by Nadia Lee
“Keith Shellington.”
Her eyes don’t register any recognition. But how can that be? She has his card.
“I don’t understand,” she says finally. “Who is Keith Shellington?”
“He’s the fucker who stole from me and Lucas. The embezzler I told you about.” I wave the card in her face. “This didn’t jump into your wallet on its own.” Grayson and now this… I want her to explain what the hell is going on. Tell me what I need to hear to make the nasty pit in my gut go away.
“Let me see it.” She takes the card from my hand and reads the name and phone number on the heavy stock. She shrugs helplessly. “It’s a guy I ran into outside a sandwich shop two or three weeks ago.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Having lunch with Traci. We were just saying goodbye when he bumped into me and spilled coffee on my clothes. I told him it was fine, but he was all apologetic and gave me this card to call him in case I couldn’t get the stain out. He said he would replace the dress. He seemed to feel really terrible about it, and I didn’t… Elliot, I had no idea he was the man who stole from you.”
I can feel my eyes narrowing. The story is too ridiculous and contrived to be believed. Keith couldn’t have known she would be at that particular place at that particular time. He doesn’t even live in L.A. And for him to just conveniently run into my wife out of millions of people in the city?
No way.
Then I finally register the bloodless, glassy-eyed expression on my wife’s face. Her slim arms are wrapped around her legs, and she’s watching me like a prisoner awaiting execution.
She’s horrified at having been found out.
The thought rams into me with the force of a wrecking ball, and my knees almost give. I curl my hands into fists, my body vibrating with a cocktail of emotions—bitter disappointment, anger and grief.
I mentally count to ten. I have to calm myself or I’m going to fuck everything up. I tunnel my fingers into my hair.
Is my love so shallow that I don’t trust her?
Even when my discovery has turned her face into a rictus of panic, she’s lovely. I want to protect her, tell her I can fix everything, that nothing will be different because—in spite of everything—I still love her.
Love.
Belle’s story is very, very hard to swallow. Even Nonny could come up with a better lie. At the same time, life is complicated, and has its share of ridiculous coincidences. If it were anybody but Keith Shellington’s name on the card, I wouldn’t think twice about what she told me.
As the moment stretches, her teeth dig into her shaking lower lip. I crouch before her and gently free her lip with shaky fingers.
“Do you want me to pack my things?” she whispers without meeting my gaze.
“What?” I couldn’t have heard that right.
She finally looks up. “I can’t do what we did after you found out about Mr. Grayson. I just can’t!” Unshed tears shimmer in her eyes. She blinks rapidly to make them go away, but they spill over her cheeks anyway.
The sight cuts like jagged glass. The realization that I crushed her like that eviscerates me. She hasn’t been dreading the discovery, but my reaction. And my accusatory tone must’ve gutted her.
I’m such a fucking douchebag. I don’t deserve her even though I have no intention of letting her go. Ever.
I reach out and hold her fragile shoulders. “You won’t have to.” I kiss the corner of her mouth and taste the salt of her tears. “I trust you.”
“But… I thought…”
“It’s a choice, Belle. And I choose to believe you.”
“You aren’t going to wonder later?” The words come out garbled and fast, almost unrecognizable. “That I made a fool out of you?”
“No. We said we loved each other. I can’t love you without trust. And faith.”
She exhales sharply and collapses in my arms, hot tears streaming down silently. I hold her, running my hands over her delicate back. “You have to stop crying or you’re going to make yourself ill,” I whisper into her hair.
She merely clutches me harder.
“If not for me, do it for Jana. She’ll be despondent without her assistant tomorrow.” That earns me a watery laugh. “I’m sorry I hurt you so badly.”
“I don’t want to think about the past.”
I understand that. But I need to face my past. “Belle, even though I trust you, Keith’s running into you was no coincidence. I don’t want that son of a bitch sniffing around me and my new family. I need to confront him.”
She pulls back. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“There is…if you’re sure.”
