Victoria's Got a Secret

by HelenKay Dimon

  Eighteen

  Don’t let fear keep you from getting what you need.

  —Grandma Gladys, The Duchess

  IT WAS 1999, AND SHE NO LONGER KNEW WHERE TIME went. So much had happened in the years since she met Preston. Some of it was good, most of it was exciting, but the dark times lingered in her memory as well.

  The darkness receded as she watched him sit at the kitchen table with papers spread out in front of him, listening to whatever the man across from him was saying. Allan was a business associate. A guy who connected inventors with investors. Allan and Preston did business together, and Allan showed up today to talk about some big opportunity.

  As Preston laughed at something Allan said, she wondered if there were two of him. The rational and fun side, the part that made her smile and challenged her to political discussions. Then there was the demanding, break-her-down side. The longer they were together, the more difficulty she had telling the sides apart.

  He knew people everywhere and had his fingers in everything. He listened, watched, and waited. No matter how he treated her, he had this ability to charm even the hardest heart. With the right smile and a well-placed comment, he could part people with their money and make things happen.

  He rolled with big players, enjoying drinking lunches as they discussed everything from banking to media. He talked with owners and investors, always on the lookout for an opportunity. People trusted him, and he returned their belief in him by making piles of money.

  “Maybe Victoria would be interested,” Allan said.

  “Jennifer,” she mumbled under her breath.

  Preston held out his hand. “It’s an interesting venture.”

  She went over to him because the outstretched arm suggested she better. “What is it?”

  “You’re not going to believe it.” Preston tapped his pen as a look of smug satisfaction slid across his mouth. “An Internet start-up.”

  “You hear about one of those every week.” She felt his heated scowl on her face, but she didn’t back down. “The Internet is still new. It’s all a gamble.”

  “Some hit.”

  She was challenging him in front of his business associate just for the sake of ticking him off, but she couldn’t stop. “Many don’t.”

  His jaw tightened. “This is different.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I need a woman. The right woman,” Allan said.

  Sounded ominous. “For what exactly?”

  “A friend of a colleague, a guy named Walt, wants to deliver something so out there, so risky, it has to work.” Allan’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “A show where a woman would deliver the news and weather . . .”

  So far she didn’t hear anything original or worthy of the bright shine in his eyes and obvious thrill thrumming through the man. “Yeah?”

  “While she strips.”

  Her brain shuddered to a halt. “Strips?”

  Preston chuckled. “Gets naked. She tells the audience what’s happening in the world while she takes her clothes off. It would be called Naked News.”

  Her breath refused to come for long enough that she wondered if her lungs had shut down. “A naked woman delivering the news.”

  Allan leaned across the table with all the energy of a little boy desperate go outside on a rainy day. “Right. This isn’t just about showing off bodies or sterile photos in a magazine. We’re talking live women broadcasted right into people’s living rooms. No waiting. Men can hear their voices and see them. Appreciate them as real human beings.”

  It struck her as scary but brilliant. “But from a perspective of being smart. Not porn, but news.”

  Allan slapped the table. “Exactly! Women reporting the news as they strip.”

  “I’d watch it just to see how it would work.” She admired any woman who would have the guts to try it.

  She wasn’t a prude. She viewed sex as healthy and normal and a woman’s body as beautiful. But clothes provided protection. They separated her from the world and let her be whoever she wanted to be.

  “It would be a subscription-only program, an add-on, until it gains an audience. The goal is for it to become self-supporting. We’d be looking for ways to grow viewership long-term.” Allan ticked off the selling points as he shuffled through his papers.

  The idea sounded so raw and appealing in her head. She loved the thought of women feeling comfortable with their bodies and celebrating their flaws instead of hiding them. Shedding inhibitions and presenting something new, in a way that no one had tried, was a perfect match for the Internet.

  Where Preston fit in was her question. “What’s your role?”

  He held up his hands. “Just talking it through with Allan here.”

  Allan jumped in. “My job is to find a woman—the right woman— one who is smart and beautiful and more than a little adventurous. Someone who can command attention with both her body and her brain.”

  Jennifer tried to imagine who would take the risk. The idea of taking off her clothes, of stripping bare without any shield or protection, terrified her. Being naked meant being vulnerable, opening herself up to criticism and horrible comments. In her view, the potential flaw in getting the idea launched might be in finding that brave woman who would willingly sign up to be judged.

  Allan shifted in his chair. “Victoria—”

  She hated that Preston spread the name confusion to someone else. “Jennifer.”

  “Does the woman Allan is describing sound like anyone you know?” Preston asked.

  She tried not to be flattered since he usually followed a compliment with a subtle slam. “We know a lot of pretty women who take risks.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking you.”

  But he wasn’t asking her. Not really. He was pushing Jennifer aside to highlight Victoria, the woman he viewed as his creation. And it was her fault. She’d nurtured the persona. She opened the door and changed her look and gave her fantasies an outlet. She’d picked a name and set up the life. Blaming him for all of that wasn’t fair.

