by Mary Davis
She took the picnic basket in the kitchen to put the leftover food away.
He was once again alone with her. Should he try to kiss her again? There was no dog around to interrupt this time.
She held the empty basket out to him. “What do you want me to do with this?”
“I’ll return it to the hotel.” He put it on the counter so it no longer separated them.
He put his hands on her shoulders and stepped closer. Was that fear or anticipation on her face? He hoped with all his heart that it was the latter.
Please, let her care…let her feel what I do…
Just before their lips touched, the front door opened and voices filled the stillness. Meghann glanced away from him, suddenly nervous. He dropped his hands to his sides. He just couldn’t get a break with her. Was the whole world against him?
Twenty-Two
THE NEXT DAY, MEGHANN STARED DUMBFOUNDED AT THE document thrust before her.
“Sign here.” Ivan Halloway pointed to a line with his executive pen, then handed the instrument to her.
She stared at the contract before her, searching anxiously for the meaning behind the legal jargon. “What is this?” She looked up into the elder Halloway’s stony face but could tell he had no intention of answering her…at least not until after she signed.
She looked to Brock, who sat at the far end of the table, hoping for an ally. He gave a noncommittal shrug. Some help he was.
Turning her attention back to the papers before her, she wished Bruce were here. His father was intimidating—purposefully so, unless she missed her guess—and seemed determined not to let her up until she signed.
If only Bruce hadn’t gone on some errand with his mother and hers. She’d thought it odd that they’d asked him to go along. Now she wondered if they hadn’t conveniently taken him away, out of her reach.
Brock finally spoke up. “It’s sort of a post-prenuptial agreement.”
Mr. Halloway shot his son a warning look. “Just sign it, then we can go over it if you like.” She could tell even that was a compromise for the man.
She flipped back to the first page, determined not to sign something she hadn’t read. She knew the basic idea of a prenuptial. But why would Bruce need one? They weren’t married. Even if they were, in reality, considering that kind of a step, she certainly didn’t need this kind of agreement. The only thing of real value that she owned—or cared about—was Lucky.
The legal jargon was thick, but she thought she got the gist of it. It seemed Bruce had some properties and investments that could one day yield a good sum of money. The least of which.
She stared at the words. Read them again. Looked up at Brock and his father, then read them a third time.
It couldn’t be. But according to this painfully official document it was: The least of the properties Bruce owned was the hotel.
Bruce is the owner of the Palace Hotel?
There must be some mistake. He said he had the owner’s ear, but she didn’t realize he had them both! Literally. Sitting on the sides of his too-attractive head. She read on and nearly choked on the settlement amount being proposed for her in the event that their marriage, which didn’t exist in the first place, should dissolve.
One…Her mouth formed the words silently; her mind struggled to take it in. One million dollars!
She looked up and gaped open mouthed at Mr. Halloway. Apparently her reaction caught him off guard, for he momentarily looked ill at ease. He cleared his throat. “That is a very generous sum…for someone of your standing.”
Someone of her. What was that supposed to mean? More than anything she wanted to stand up, to walk away—but not before she told this overbearing man what he could do with his prenup. But he looked even more determined than when he’d first led her to the table and plunked the papers before her.
She looked down at the figure again. If this was the settlement amount…She closed her eyes briefly. If they were giving her a million dollars, then Bruce would have to be worth several million.
“I don’t understand. He’s an assistant manager. How can he own the hotel?” Meghann’s voice sounded thin and confused, even to her own ears.
Bruce’s father harrumphed at that. “That’s a mystery to me. Why he would want to work at all when he doesn’t have to has always been beyond my grasp.”
“He likes seeing how things run, getting down with the little people,” Brock offered.
Little people? Like her?
“Ridiculous. You find trustworthy people, put them in charge, and let them make the money for you,” Ivan said. “Any good businessman knows that.”
“He didn’t buy the hotel to make money.”
Meg couldn’t tell if Brock was impressed or disgusted with that fact. What she could see was that the gap between her and Bruce was widening. Fast.
Bad enough they had one lie to deal with. But now…
She shook her head. No wonder he could afford this grand apartment and his nice cars. He was rich. No, not just rich. The way his brother and father spoke, he was filthy rich.
What an idiot she’d been, thinking he could be what he said he was and still, somehow, afford all that he owned. What a fool she’d been to buy into his illusion. No wonder he’d taken to his role as her supposed husband so well. He was experienced at playing a part.
An acute sense of loss assaulted her, making her head ache, her chest feel tight.
Ivan turned back to the last page, indicating she should sign, clearly determined to get what he wanted. Her name, on the dotted line.
Setting down the pen, she shook her head. She couldn’t sign this. She and Bruce weren’t really married. Tears stung her eyes. Nor, despite all she’d been hoping and dreaming, would they ever be. The thought tore at her insides.
“You want more money?” Ivan Halloway’s voice was filled with accusation. And loathing. “Fine. I’ll double it.” His comment held a note of impatience, and Meg looked up at the man who was so sure she was a money-grabber. But why? None of this made any sense.
Brock must have read the confusion on her face, for he leaned toward her slightly. “Our father is only trying to protect Bruce’s assets. It’s a sensible thing to do when your eldest son is worth twenty-seven million dollars.”
