Sweeter Than Revenge

by Ann Christopher

  Unbelievable.

  He couldn’t account for his ongoing stupidity where this one woman was concerned. He was normally such a smart person. He’d worked his way through college and grad school, secured a couple Ivy League degrees and made a cool twenty million before the age of forty. Why he couldn’t get his act together and think straight when it came to Maria Johnson was destined to be a mystery for the ages, right up there with how the ancient Egyptians and their slaves managed to build the pyramids without modern tools.

  Why hadn’t he just told her about his money when he’d had the chance?

  The irony was unbelievable. All the times he’d fantasized about throwing the money in her face, taunting her with it, telling her he would’ve given her diamonds for every finger and toe if only she’d believed in his ability to provide for her. Yesterday the magic moment finally came, and he’d had all afternoon to tell her he had money, and he just couldn’t do it.

  Much as he hated to admit it, he’d still had doubts, even after they’d made love, and he’d been afraid. He’d wanted time with her before he told her everything. Wanted to solidify their relationship, to make sure that it was really himshe wanted and not his money. Especially now, when her own financial future was in such doubt. Once before, Maria had chosen the richest man. Now hewas the richest man—the onlyman—but he didn’t want the money to be a deciding factor for her. He didn’t want the money to be a factor at all. Either she wanted him as a reasonably successful publicist, or she didn’t want him at all. It was as simple as that, or so he’d thought.

  Why couldn’t he let go of the idea that money might play some role between them? Was it because his mother had left his father for a man with more money? Was that it? Or was it simply that he couldn’t believe a woman as amazing as Maria could want a poor boy like him? That was how he thought, wasn’t it? His bank account might be rich, but inside he was still little David Hunt with the holes in his socks, roaches in his kitchen and Mama who ran off to be with the guy with money. In his head, love and money were screwed up and hopelessly intertwined, and he needed to get over it.

  Shuffling papers on the table in front of him, he risked a glance at Maria, who, luckily, continued to glare at Anastasia and didn’t notice what was no doubt a pitiful, desperate stare. Maria’s puffy, dark-ringed eyes told him he’d made her cry—again—and caused her a sleepless night. This, after he’d promised he wouldn’t hurt her again, that he’d open up and trust her. Tell her how he felt. And how many times yesterday could he have told her about the money, or that he loved her…a hundred? A thousand? Why was he such a coward on these issues? Disgusted with himself, he shook his head and felt his jaw tighten with tension. If Maria never looked at or spoke to him again, it’d be no less than he deserved.

  Except that he had no intention of losing Maria and letting this relationship go down in flames again. They’d work this out. He swore it. If it took thirty years and cost him his entire fortune, he’d make things up to her and show her exactly how much he didlove her. For the rest of their lives he’d never give her another reason to doubt it.

  For now, alas, they had to deal with Anastasia’s crisis du jour.

  “Maria,” David said, and Maria stiffened but didn’t look at him, “was there anything you wanted to say to Anastasia?”

  Anastasia puffed up, one brow raised, looking like a haughty purple frog.

  Maria, on the other hand, looked like she’d swallowed a frog. Still, she managed a contrite smile and a few gracious words. “I’m sorry I spoke to you like that, Anastasia,” she said. “I won’t do it again—”

  “See that you don’t,” Anastasia said.

  “But please don’t speak to David—”

  David’s heart thundered to hear Maria defend him, even now.

  “—or me like that again. I think we can bothbe more respectful.”

  Scowling, Anastasia looked to Uri. He nodded encouragingly, then tipped his head in Maria’s direction. Anastasia turned back to Maria, and a long, pregnant moment passed and the future of the world seemed to hang in the balance. Finally Anastasia smiled.

  “Darling,” she cried, holding her arms wide across the table to Maria.

