by Ava Miles
If Jill had talked to Jane, she likely knew the full truth. When Jill spilled the beans, she usually spilled all of them. Most of the time Margie found it charming—except when it was about her.
“Please, come in,” she reluctantly said. “I was making some tea. I’d be happy to offer you some.”
“That sounds nice,” Jane replied, following her into the kitchen.
The kettle whistled, and she took it off the burner and poured the water into her cheery red tea pot. The green tea leaves she’d spooned in earlier swirled in the bottom.
“My parents are really wealthy,” Jane said in a quiet voice. “I don’t usually share that. People see you differently when they learn you’re from money.”
A massive lump had taken up residence in Margie’s throat, so she only slid Jane a pottery mug as a reply.
“My dad’s a politician,” Jane continued, “and my mom’s his perfect politician’s wife. That sounds bitter.” Laughing harshly, she clutched the mug handle. “Growing up with them always wanting to control my life, my every move, was like being in prison. I had to get out. That’s why I became Rhett’s poker babe. I knew it would—”
“Embarrass them,” Margie finished. “It was like giving them the middle finger.”
“Yes, it was. They didn’t have to disown me, you see. I was happy to disown myself.”
She nodded. “I understand. Jill probably told you that I did the same thing. And that my parents showed up at Evan’s reception.”
She was still having nightmares about it. In some of them, they were reaching their grubby little hands into Evan’s pockets, shouting, Where’s the money? In others, she and Evan were sitting in his penthouse in Paris as her mother tugged down his beautiful curtains and declared she was going to redecorate.
“My parents won’t ever want to be in my life again,” Jane said. “Even if Matt ends up becoming the governor or senator of Colorado. They have too much pride.”
Margie poured the tea and then led Jane over to the kitchen table.
“I’ve been trying to put myself in your shoes,” Jane said. “After Jill begged me to talk with you.”
“Begged, huh?” she asked.
“I told her I wouldn’t at first, but then I got to thinking about Matt and me, and how I might not have let myself be with him if someone wise hadn’t spoken some sense to me. I was afraid I would be a liability for him, you see. Because of my past.”
Margie remembered. “It was major news when it came out that you’d been a poker babe.”
“And right during his campaign for the mayoral primary,” Jane said, taking a sip of the steaming tea. “You’re worried your parents will do something to hurt you and Evan.”
“Yes,” she said, burning the roof of her mouth when she took a gulp of the hot tea to soothe her throat. “And I’m…oh, hell, I don’t know…seeing my parents reminded me of how people like them always seem to try and leech onto other wealthy people. I saw it all the time growing up.”
“Those kinds of people are parasites,” Jane said, setting her mug down. “But you’re not like that. And neither is Evan.”
She made her brow rise. “You didn’t think too much of him in Paris, or you wouldn’t have thrown out such a crazy side bet.”
“You’re wrong. I did think a lot of him. When I looked at him, I saw a lonely man trapped in a wealthy lifestyle I used to inhabit, looking for a way out.”
Sighing, Margie set her tea aside. “So you think I should go back to him then?”
“I would never tell you what to do,” Jane said, reaching for her hand. “I only wanted you to know I understand why you would want to protect him and keep yourself out of his life. And I think maybe you should have a little more faith in him…and in yourself. Besides, it’s not like he isn’t wealthy enough to keep people like your parents away from anywhere you two want to go. And, Margie, he doesn’t want to be around people like them or their friends anymore. I think you know that.”
“But he has all this money—billions—and I just don’t know what to do about it,” she said, heaving out a sigh.
“Why don’t you spend it?”
Her head darted back. “I beg your pardon.”
“Make it fun,” Jane said, squeezing her hand. “You could be his philanthropy partner. He has a vision for the world. What do you want to do to make the world a better place?”
Blinking, she drank more tea. Philanthropy?
