An Improper Ever After

by Nadia Lee

  Of course, steering the conversation the way I want it to go isn’t easy. Traci is somewhat stuck on her immediate supervisor Hilary, and Gavin.

  “It’s like he can’t live without her. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they were lovers or something. But they have zero chemistry that way. Besides, they’re both too happily married.”

  I tilt my head. “Maybe she’s just good at her job.”

  “She is. I’m hoping she keeps me because being so close to the boss comes with some great advantages, even if I’m not that high on the totem pole.” Traci flushes, then sips her coffee, lowering her eyelashes. “I can learn from watching him and then maybe leverage that into getting a more lucrative position at the firm.”

  “Right.” I grin. “You are totally crushing on him,” I tease.

  Traci meets my gaze straight on. Her eyes are unusually bright. “What if I am?”

  I gape at her. “Wait. You’re seriously saying that you are?”

  She shrugs, although her mouth is smiling. “He’s a very…charismatic man, and I’m not dead. But”—she sighs—“I know he’s married. So…”

  “Don’t they have other unmarried hotties at the firm? It looked like it was full of young, ambitious men the last time I was there.”

  “Yeah, but they aren’t the same. Gavin’s the alpha male.” She adjusts her top, smoothing it so it lies perfectly against her enhanced cleavage.

  So that explains her outfits. I don’t know if she’s consciously choosing to wear them or not, but I hope she doesn’t do anything stupid. Unless I’m mistaken, Gavin is utterly in love with his wife. I open my mouth to say something, then stop. It seems a bit presumptuous of me to lecture Traci when she already knows about his marital status and we’ve just reconnected after a couple years apart. Unlike me, Traci’s been smart enough to make something of herself, so who am I to act like I know better?

  “Although… There’s this guy in accounting with this totally hot look. But I hear he’s gay. Pete’s handsome too, but he’s taken.” She sighs again. “It’s always something.”

  Finally. I perk up. “You mean Pete Monroe? Dennis’s boss?”

  Traci nods. “He’s Gavin’s brother-in-law. Really yummy, but engaged to some interior designer.”

  “What’s he like?” I lean forward. “He’s handling my account, so I’m curious.”

  She whips her head my way. “Wait. You’re a client?”

  I nod. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  “No. You didn’t.” Her eyebrows pinch together as she quickly drops her gaze for a moment. She inhales. When she meets my eyes again, the frown is gone, and she’s smiling again. “He’s pretty amazing from what I heard. Gavin trusts him, and he’s very good at what he does. Dennis is lucky to be doing his internship with him. You couldn’t ask for a better man to mentor and guide you.”

  Perfect. “How’s he doing? Dennis, I mean.”

  “Pretty par for the course, from what I can tell. I think he’s stressed out because he’s really hoping to make an impression and get hired on full-time. OWM doesn’t take that many new analysts.”

  “How come?”

  “Turnover’s too low.” She nibbles on her lower lip. “By the way, I asked around about an opening.”

  “Oh?” I’d almost forgotten that I asked Traci about a job. “And?”

  “There is one. It’s not a great position or anything. A junior assistant to one of the VPs. Her current assistant’s going on maternity leave in eight weeks, so it’s sort of temporary, if you don’t mind that. But she’ll be gone for at least a year—”

  “A year?”

  “What can I say? OWM has a great maternity leave policy.” Traci pushes her curls over a shoulder. “Anyway, it’s a temporary position, but it’d give you a chance to network and get some office work experience for your résumé. A foot in the door.”

  I consider. I want to say yes right now, but things are fragile at home. It’d be better to discuss the matter with Elliot before committing to anything. I don’t think he’ll object, but our fight has been about me keeping things from him. I want to show him in every way possible that I won’t do that anymore. “Let me think about it and get back to you.”

  “No problem.” Traci checks her watch. “Oh, shoot. I need to get going. Gotta prep for a meeting.”