  Maria seemed not to know what to do. Smiling, she paused for a millisecond, but since there was no way she could reach Anastasia from the other side of the table and Anastasia obviously wasn’t about to trouble herself to move, Maria had no choice. She hurried all the way around the long table, submitted to Anastasia’s prolonged bear hug and kiss, and then began the long trek back to her own seat. David and Uri exchanged relieved grins.

  “Now, darlings,” Anastasia boomed as she settled back into her chair, “what shall we do to get my foot out of my mouth? Ideas? Anyone? Anyone?”

  Feeling more confident now that all that unpleasantness was behind them and he knew Anastasia recognized the magnitude of her problem, David scooted forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the table. “I’ve got good news. Letterman’s producer called a few minutes ago. They want you on Monday’s show. You’ll be out of this hole in no time.”

  Everyone squealed and clapped for a minute, but then he shushed them down. “We’ve still got our work cut out for us.”

  “What d’ya mean?” Anastasia asked.

  “Well, you’ve probably heard this before, but when a popular public figure makes a bad impression, she needs to make ten good impressions to get back to neutral. And then ten moregood impressions to get back to where she was in the first place.”

  “For pity’s sake, David, spare me the mumbo-jumbo and tell me what I need to do to sell the bloody book.” Anastasia turned to Uri and pointed at the drink cart in the corner, which David had had installed especially for her. “Be a love and get me a Scotch, would you? Three fingers should do it.”

  Uri, ever obedient, jumped to his feet and scurried off to grab a tumbler and study the various sparkling crystal bottles and decanters. David couldn’t resist a glance at his watch: eight forty-three. In the morning. Uri uncorked a bottle filled with a rich amber liquid, started to poor and, catching David’s eye, raised the bottle and one eyebrow in question.

  “Er…no thanks, Uri,” David said. “I usually wait until nine or so before I start my morning drinking.”

  The sarcasm was lost on Uri, who shrugged and resumed pouring. Maria doodled idly on her pad.

  David cleared his throat. “As I was saying…the first thing you need to do is apologize. You can post a statement on your site.”

  “Of course.” Anastasia took her glass from Uri, tossed back half the Scotch and smacked her lips appreciatively.

  “We can keep it fairly generic,” David continued. “Tell your fans you’re sorry if you offended anyone, we all have bad days, yada, yada, yada, and then you can explain what made you make the comment.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Anastasia sipped again.

  “It would help if you had a good excuse,” David told her. “Some problem or…addiction—” he put a subtle emphasis on the word “—that might help people understand your behavior.”

  Anastasia froze in the act of putting the empty glass down, her arm suspended over the table, and David could almost see the light bulb go off over her head. “Addiction,”she said, a shrewd half smile turning up one corner of her mouth.

  “Yes,” David said.

  He waited. Anastasia studied her empty glass, then looked to Uri for his reaction. They stared at each other for a minute or two, doing that weird subliminal thing, and then Uri winked at her. Maria watched the proceedings, her face impassive.

  “Well, I—” Anastasia slowly lowered the glass to the table, then reached that same hand up to fluff today’s wig, the Halle Berry model in a flaming electric red that would no doubt bring traffic to a screeching halt up to six blocks away. “I’ve always liked my alcohol.”

  “Is that so…?” asked David.

  “Yes, and I…sometimes get carried away.”

  David let this revolutionary admission float
in the air for a moment while they all tried it on for size. Hearing no objections, he flapped his hand encouragingly.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “Especially when—” she screwed up her face and he could almost hear the wheels turning “—I’m under pressure of any kind, like work—”

  “Work?”he said, narrowing his eyes.

  “Did I say work?” She laughed, filtering her fingers through her faux hair. “I meant to say family,of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “But,” Anastasia said, a new sharpness in her voice, “I don’t get so carried away I need to check into the Betty bloody Ford Center for thirty days, or anything like that.” She paused. “Do I?”

  “No,” David said firmly. “That shouldn’t be necessary.”

  “Good,” Anastasia said with an audible sigh of relief.

  She sank back against her chair while David jotted a couple of notes on his pad. He’d just flipped to a new page when Anastasia spoke again.