Her eyes flash. “He stole from you and is apparently trying to get between us. So yes, I want him to at least say ‘sorry’ to your face, now that he’s been found out.”
I smile. I don’t have the heart to tell her how unlikely that is. He’s a fucking rat—an ungrateful, traitorous rat. “Contact him and tell him you couldn’t get that stain out. He’ll ask to meet. Let him set the time, date and location. That’s it.”
“What if he just offers to send money instead?”
I shake my head. “He won’t. He went to a lot of trouble to meet you in person.”
“All right, if you’re sure. I can call him right now, actually.” She takes her phone out and starts to enter his number, then stops. “I don’t think I can talk to him while hiding how I really feel about him.”
“Then don’t. Text him.”
She nods and types a few things. I don’t try to look at what she’s writing over her shoulder.
Toying with her hair with my fingers, I study her fierce face. Despite the upcoming confrontation with Keith, I feel as light and worry-free as a cloud in a sunny sky, because nothing can destroy what we have so long as we love and trust each other.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Annabelle
I stretch my neck as the last conference call of the day ends. It was a long one with some overseas clients whose English was so thickly accented that I had a hard time deciphering what they were saying. Still, I managed to take a copious amount of notes as Jana instructed.
“I’ll type them up right away,” I say, gathering my legal pad and pen from the table in my boss’s office.
“Unless your handwriting’s so bad that you won’t be able to make your notes out on Monday, you can go home,” Jana says.
I glance at my watch. “But it’s only four.” And as far as I know, Jana doesn’t believe in cutting the workday short unless there’s a good reason, and today being Friday isn’t one.
She settles behind her neatly organized desk. “Tomorrow’s your birthday, so I’m letting you off early.”
“Oh. I didn’t…” I forgot about that. I stopped celebrating the last two years, mostly due to the lack of funds and just…not having any reason to when things were progressively becoming bleaker. “How did you know?”
“As your boss, it’s my job to know. And next year, I’ll get you a present other than letting you go home early.” She gives me a small smile. “Happy birthday.”
I beam at her, absurdly pleased at her bringing up next year. I haven’t really thought that far ahead. Even though by then I’ll be in school again, I would love to work part-time at OWM.
“Thanks, Jana. Have a great weekend.”
Her smile widens, and she turns her attention to whatever’s on her laptop.
I grab my purse and pull out my phone, about to call Elliot, then remember he’s meeting Keith at four thirty. Hmm. How long will that take?
Pursing my lips, I tap the side of my phone. I don’t want to sit around until he’s done. Seems like a gross waste of my special extra hour off.
Dropping the phone back in my purse, I make an executive decision. I’m going home to freshen up. If we can, we’ll go out. If not, then we’ll stay in and order some Thai and watch whatever looks good on Netflix while snuggling. The perfect plan for a Friday evening befo
re my birthday.
As I head toward our penthouse, I make a quick detour—only a few blocks—so I’m driving past the building that houses Keith Shellington’s office. It’s an impressive skyscraper with reflective glass sides glittering in the sunlight. I can’t see anybody inside, but my mouth dries anyway. Apprehension slithers down my spine as I sit at the red light. Keith’s using me to target Elliot seems so far-fetched. At the same time, it does feel…odd that he bumped into me right outside Galore and spilled all that coffee. It was almost as though he was waiting for me…
Now I wish Elliot wasn’t confronting the man, or at least that I was going with him for backup, but that’s being silly. Elliot made it clear he needed to do this to put all the past baggage behind us. I don’t want to ruin what we have with groundless fears.
Besides, they’re meeting in Keith’s office. What’s the worst that can happen? Raised voices and some nasty, heated words? Elliot can be hotheaded, but I doubt things will get physical.
By the time I’m home, I’m feeling better, almost convinced that things will end well between the two men. Nonny’s still not back from school—I remember her saying something about sleeping over at her friend’s today, and that’s totally fine with me. I want her to have a great high school experience. She deserves that.