  I wish we could linger—I don’t want to go home right now—but of course she has to work. We walk out together, chatting animatedly. It’s somewhat forced on my part, but it’s better to pretend I’m fine.

  “We should do this again when you don’t have a crisis going,” Traci says. “It was fun.”

  “Definitely.” I smile.

  Talking things out with her has definitely improved my mood, even if we couldn’t come up with a solution to my problem with Elliot. I can’t tell her much, not like in the old days, but just knowing that I have someone I can talk to makes me feel better.

  We hug each other goodbye outside the door, and I watch her trot off down the street. When I turn to leave, something cold splashes all over my chest.

  “Oh shit,” comes a dismayed male voice. “Sorry about that. Are you okay?”

  “Uh, yeah…I guess.” I tug the wet dress from my chest with a grimace. The iced coffee drink—probably a latte—really did a number on my outfit. It’s turned the yellow into a semi-transparent brown, and I can feel it soaking through my padded bra, making my breasts cold and uncomfortable. A couple of large rivulets have also dripped all the way down to the hem; several drops land on my shoes.

  “Really, really sorry.” He pulls out a pale cream handkerchief from his jacket and hands it to me.

  I take it and do what I can to salvage the dress, but it’s no good.

  “Ah jeez. I’ve I ruined your clothes.”

  I finally raise my eyes to look at the man who’s being so apologetic. A lot of guys would’ve been like, “Watch where you’re going” or given me a token “sorry.” But he’s different. He genuinely seems upset.

  The guy is probably in his late thirties or early forties, although I’d put my money on the younger half of the range. He’s impeccably groomed, with neatly cut sandy brown hair and a cleanly shaven face. A dark navy suit hugs his tall, lanky body, making him look like a banker or a lawyer. The only somewhat disconcerting thing about him are the eyes—light gray, and penetrating as he studies my reaction. I feel like a lab rat under the gaze.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I should’ve been more careful.”

  “I wasn’t watching where I was going.” He smiles sheepishly and shrugs. “On my phone.”

  “It happens.”

  “You can’t go around like that. Let me buy you a new dress.”

  “Not at all necessary.”

  An eyebrow rises like he can’t believe I’m turning down a free outfit. “Are you sure?”

  “Quite. I’m on my way home anyway.”

  “Still. I insist. You’re soaked.”

  “Tell you what. You can pay for the dry cleaning.” I don’t want to go anywhere with this man. There’s nothing really wrong with what he’s offering, but…

  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a money clip. He hands me a bill and a business card. “This should cover it. But really, no joke, if your cleaner can’t get the stain out, let me know and I’ll have your clothes replaced.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I’ll call if there’s a problem. I promise.”

  He points a finger at the card clutched in my hand, raises his eyebrows significantly, and walks away. I look down. The lunatic has given me a hundred-dollar bill. Where in the world does he get his stuff cleaned that it costs a hundred dollars for a single outfit?

  His business card is printed on stock that feels thick and expensive. It has three numbers—mobile, office and fax. There’s no business title or anything else, just a name. Keith Shellington.

  Sighing, I stick the money and card into my wallet and head home
.

  Chapter Four

  Elliot

  I can’t focus on anything. I want to blame my inability to concentrate on a lack of sleep, but I can function on two hours for three or four nights in a row so long as I make up for it later.

  After having read the same email five times without understanding what my assistant wants, I close my laptop in disgust. My mind keeps drifting to my wife. I can’t stop thinking about the way she felt, the way she came against me and the way she sucked me off. I’m doing my best to convince myself it’s just the sex—I’m a healthy guy and I love it. But the truth is, there’s something more going on. No one’s ever gotten to me like this, making me feel like a piece of me is breaking with desperate want of her.

  Stop obsessing about her.

  Easier said than done.

  “Damn it.” I get up and kick my chair. It wheels away across the room.