“You’re looking at me like I’m crazy, but let me explain. Melinda Gates is her own woman, but she works by her husband’s side when it comes to their philanthropic activities. I mean, their biggest charity is called The Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, isn’t it?”
She finally saw where Jane was headed with this. “But what about how we live? He said he would be happy living in this house, but…”
“Warren Buffet lives in the same house he and his wife bought in 1958, and he’s wealthier than Evan. Why can’t Evan live here with you? It’s a beautiful home.” She gave Margie a sharp look. “Oh, you think he’s only telling you that to keep you. Perhaps you need to ask him about it.”
“I did, and he mentioned…,” she said, realizing what she’d known all along. He had told her the truth. He would be happy living here with improvements.
Jane was nodding slowly, letting go of her hand. “What else?” She pulled a coin out of her pocket and started playing with it—something she often did when thinking.
“He said he liked fast cars and that he was going to keep his yacht.”
Her friend laughed and rubbed the coin between her thumb and index finger, almost like someone would do with rosary beads. “Maybe you’re the one who wasn’t listening.”
Maybe Jane was right…and maybe that needed to change.
“My parents coming here made me go off the rocker,” she admitted, rubbing her forehead. “It was like everything I’d escaped from was front and center again, but this time it wasn’t just hurting me. It was hurting someone I love.”
“Then tell Evan that,” Jane said, setting the coin on the table and reaching for her tea. “And quickly. No offense, but if he looks anything like you, it’s hard to watch.”
Even in a couple of days, she’d lost weight.
When she looked down at the coin, all her breath whooshed out of her chest. “What is this?” she managed to say, pointing down at it.
“Oh,” Jane said, pushing it her way. “It’s an old Roman coin with the goddess Diana on it. Rhett gave it to me as a lucky chip protector.”
Carefully, Margie picked it up and stared at the image. “She’s called Artemis by the Greeks. Evan and I saw her in Paris once.” Fate. Here it was again, entwining their lives, their stories. They were meant for each other. She knew it. Maybe the solution was simpler than she’d led herself to believe. Perhaps, like the Greek gods, she and Evan simply needed to throw her parents off of Mount Olympus.
“You’re right about Evan. About everything.” She needed to find Evan, but she knew just the person who could lead her to him. “But the bakery… I suppose my bakers can handle everything.”
“If you want someone to pop in and check on things, I’m sure Brian and Terrance would be happy to pitch in.”
Now that really made her cry. “That would be the best.” And she slid the goddess coin back to her friend. Maybe she could ask Evan to buy her one as a wedding present. She would like her own lucky coin to carry for the rest of their lives together.
“Jill can arrange it,” Jane said, and this time they both laughed.
“She’s good at arranging,” Margie said, and she decided she owed her friend a basket of pains au chocolat.
As soon as Jane left, Margie picked up the phone and dialed Quid-Atch headquarters. This time she was immediately put through to Chase after giving her name.
“I was hoping I’d hear from you,” he said without so much as a hello.
“I lost it there for a while, but my head is back on straight. Where is Evan?”
>
“He’s staying at my house,” Chase said. “When can we expect to see you?”
She had to take a deep breath. His friend had known she would call. “How did you—”
“You’re way too much of a fighter to let your parents have the final punch,” Chase said.
Funny how she hadn’t believed that until now. She knew then what she needed to do. “Can you send one of the company planes to pick me up and arrange for a driver to chauffeur me to your house?” she asked.
He was quiet on the line, and her belly tightened with nerves.
“I thought Evan would like that,” she added.
“He would, Margie,” Chase said, and she could almost hear the smile in his voice. “I’m happy to hear you’ve come to your senses. When would you like me to have you picked up at the house?”
Right, he could arrange door-to-door service. “I need to make some arrangements with my bakers and staff. How about sometime tomorrow morning? Whenever you can have a plane ready.”
“How about I have someone pick you up at five a.m. your time? Being a baker and all, you’ll probably be awake. That way you’ll arrive around lunch. You can make Evan eat. Even I can’t talk him into that one.”