  Alan lightly tapped the table. “Are you interested?”

  “In stripping in front of a camera so who knows how many people can see?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  Allan’s face fell. “Why?”

  “That life doesn’t sound like me.” It was the woman she wished she could be, but that little girl from Sarnia still had boundaries, lines she feared crossing.

  Preston cleared his throat. “It sounds exactly like something Victoria Sinclair would do.”

  If he had wanted to pick the exact wrong thing to say, he’d done it. “It’s too much.”

  “Fine.” His disappointment thumped through the room like a frantic out-of-control heartbeat. “But it’s an opportunity to be someone.”

  “I am someone.”

  Allan’s gaze flipped from Jennifer to Preston and back again.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Exactly,” Preston said. “Some woman will see the opportunity and not be afraid to take it.”

  “Well, let me leave you two.” Allan gathered up his papers and shoved them into a briefcase. He grabbed a card out of the top before shutting it and held it out to her. “Here. If you change your mind, call me. The offer is open.”

  She watched as Preston showed Allan to the door. She waited until the lock clicked to say anything else. “You think I can’t appreciate how this could take off.”

  But she did. The mix of beauty and sex and news could prove irresistible at the right price. Men paid for less all the time.

  “I’m saying, as usual, you go right to the edge and then run away. It’s your pattern.”

  “That’s not fair.” The observation stung. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the words. Paul had frequently accused her of running when things got tough.

  “Isn’t it?” Preston reached around her and grabbed a leather binder off the table on his way to the bedroom.

  “Where are yo
u going?”

  “I know women. I might be able to help Allan find what he needs.” Preston flipped through some pages. “Definitely Maryann or Lynne. Both would be perfect.”

  He named the two most beautiful women in their circle of friends. They were untamed and open. They grabbed life with a gusto that left her envious.

  Jennifer had never questioned his fidelity before. He’d never given her a reason, but watching the sly smile inch across his face as he thought about other women made her wonder. All those afternoons while she was at the office or weeks when she was on travel and he was working from home. She’d assumed he kept his days professional. For some reason, the explanation now rang cold.

  Two months passed. Allan called three times. He couldn’t find the right woman to film the pilot. The Internet was too new and the idea too odd for anyone to jump on board. The longer the days dragged on without a viable candidate, the angrier Preston got at her. He insisted she was wasting the perfect opportunity. He thought her fear made him look bad in front of Allan. As usual, Preston was all about Preston.

  But she started thinking about how the idea could impact her. She’d searched for something her entire life, something that would take her out of Sarnia and eventually out of the politics of an office environment. Her father and sister were artists. Jennifer appreciated a steady paycheck from a big company, but she loved the idea of trying an idea that depended on some piece of her to succeed. She wanted to throw herself into something and try to make it work.

  She remembered walking away from Paul in her search for something more. Now that something had dropped right in front of her, and she was terrified to take it. The idea of showing her body, of opening herself up to ridicule, scared the hell out of her. But missing this chance terrified her even more.

  Maybe this was wrong. Maybe it was right. Either way, she could help to get it off the ground. There was no reason for an idea to die out of fear. In the end, she jumped and ignored the lack of a safety net.

  She leaned back against the kitchen sink and watched Preston pour a glass of wine. “I called Allan. I told him I’d do the pilot. He’ll have something for Walt to see and use to hook other investors and media outlets.”

  Something sparked to life behind Preston’s blue eyes. “You’ll get naked?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about all those irrational fears of yours?”

  She clenched her teeth together and counted to ten. When she opened her mouth again, heat had flooded through her. “They weren’t irrational. They were realistic. I don’t know any woman who wouldn’t change some part of her body.”

  He cocked his head to the side and stared at her. “What would you change?”

  No way was she opening that door. He had rearranged parts of her life already. She refused to let him change anything else. “That’s not important. We’re talking about the pilot. I’ll do it.”

  He winked at her as his smile grew wide. “I knew you would come around.”

  The air inside her flattened. He acted like this was a game instead of the biggest decision of her life. “What made you so sure?”

  “I know you better than you know yourself.”

  But he didn’t. One man knew her, and he was long gone.

  Nineteen

  Sometimes having the dream is enough. Most times not.

  —Grandma Gladys, The Duchess

  PAUL DIDN’T HEAR HER COME IN. HE WAS BANGING ON the drums, playing to the song in his head. Sweat dripped off his shoulders and forehead as the beat of the music ran through him.

  It wasn’t until Wendy stood right in front of him that he even noticed her. He jumped in his seat at the unwanted interruption.

  “Hey.” He lowered the sticks nice and slow as the flat line of her lips registered in his brain. She was pissed. Any idiot could see that. “I didn’t see you come in.”

  Her fists never left her hips. “You said you’d be home two hours ago.”