  Needing to give myself something to do, I pull out my phone and call Lucas. The bastard predictably ignores me. He isn’t doing it because he’s upset with me. He’s just become something of a hermit ever since the accident that left him scarred and slightly limping two years ago. Actually, he doesn’t really limp usually, only when he’s tired. I might’ve thought he was embarrassed about his scar, but I know my brother. He’s not that vain, and he certainly isn’t worried about what people think. And I have proof: he’s only hermit-like when invited to social events. For professional stuff, he’s available—albeit very selectively—and people seek him for speeches and consulting services for his brilliant mind.

  Pissed off, I text him a name: Keith Shellington, and think Now let’s see how long it takes for you to call.

  A few minutes later, my phone rings. The screen flashes my twin brother’s face along with LUCAS in all caps.

  “Finally, you bastard,” I say.

  “Um. Hold on a minute, please,” comes the familiar woman’s voice, and I pinch the bridge of my nose. It’s Lucas’s personal assistant, Rachel. I actually like her, so I’m annoyed she got the greeting meant for her boss.

  “Lucas,” my twin says finally.

  “Your finger broken?”

  “No. Rachel likes to be useful.”

  “You’re an ass.”

  “And you texted Keith Shellington to tell me this? Watch it. Next time I might not call back at all.”

  “I know where you live.”

  “Ah, but do you know my schedule?”

  Touché. Lucas has been traveling over the last two years, and I haven’t been able to catch him, not even by barging into his home unannounced.

  “So. What’s the meaning of your text?” he demands.

  I prop my butt against the edge of my desk. “Watch your back. I think he’s up to something.”

  “Like?”

  “Who knows? He’s a rat.”

  “Yeah, but he won’t jeopardize what he has by trying to fuck with us. He got away, stealing from us, and he knows the only reason he’s able to continue is because we never pursued the matter. Nobody wants a money guy with even a hint of embezzlement attached to his name.”

  “Maybe not. Still, he blames me for stealing ‘his’ millions.”

  Keith raged at me when I confronted him. Face mottled, he yelled, “You fucking bastard, you have no idea what you’re doing. It’s not stealing if you plan to pay it back!”

  Sort of like it’s not shoplifting if you plan to give it back. That logic didn’t fly with me, and I didn’t like the way he set his assistant up to take the fall that should have been his. By the time the forensic accountants were through, I had all the evidence I needed, but our business mentor and advisor Marlin thought it would be better if we just moved on, and Lucas agreed.

  After all, Keith didn’t get the millions of dollars he would’ve received if he’d been honest, and that would have more than made up for the money he stole. He was a small-thinking rat back then too, only helping himself to a few tens of thousands here and there. Then again, if he hadn’t had such tiny balls, he would’ve been caught much faster.

  “You’re being paranoid,” Lucas says. “He knows you have evidence of his embezzlement. He wouldn’t want to provoke you into releasing that and killing what he’s managed to build since then.”

  I sigh. What Lucas is saying makes sense, but still… “He’s approached my wife.” Admittedly, not directly…but then that isn’t his MO. He needs a fall guy.

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “For what?”

  “He probably wants to use her to get something. I just don’t know what.”

  “Maybe he’s going to convince her to divorce you and take you to the cleaners.”

  I shake my head. “Not possible. Prenup.”

  “They can be gotten around. You saw what happened to Ryder’s uncle, right? That prenup was supposed to be unbreakable.”

  Shit. That’s true enough. I heard some whispers about that from a few people, mostly those whose sole purpose in life is to keep track of juicy gossip. But Belle doesn’t seem like the type to do something like that. It’s just…low and not like her. If she were, she wouldn’t have been cleaning toilets for a living. “I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around it,” I say finally.

  “Well, get your mind-wrapper fixed. ASAP. You know how people can be when there’s a lot of money involved,” Lucas says, his voice quiet. “I’m not the one who discovered the embezzlement. Keith blames you more than me for the fallout. So be careful, Elliot.” He hangs up.