I drop my purse on the kitchen counter and get a big glass of cold water. Maybe I should call a few restaurants and see if we can get a reservation rather than waiting until Elliot comes home to see what we should do. If we decide not to go out, we can always cancel.
I take my phone out and unlock it just as someone knocks at the door. I wonder who it could be. The front desk doesn’t allow people to come up unless they’re on the approved list or they can show that they have legitimate business—like express delivery.
A quick look at the intercom screen shows a guy in a T-shirt with a local florist’s logo on the chest and a cap with the same logo on his head. His face is tilted down, and he’s fooling with a small tablet for delivery confirmation signatures. He’s also holding a large bouquet of flowers—roses, lilies and some others I don’t recognize.
Elliot. He must have ordered them for tonight, I think, ridiculously pleased at his thoughtfulness.
After grabbing a few small bills for a tip, I open the door. Holding the bouquet in front of his face, the deliveryman pushes forward with enough force to make me stumble back. Once inside, he kicks the door closed and drops everything on the floor.
My body goes numb, and the money slips from my fingers.
“Hello, Annabelle.”
* * *
Elliot
In deference to my wife’s work schedule, Keith is meeting her in his downtown office near OWM at four thirty on Friday. That means I need to select my attire with care. Office drones don’t suspect anything so long as you look like you belong there.
So I chose clothes that say entrepreneur with an edge. A black silk V-neck shirt. Impeccable black trousers. Black loafers. No jewelry except the wedding band.
I step out of the elevator and take in the vestibule. Sand-blasted letters on the thick glass doors read SHELLINGTON FUNDS. The receptionist’s desk is gleaming, a computer and a phone sitting on the spotless surface. The golden color scheme is a bit much, but I suppose if you want to make it look like you have the Midas touch, you gotta do what you gotta do. And Keith, it seems, has done well for himself since I last laid eyes on him.
The secretary outside his door is a slim brunette who looks remarkably like Annabelle Underhill. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought she was Wife Number Three’s long-lost sister.
She gets up at the sight of me. The blue dress she has on is tight but covers everything adequately. “Hello. You are…?”
“I have an appointment. Annabelle Reed.”
She does a double take. “Annabelle…? Uh…”
“I know. Mom really wanted a girl.” I wink at her and walk into Keith’s office before she can stop me.
The room is spacious, with a decent view of the city. The focal point is a giant desk, which is cluttered with paper and three laptops. Two couches face each other, with a coffee table between. A decanter half full of amber liquid and three empty glasses are on the tabletop. Some things don’t change. Keith was never one to keep his workspace tidy.
He swivels in his chair. Shock registers in his gray eyes, a wide smile slipping from his lips. The change pleases me immensely.
He’s thirty-nine, although he can pass for forty-five. He sports a thousand-dollar haircut, his jaw shaved clean. His charcoal-gray suit fits well, but it can’t hide the fact that he’s a skinny bastard with a soft body.
I take an empty seat. “You’re moving up in the world. Offices in L.A. now.”
“Just opened three weeks ago.” He pulls out his phone, texts something and places it back on his desk. “Sorry about that. But you know how it is. The market waits for no one.”
“Get tired of Chicago?”
“Nah.” His clasped hands rest on his belly. “Expanding the business.”
“You mean broadening your base to steal from.”
“Tomayto, tomahto.” His lips twist. “Where’s your wife?”
“She had to work late.”
“A beautiful girl…although I think your interest is more due to the fact that her name is Annabelle.”
Did he know about Annabelle Underhill even before the exposé? The way that secretary out front looks may not be an accident.
As though he’s reading my thoughts, he says, “Oh yeah. I know all about Annabelle Graham. Oh, sorry, Reed. Oh damn, I mean Underhill.” He throws his hands up theatrically. “Who the hell can keep track of a woman who marries so often?”
His tone is just a tad too bitter, and a sneer twists his mouth.