  “I got caught up in this.” He was in a friend’s studio instead of at his own. He was only four doors down, but it felt like a lifetime away from the place he shared with Brian and Wendy. He paid bills there. Tonight he needed an outlet that didn’t house his normal life, so he created here.

  “We had dinner plans.”

  Like he cared about food right now. “Sorry.”

  “You say that a lot lately.”

  She had every right to be pissed. He’d come down here to escape from her, from what had become a nightly occurrence—fighting.

  Still, despite the attitude and the fact he brought this one on his shoulders, he wasn’t in the mood for a scene. The fighting sucked the life out of him. He’d defend and apologize and eventually give in to some degree just to keep peace.

  “What do you want from me, Wendy?”

  Her eyebrow raised. “A sign you care.”

  “We live together.” To him that meant something. To her it was a first step to something else. He didn’t like this need of hers to define the future and cling to that hope instead of living in the moment.

  He used to despise Jennifer’s ability to separate and remain cold. Now he understood she didn’t do it for personal protection. You built the space to keep something for yourself before the headache pounded you to the ground.

  She started tapping her foot. “Brian lives there, too.”

  “So?”

  “Clearly being in the house doesn’t mean anything more than sharing a place. There’s no foundation.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s been years, Paul. I’ve invested in this relationship. In you.”

  She brushed her hand over the edge of his drums, and he worried she planned an act of vandalism. She’d never shown the least sign of violence, but her hands shook with what he assumed was pure rage.

  “Maybe we should go somewhere else,” he suggested.

  She looked from him to the drums and back again. “I’m talking about our relationship and you’re worried about your damn drums?”

  Until she said it, he hadn’t even realized he’d made that list of priorities and put her at the bottom. “Sorry.” He got up and walked around until he stood in front of her.

  “I’d think so.”

  “Things are going well.” He ran a hand up her arm, hoping to comfort her or at least undo some of the damage he’d unknowingly inflicted on her simply by not being ready for dinner on time.

  She shrugged out of his hold. “For you.”

  “I know that’s some sort of woman-speak, but I don’t get it.” His frustration with her, with the situation, with all the pieces of his life he couldn’t control, boiled over. “Just tell me what you want from me.”

  “Commitment.” She jabbed him in the middle of the chest.

  “You have it.”

  “Are you really this dense?”

  “I gave you that when I agreed you could move in.” He winced the second after the words left his mouth. He heard them, saw the shock in her wide eyes, and knew he’d handled the situation all wrong.

  “Agreed? Like I forced you to be with me?”

  He took a long breath and tried again for calm. “Don’t twist my words.”

  “It’s time for you to be an adult, Paul.”

  The words echoed every complaint Jennifer had ever lodged against him. Looked like no matter how many steps he took forward, he kept leaping backward. The women in his life refused to recognize any progress, and he worried they were right. Hard to imagine half of the world’s population being wrong on this one issue.

  Wendy threw up her hands. “You are useless.”

  Like that, the building guilt evaporated. All those struggles with self-worth and bad decisions from being a teen came rushing back at him. “I have a job and a few hobbies. I make some money off my music and pay all my bills.”

  “I know all that.”

  “Then tell me where I’m failing you.”

  She held up her hand with the back to him. “Here.”


  The anger whooshed back out of him. He got the message. She wanted a damn ring.

  He wasn’t ready to give her one. “Wendy, we’ve talked about this.”

  “No, I’ve talked about it and you’ve ignored me or talked around it. You never take a stand or give me an answer.”

  Guilty. He couldn’t deny any of it. “I like things how they are now.”

  “The problem is clear.” She didn’t wait for him to ask. “I’m not Jennifer.”

  Everything inside him crumbled. Hearing Jennifer’s name on Wendy’s lips was too much. “Don’t do that.”

  “You are pining for a woman who dumped you years ago. Do you think she even still remembers you?”

  He blocked the verbal blows and concentrated on staying on his feet and in the conversation. “This has nothing to do with Jennifer. It’s about us.”

  She flipped her hand around and showed him the palm. “Save it.”

  He would never understand women. “You’re the one who wanted to talk.”

  “I’m going to dinner.” Wendy picked up the jacket Paul hadn’t even seen her drape over the back of the chair.

  He exhaled. While he appreciated the relatively quick end to the fight, he was sick of all the arguing. “Give me a second to wash up.”

  “Forget it.”

  “What?”

  “Brian is taking me.”

  Her comments didn’t make any sense. “I’m not invited to dinner with you?”

  “Not tonight. Not until you figure out who and what you want.”

  She turned and stormed toward the door. Not walking and not even running. This was a stomping, with a head-down plow to get away from him.

  “Wendy—”

  She didn’t bother to turn around. “I mean it, Paul.”

  The door slammed behind her and then . . . nothing. The lonely seconds ticked by. He sat in silence for a full five minutes before he grabbed the phone.

  Neil picked up on the first ring, but Paul didn’t give him time to say anything. “It’s time.”

  “What?”

  Paul heard the confusion in his friend’s voice. “To say how you told me so.”