  “Maria,” she snapped, slapping a palm on the table, and they all jumped. “You haven’t said two words all morning, pet. Stop making cow eyes at David, will you, and focus on me. I’mthe client here. I’mthe one whose life is in the crapper.”

  David’s heart leaped with A New Hope and his gaze flew to Maria who, sure enough, had splotches of thrilling color in the apples of her cheeks. Other than that, though, she looked completely unruffled as she rose to her feet. “I’m just going to run to the kitchen for some coffee. Can I get anyone anything?”

  They all stared, openmouthed, at her.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said smoothly, and left.

  The second the French door clicked shut behind her, Anastasia turned to David. “Well, you’ve really blown things up, haven’t you?”

  David tried to look surprised. “Pardon me?”

  “With Maria. You’ve messed up. Upset her. Don’t deny it. She’s been ignoring you one minute and doing the sad face—” Anastasia made a despairing face with exaggerated pouting mouth and droopy eyes, so tragic she looked like a mime “—the next. What’ve you done to her?”

  Irritated now, David shoved his chair away from the table and went to the sideboard for some water. “I don’t discuss my personal life with clients.”

  Anastasia snorted. “Obviously you should. If you’d discussed matters with me, you wouldn’t be in this royal mess.”

  “I am not—”

  “Think of me as your fairy godmother, sweet. One wave of my magic wand and I’ll have you back in her good graces by lunchtime.”

  “I don’t need your help,” David snapped, clanking the water pitcher back down on its tray. “I’m a grown man. I can get her back my damn self.”

  “And look what a wonderful job you’ve done so far,” she said silkily. “Your defective Y chromosome and testosterone have steered you right off into a ditch, haven’t they?”

  David glared at her, and she stared smugly back. Finally, David gave up. Who was he fooling? His instincts sucked when it came to Maria. Left to his own devices, he’d no doubt screw things up so badly that Maria wouldn’t speak to him for anotherfour years.

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ve got a little plan, and you can help me get her somewhere, okay? Maybe kidnap her for me.”

  “Does the plan involve jewelry? Expensivejewelry?”

  “Of course.”

  Anastasia squealed with delight, and Uri, grinning, held up his hand for her high-five.

  “Count us in, darling.”

  Maria left the office at six-thirty, after an interminable afternoon of trying to rehabilitate Anastasia’s public image. They’d made calls, drafted statements and press releases, and generally done everything they could think of in an attempt to make Anastasia look like anything other than the ranting diva that she was. Actually, they’d made calls until about four-thirty, when David got a call on his cell phone and abruptly left the office. She’d watched him go, feeling a bewildering blend of disappointment and relief. They’d be at it again tomorrow, though, because rehabilitating Anastasia was like treating alcoholism: constant vigilance was key. Lord only knew if any of their efforts would work.

  Maria had just trudged across the parking garage to her Prius, with only the promise of a long, hot soak in the spa and a Big-Gulp-sized glass of Pinot Noir to spur her along, when her cell phone rang. Cursing, she flipped it open and leaned against the car.

  “Hello?”

  “Maria,” Anastasia boomed in her ear. “What time should we pick you up for dinner, darling?”

  “Uh,…” Maria said, with zero idea what Anastasia was talking about.

  “Didn’t that receptionist tell you I’d called?”

  Maria hesitated, not wanting to get anyone in trouble for gross neglect of duty with David and, more importantly, not wanting to give up her evening of soaking and sulking for dinner with Anastasia.

  “Well, never mind, love. What say we swing ’round at seven-thirty or so?”

  “What, ah,” Maria began delicately. “What dinner is this, exactly?”

  “Oh, you know. Nothing special. A dear friend wants to cheer me up a bit, what with all the ruckus. You looked like you could do with a little cheering yourself, which is why I rang you.”

  “Oh, but I couldn’t—”

  “Nonsense. It’s just a little dinner for me, and you have to eat, don’t you? So eat with us. Just a few close friends. Oh, but do wear something nice, love. Black tie. You know.”