“You had a crush on her.” I throw it out to test my theory.
“Wasn’t a crush back then. It was love, and I borrowed that money to give her what she deserved.”
My jaw drops. “You stole from me and Lucas for her? That conniving bitch?”
“Well, I was young. Didn’t realize she was such a cunt back then. And it isn’t stealing if you plan to pay it back.”
“Tell that to your clients and see what they think.” Jesus. It’s difficult to process the information. I never suspected he had feelings for Annabelle Underhill.
Then I realize something. She wasn’t just cheating on me with my dad, but also with Keith. That little bitch. A woman like her doesn’t change. Perhaps I should surveil her and send proof of her current infidelities to Stanton as well.
“My clients worship the ground I walk on. And you can’t prove I did anything wrong,” he says.
“Only because you pinned it all on your assistant.”
“Pssh. That cunt was reporting every move I made to Annabelle. She got what she deserved.”
He’s a complete asshole. But he’s also free with information. Probably dying to tell me all about how clever he really is, and I’m willing to oblige. I want to know everything he’s done. Even if I can’t pin anything on him, I can try to use what he’s telling me to foil him. “So why did you pay for my wife’s living expenses? What did she do to deserve that? Or do you have a crush on her, too?”
Keith shrugs. “She didn’t do anything. It was her father.”
“What?”
“Aaron Key was my mentor when I came out of college. Nice guy, although not the sharpest tack in the carpet, if you know what I mean. But he taught me a lot about covering my tracks, especially when money is about to go missing. He was always so damn sneaky. When I heard about his death and that he was survived by two daughters, I had to look them up. Without the benefit of his instruction, I wouldn’t have made it this far. So—out of the goodness of my heart—I decided to help them out some until they could get back on their feet.”
“Through Grayson.”
“I wasn’t going to associate with them myself. I might’ve had some uses for them later.”
; “Like sending the oldest my way to marry me?”
He smiles. “Something like that.”
I lean back, steepling my fingers. “How did you know I needed a wife in the first place?”
“Well, it’s a funny thing. Your newest stepmother was more than a little peeved about the deal your father made with you.” He shakes his head. “You really should’ve gone to her wedding. Pissed her off to get snubbed like that.”
“Tiffany?” This is getting Kafkaesque. “How the hell do you know her?”
A shit-eating grin splits his face. “Her mother invests with me. When Tiffany was in town, we all decided to have dinner to discuss her money situation. She’s smarter than people give her credit for. She knows the Julian gravy train won’t last forever, and was eager to tell me all sorts of things about her marriage. Wasn’t happy at all to think about those paintings going to you kids. I guess they’re worth quite a bit of money.”
“They are,” I say to keep him talking.
“Yeah. So anyway, it wasn’t long before I came up with the idea of telling your former love interest and mine, Annabelle Underhill, about your sudden need to marry. You know, just to see what she would do to kill the good thing she has going with Stanton.”
“How would knowing about me do that?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Elliot, Elliot. Such a genius with computers and such a moron about people. Annabelle has always been obsessed with you. I mean, don’t ask me why. No accounting for taste, eh?”
“She can’t be that obsessed. She tossed me over for Julian.”
“What can I tell you? Greed is a marvelous thing. But it just about ripped her apart to have to choose between you and Julian’s fortune.”
Damn. That explains so much. I can feel the pieces of the puzzle falling into place.
“But now you have money!” Keith goes on. “And you got it after she was already married to your father. Oh, the irony!” He laughs again. “And I knew that that fact, along with your dad’s forcing you to get hitched, would be more than the poor girl could resist. All I had to do was point her in your direction.” He makes a pistol with his fingers and pretends to shoot me with it. “Pow. It’ll be amusing to watch her flail around, even though she won’t go down easily,” he continues. “She knows all there is to know about your wife, and she’s going to do everything she can to get rid of her competition. She is positively obsessed with the need to have what she believes she deserves: you.”
