
“We spend every night together,” he said.
“Asleep,” she said.
“We don’t sleep for the first two hours.”
She let out a quick breath. “We need to be about more than sex,” she whispered, her eyes dark and tumultuous.