  I grind my teeth. Suddenly everything about life is pissing me off. I have an old enemy making a move against me…and a wife I crave but can’t trust. Whenever I think of the times she told me she loved me, my skin crawls. I can’t help but wonder if it was genuine or attempted manipulation, and then I feel hollow inside because I want her love to be real.

  I grip my phone hard. It’s that or hurl it against the wall, and I’m likely to regret the latter.

  I march to the kitchen. It’s a quarter after twelve, so Belle should be downstairs, about to have lunch.

  I don’t want to eat. I don’t want her to eat. I want to hash it out, yell at her, have her scream at me—

  The kitchen’s empty.

  The fridge has a note stuck to it.

  Elliot,

  I’m going out. I won’t be home for lunch, and I may be out for too long to get something for you on the way back. So you’ll have to fend for yourself. See you later today.

  –B

  The note deflates me, and I don’t know why. I’m not not angry. But I assumed she would be around, waiting for me.

  To do what?

  I sit at the counter and stare at the note, running my forefinger along her neat handwriting. She’s smart enough to know I’m still upset and that lunch with me would be unbearable. Who could blame her?

  I raise my eyes from the note, gazing around the penthouse. The silence practically screams at me, and I can’t help but think that the place looks cavernously empty somehow.

  * * *

  Annabelle

  Elliot’s in his office when I come back from my lunch with Traci. Without saying anything to let him know I’m back, I change into a T-shirt and denim skirt and go drop my dress off at the dry cleaner, which, unfortunately, can’t guarantee anything about the giant coffee stain. But if they can’t clean the dress, I’ll just throw it out. I’m not calling this Shellington guy to demand that he replace it when I have so many clothes in my closet. I need an awkward conversation with a stranger like a restaurant needs a rat in its kitchen.

  When I return, Elliot’s in the kitchen getting another coffee. I say, “Hi.”

  He merely nods.

  “There’s something I want to talk about.”

  He raises an eyebrow and waits.

  The silent treatment. Fine. I don’t let it get to me. If he expects me to cringe or something, he has another think coming. “I met Traci today for lunch, and she said there’s a temporary opening at OWM. I thoug
ht maybe I should take it.”

  A small muscle in his jaw flexes, and he breathes audibly through his mouth. “I’ll take care of the money you owe Grayson.”

  “It’s not really about the money. I don’t think this is a well-paying job, given that it’s a junior assistant position.” When he merely stares at me, I fidget. “Like I said before, I want something to occupy my time.” Especially if you’re going to treat me like this. “Besides, it’ll be good for me. Something to put on my résumé, plus it’ll get me out of the house…maybe make some new friends.”

  “Then you should take the job.”

  The lack of inflection in his voice twists me inside out. He used to be so animated, eyes bright and words full of emotion, even when he was trying rather crudely to proposition me. I’d rather have that than this.

  “Elliot…”

  “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” He sounds reasonable. Too reasonable.

  “Yes, but you can tell me if you have any misgivings. It’s your friend’s company.”

  “Why? Do you have to hand over any secrets to Grayson?”

  My face heats. I can feel blotches of red blooming in my cheeks, neck and chest. “That’s uncalled for.”

  He shrugs.

  I put my hands on my hips. “You know I could’ve just applied for the job on the spot when Traci mentioned it, but I wanted to talk to you first.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you made a big deal about talking things over first, and the last time we talked about me getting a job, you seemed standoffish about the idea.”

  “You can do whatever you want, Belle.”

  “You want me to beg, don’t you?”

  “If you want.”

  My teeth grind together, but I force myself to relax so I can talk with some outward semblance of calm. “I already said I was sorry. And I am sorry. I honestly didn’t think it would matter so much to you, or that it would be such a betrayal. I haven’t told Mr. Grayson anything, or done anything on his behalf. I don’t even know what he really wants.” The only thing I am pretty certain of is that he doesn’t just want his money back from me, except…I can’t imagine what he thinks I can do for him.