She rubbed a hand over her heart to help ease the pain. “Make it a grand lunch, Chase. There will be lots to celebrate.”
“I’ll let you two lovebirds enjoy my house for a while,” he said. “Don’t worry about me interrupting anything.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Margie, please, he’s one of my dearest friends.”
“Thank you, then. I’ll see you when I see you.”
“Oh, and Margie,” he said before she could hang up. “I’ll figure out where Evan stashed your engagement ring and send it with the pilot.”
He hung up, and she sat back in her chair. Right. The ring.
It was about time Evan put it on her finger where it belonged.
***
Chase was pissing Evan off. Here he was ensconced in Quid-Atch’s high-tech lab, working on one of the new samples of the invisible paint with his growing staff, and his friend was insisting he run back to the house for lunch with a mysterious person.
“You need to tell me who it is, or I’m not going,” he said, dipping his fingers into their newest paint sample.
His fingerprints shimmered before his eyes and disappeared for several seconds before a paint stain covered his fingers. “Dammit! We’re so close.”
“Your idea to include modified polymers has put us on the right path,” Rajan said, “but we’re still missing something.”
“I know we are,” he said, using a turpentine-soaked cloth to remove the paint from his fingers. “Talk to me, you little bitch, and tell me what we’re missing.”
“Evan,” Chase said in a wry tone. “I think you might have broken the company’s sexual harassment policy with that statement.”
He looked up and gaped at the R&D staff around him, all of them staring at him in open shock. “I was talking to the paint, you idiots, not any of you.”
Chase chuckled. “Now, that we’ve cleared that up. This lunch—”
“Tell me who it is,” he demanded. “Sorry. I know my fuse has been a little short lately.”
Since leaving Dare Valley, he’d barely slept, ate, or worked. When he took even a moment to himself—like the quiet of a shower—Margie found her way back into his mind, and his heart broke all over again.
How was he supposed to live the rest of his life without her?
The thought of going back to Paris only made him ill. She would be everywhere he went, and reminders of her would stretch from his breakfast croissant to his evening baguette. He’d given up bread in a poor attempt to forget her, but he knew it would take more than that. Perhaps his next invention should be a machine to erase memories. But no, she had made him a better person and he never wanted to forget her. He just wanted the pain of losing her to go away.
“You’re having lunch with the person you most admire in the world,” Chase said.
Well, that grabbed his attention. There were few people he admired. “Is it Richard Branson?” The man wasn’t an inventor per se, but he had vision, and when he believed in something, he invested in it. Heavily. Evan deeply applauded the man’s attempt to put non-astronauts in space. “Maybe I can give him some advice on his space ships.”
Chase hid a smile behind his hand, but Evan caught it. “I’m not saying it’s Richard Branson.”
But it was. He could almost sense Chase’s glee—if you could call how Chase was reacting gleeful. Of course, his friend would probably sock him for using that term. Corporate Chase Parker was an intimidating figure. Evan had realized yesterday that he could never be that intimidating.
“What time do I need to leave?” Evan asked. He had lost track of time, so he glanced at the lab’s clock. It was close to noon. “Dammit, it’s lunchtime already.”
Chase steered him toward the exit. “That’s why I came and found you. There’s enough time for you to clean up and change before the driver takes you back to my residence.”
Yeah, his residence. Chase lived in a huge, quiet house in Great Falls, Virginia. The six-bedroom house sat on thirty acres, and when an owl hooted in the middle of the night, it was more noise than the place had seen in hours. He and Chase might as well have been church mice for all the noise they made when they were back there.
“Fine,” he said, nodding to his employees as they left the lab and made their way to the executive offices.
When he started toward a door on the right side of the hall, Chase blocked him. “Evan, you need to use your office, remember?”