“You fool!” Ivan pounded his fist on the table. “You just cost Bruce several million dollars.” He turned to Meghann. “Five million, not a penny more. It would not be wise to press your luck and cross me.”
Meghann heard his menacing tone, but didn’t react. Twenty…seven…million…dollars! Her head reeled at the figure. “You…you can’t be serious.”
Ivan’s face hardened even further as he stared down at her. “I’m always serious about money. Five million, it’s my final offer. And you’d be wise to take it.”
Her mouth went dry under Ivan’s piercing glare. Wise? No, what would have been wise was never getting mixed up with Bruce in the first place.
If only she’d known that before it was too late. But here she was, staring down an angry bully.
And desperately in love with a man she had just discovered she couldn’t trust.
At the sound of a key in the door, Meg turned.
Bruce came through the front door, packages in hand, holding the door open with his foot for their mothers.
Liar! The word flew through Meg’s mind, and she clenched her teeth against it.
As though he’d sensed her attention, though, Bruce looked toward the dining room. Taking in his father and brother standing there, over Meg, he strode directly over to her.
“What’s going on?”
Meg didn’t answer him. Let his family explain this little meeting.
Brock shifted uncomfortably, but Ivan stood proud and tall, unwavering. She suspected he was as nervous inside as Brock; he just had more years to perfect his apathy.
Bruce dumped the packages on the table, noticing the document in front of Meg as he did so. “What is this?” He snatched the document, scanning
the pages. His features darkened.
All Meghann could do was stare up at the man she had come to love. Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me this is all some crazy mistake.…
But even she could see it now in the way he stood, the confidence and bearing…he looked very much the wealthy aristocrat. The last of her hope dwindled with the revelation.
You can’t have him. He’s out of your league. He’s wealthy and out of reach. This is only a game to him. Hold on to your heart, Meg, hold on tight. Even as she counseled herself, she knew her heart was gone. It belonged to him.
“It’s for your own good, son. I’m sure you didn’t think of this. I’m only looking out for your best interests. You can’t be too careful.”
He thrust the agreement at his father and turned to Meghann.
She stood slowly, halting whatever he’d intended to say. Holding his gaze, she drew a deep breath. “You own the Palace Hotel. You are the anonymous owner?”
She was demanding an answer she already knew. But she wanted—no, needed him to admit it.
A long, brittle silence stretched out between them. She felt as if a hand were closing around her throat.
“Yes.”
With that single, reluctant word, her dreams were crushed. Shattered. Left in a pile on the table between them. Meghann turned and walked from the dining room, to the front door. She pulled it open and walked out, closing the door behind her.
Smothering a sob, she ran. To the elevator, then out, onto the street. She fled from him as if her life depended on it. And it did…or at least her heart did. Though she could hear Bruce calling out to her, she kept going. She couldn’t face him in the wake of all she had just learned. All she had lost.
God…oh, Father, how can this be happening?
Only silence answered her anguished prayer.
I wanted to tell him how I feel, that I love him. How could things have gone so terribly, totally wrong?
Still no answer. No sense of peace, no calm settling over her. Only a silence as bleak as the reality of all she’d just lost.
Rubbing her hand over her eyes, she supposed she should be thankful she hadn’t told Bruce how she felt. At least she’d avoided that humiliation. She could just see his reaction as he laughed at her, telling her she was a romantic little fool, that she’d confused reality with the fantasy they created. Her fantasy. After all, it was only a game.
“Quite a hoot pulling this off, don’t you think?” he would say before going back to his life and his money and forgetting about her. Except for those rare moments at parties when he pulled out the story. “Oh, listen, you think that’s good? Wait till you hear about a woman I knew once…”
Thank heaven she’d never told him. As painful as it had been to keep her feelings to herself, it was nothing compared to having them flung back at her.
The only saving grace in all of this was that he couldn’t take her memories away. No one could. She would always have them to look back on and smile.
Small consolation for a decimated dream. But what did she expect from something that started because of a lie? She should count herself fortunate she’d escaped with as little emotional injury as she had.
Another lie, Meg? You’re destroyed, and you know it.
Maybe so, but she’d never admit it. Not to herself. And certainly, never, ever to Bruce.
Meghann sunk into the passenger seat of Jennifer’s yellow Hyundai. It was a safe haven in the midst of an emotional storm. She knew her best friend had a million questions for her—no, twenty-seven million, that small voice inside her mocked—but thankfully Jenn was silent. For the time being.
Jennifer pulled into the flow of traffic. “This is a switch. I’m usually the one bumming a ride from you.” Seemingly uncomfortable with the silence she went on. “I’m not sure whether I have more miles on the road or on the rack.”
Meghann had bought her used Honda at the same time Jenn bought her new car. Unfortunately, Jenn’s car had not been nearly as reliable. She’d said her choice of colors was prophetic: lemon yellow.
“Is everything okay, Meg? Nothing has happened to your mother, has it?” Jenn asked the question, keeping one eye on Meg as she checked traffic and changed lanes.