Right. Chase had insisted he have one. A big one, complete with a private bathroom and wardrobe. He hadn’t bothered to ask how his friend had arranged it. “Maybe I’ll stay here instead of going back to Paris.”
Chase only made a humming sound.
“Did you hear what I said?” he asked, feeling like another part of him had died. If he couldn’t live in his beloved Paris or have Margie, what would he become? Perhaps he’d join the shriveled, lonely ranks of the Washington DC powerhouse crowd. He’d work too hard, have a heart attack at fifty, and marry at least twice. His future seemed depressing—except for his inventions.
“Get the rest of that paint off your hands and clean up,” Chase said. “Oh, and you might want to give yourself a fresh shave. If it is Richard Branson—and I’m not confirming that—his knightship or whatever you call someone who’s been knighted would appreciate it, I expect.”
Evan ran his hand over his cheek. “Okay, but only to please his knightship.”
Twenty minutes later, he walked out of his office a new man. Turning on his heels, he showed off his pewter suit, crisp blue shirt, and cream-colored silk tie. “Not too bad, huh?”
“You look presentable,” Chase said, and then came forward to put a pink rose in his lapel.
“What’s that for?”
“It gives the suit an extra flair, don’t you think?” Chase said. “The driver is waiting for you.”
“Why can’t I drive myself?”
“Just go, Evan,” Chase said with a sigh. “You want to make a good impression, don’t you? And try and enjoy yourself. You’ve been absolutely the worst houseguest on the planet, moping around like you have. If people saw us, they’d think we were Oscar and Felix from The Odd Couple.”
Wasn’t that a depressing thought? “I assume you have lunch prepared?”
Chase flicked him a glance. “Are you trying to insult me?”
He walked to the door. “No, I was only trying to get you back for that crack about me being the worst houseguest on the planet. I thought you understood, Chase.”
“I do, Evan. I just think it’s time to stop moping and move on with your life.”
He almost told his friend what he thought of his advice. “I’ll call you when I’m finished having lunch with Sir Branson. Maybe you can join us for a drink.”
&nbs
p; “Have fun,” Chase called out as Evan left.
Fun. He didn’t even know what that word meant anymore. He and Margie had jumped on beds together and fed each other baguettes. He’d invented corny things like hot-pink paper shredders for her. Working at Quid-Atch headquarters wasn’t fun. It was interesting and serious. Maybe he needed to change that. Create a new vision about corporate life for his employees.
The driver took him to Chase’s house in record time while Evan was busy writing notes on his phone about how they could gauge—and improve—corporate morale. Chase wouldn’t like it. They’d gone head-to-head about some of his new ideas, and he would have to add this one to the list.
When they arrived, he didn’t wait for the driver to open his door. He hopped out and jogged to the front. Since no one was waiting there for him, he would probably have time to check on the lunch preparations Chase had made. He hoped his friend hadn’t ordered bread. He’d told him he was giving it up.
The house was quiet when he unlocked the door. The alarm wasn’t on, and Evan wondered if Chase had left it off for the wait staff. The house was huge, so Evan almost texted Chase to ask him where he’d set everything up. None of Chase’s staff were present, which was weird. It was nearing one hundred degrees with nearly equal humidity, so he didn’t think Chase would have arranged for a lunch on the terrace. The weather was so bad that his hair had looked like a briar patch this morning before he’d glopped it with a healthy dose of his hair gel.
When he entered the dining room, he saw the shape of an arm. It was pale white and feminine. He stilled immediately. That arm did not belong to Richard Branson.
And he knew…
Margie stood and turned to face him. Her cheeks were pale, and she was wearing the yellow dress he adored. But her eyes were what captivated him most. They were filled with tears and so green he was sure he would become lost in their earthy depths.
“This time I’m the one who’s come to say I want a second chance,” she said in a husky voice.
All the blood seemed to leave his body, and he took a few steps back before advancing on her. “You’d better be serious about that,” he ground out.