“Mom’s fine. But as for everything being okay?” She dropped her head back against the headrest. “No. My life is a mess.”
“Aren’t things going well with Bruce?” Her friend’s voice was filled with compassion, and Meg nearly lost it right then and there. She focused on the street signs as Jenn pulled into the left-hand turn lane and stopped, waiting for the light to turn green. “Your mom didn’t find out the truth, did she?”
“No, I found out the truth.”
Jenn blinked at her. “What? Don’t you already know the truth?”
“Evidently not.”
Jennifer pulled into a strip mall parking lot. “I need to drop off a package, then you can tell me all about it.”
Jennifer left and returned all too quickly. “Okay, spill the beans.”
“I know you need to get back to work.”
“You can tell me on the way to wherever it is I’m taking you.”
“My place, please.”
She pulled out and headed down the road. “Start talking. We haven’t got all day. My bosses are nice, but there is a limit to how far I can push their patience.”
Meghann told her about the flowers Bruce had brought her, about the cross necklace and the continued patience and kindness he showed her.
Jenn frowned, clearly confused. “It sounds to me like he could very well have feelings for you.”
“That’s what I thought, or should I say hoped, until today.” She took a deep breath. What would Bruce want from her when all was said and done? She didn’t know. And right now, she didn’t care. “Bruce Halloway isn’t just the assistant manager of the Palace Hotel; he owns it.”
Jenn stared at her. “Owns it? The whole thing?”
“That and twenty-seven million other things.” She met her friend’s stunned gaze. “Green things. With numbers and George Washingtons on them.”
“Are you telling me your boss is a millionaire?”
“Several times over. Here I was thinking he was this wonderful man who’d jumped in to help me out.” She shook her head. “When all the time he’s just some aristocrat playing a game, seeing if he can get away with it.”
“Poor little rich boy?”
“Something like that.” She hung her head. Her misery was so acute that it was physically painful. “I’m such a fool.” Her mind was languid, without hope. “When I try to pray, I get nowhere, like I’m saying nothing at all. I feel like I’m in front of a locked door; no matter how hard I bang, it won’t open.”
Jennifer pulled her car into Meghann’s gravel driveway and stopped. “Are you sure you want me to leave you here alone?”
“I’m not alone. Lucky is already at the gate. I’ve got a key under the porch lip.”
“I’ll pray for you.” Jenn squeezed Meghann’s hand.
Meghann stared at her friend, surprised.
Jenn shrugged. “Let’s just say I’m starting to understand there’s more to this God thing than I realized. And I need to get more serious about it all.” She smiled. “Besides, you’re my friend, and I figure the best one to work all this out is God. Right?”
Meg choked back a laugh. “Right.” But even as she said it, she doubted He would do so. Why would He? She’d gotten herself into this mess by going against Him. Why would He step in and make it all work out now that things were truly a disaster?
She squeezed Jenn’s hand before getting out. “Thanks, Jenn. I need a lot of prayer now.” And that was as true as it got.
An hour later, Bruce pulled his car up in front of Meghann’s house.
She was there, sitting on the front porch steps.
The misery on her face cut him deep, and he wished again he’d never left that afternoon, never given his father the opportunity to pull that idiotic stunt.
Never given him the chance to let the truth come out?
Yeah. That too.
With a heavy sigh, he stepped from the car and went to cautiously sit beside Meghann on the steps. She didn’t look up at him.
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable inside?” he asked after a moment of silence, pointing at the yellow door with one key, unsure of how she would respond to him after what she’d found out about him.
“I don’t have my keys.” Her tone was even, unemotional.
“And I have your spare.” He handed her his key ring with her key on it.
She held up her hand to stop him. “I’m fine. I’ll stay out here.” Now her words were curt.
He fiddled with the ring of keys, outlining hers with his thumb. “Are you mad at me?” He closed his eyes. Dumb, Halloway. Dumb, dumb, question. “Let me rephrase that. How mad are you?”
“I’m not mad. Not anymore. But you make more sense now.”
She was talking to him, which was a good sign. “How so?”
“Your car.” She pointed to the red ‘Vette in the driveway. “Correction, cars. Your apartment, or should I say penthouse. The way you talk about Mr. Phenton, like he’s not your boss.” She snapped her fingers. “That’s right, he’s not. You’re his boss. Your clothes, your manner, Charmaine Altman…”
With each item, shadows of his past reared their vile heads to taunt him. He wanted to avoid it all—especially the subject of Charmaine—all together. “I blew it, huh? I guess I’m not so good at pretending, after all.”
“Oh, I’d say you’re very good at it. You had me fooled. On all fronts. You did a great job of playing the sincere worker, and of acting the devoted husband.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“I just don’t understand why you weren’t honest with me.”
He took a deep breath. “Because of Charmaine Altman—” he held up his hand at her sharp look—“and people like her. All my life people have treated me like a king when it suited their purposes because of my money. Fair-weather friends and all that. People aren’t themselves. It doesn’t take long before you question everyone’s motive, every action and word. I let myself grow skeptical, and I sure didn’t think I could trust anyone. I just wanted to be a normal guy struggling to make a living. I didn’t want special treatment for once in my life. The hotel was my inspiration.”