  Aghast, Maria pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it, half hoping to see instructions for dealing with this demanding woman written on the side. “You want me to go home and get ready for a black tie dinner in the next—” she checked her watch “—fifty-five minutes?”

  “I can come ’round early and help you with your makeup, if you’d like,” Anastasia suggested helpfully.

  “No!”

  There was a theatrical sigh, and then Anastasia’s cheery voice. “Well, then. You’d best move along, hadn’t you?”

  Maria opened her mouth, with some half baked, half formed excuse on her lips, but then a click and the dial tone told her she didn’t need to bother. Cursing worse than before, she opened the car door, flung her purse and then herself inside and started the engine.

  “Here it is, love.”

  After driving for what seemed like forever down a tree-lined, gravel path, the limo rolled to a stop. Peering out her window, Maria saw an enormous sand-colored Tuscan villa-style house, so new she doubted the paint was even dry. New or not, it was a stunning house. The drive circled up to a courtyard, in the middle of which sat a working fountain made from a series of urns and pedestals. Colonnades ran in three sides around the courtyard and formed arches over the main entry. There was no grass, yet, and no landscaping around the house, but it didn’t matter. Maria couldn’t think when she’d seen such a showplace, other than her father’s.

  “What a beautiful house,” she said, sighing.

  “Think so, do you?” Anastasia said, undisguised glee in her voice.

  “But are you sure this is the right place?” Maria peeled her gaze away from the house and turned to Anastasia and Uri on the opposite seat, both of whom looked smug and satisfied, like the cat that swallowed the canary and washed it down with a nice bowl of cream. “I don’t see any other cars anywhere.”

  “Of course it’s the right house,” Anastasia said. “Don’t you see the lights inside?”

  Sure enough, Maria did. The glow of interior lights lit the windows, inviting company and somehow promising a lovely time. Though she hadn’t wanted to come, Maria now found she couldn’t wait to go inside to see the rest of the house.

  “Should we go?” Maria asked.

  “Of course.”

  Uri hurried out and opened the door for them. Anastasia got out first, her fluttery purple gown flowing behind her. Maria took Uri’s hand and stepped out, hoping her dress hadn’t gotten too wrinkled in the car. She’d never been to an impromptu
you-stuck-your-foot-in-your-mouth-and-we-want-to-cheer-you-upblack tie dinner at a private residence before, but luckily she’d attended countless black tie events in her life and had a dress on hand. It was a wispy, off-white goddess gown that draped over one shoulder, dipped low in the front and in the back, and had a band of jeweled beading that ran right under her breasts and then wrapped around her waist to form a large X. For maximum goddess effect, she’d pulled her hair up in a pile of curls at the crown of her head and thrown on a matching jeweled headband.

  Getting dressed, she’d wondered if she wasn’t being a little over the top—as if everything about Anastasia and her world wasn’t over the top already—but now she was glad she’d chosen the dress. Somehow it fit perfectly with this beautiful house—as though she’d slipped away for a beautiful night at a Mediterranean villa.

  If only…

  David crept into her thoughts again, and she banished him. He wasn’t here and wouldn’t be here. Not that she wanted him to be here, because she didn’t. Not if he didn’t love her.

  They walked through the colonnade to the arched front door, which Anastasia opened.

  “Anastasia!” Maria hissed, putting a hand on her arm to stop her. “We should ring the bell and—”

  “Don’t be a ninny,” Anastasia said firmly, and the next thing Maria knew they were inside, standing on the checkered marble tiles and staring up at the vaulted, skylighted ceiling. “Come along, come along.”

  Anastasia took her arm and tried to march her through the foyer, but Maria wanted to linger and stare at the arched doorways and strategically placed columns, to bask in the glow of the warm, dramatic lighting, to soak in the beauty. Pulling free, she drifted to the massive kitchen, where the exposed ceiling beams and weathered cabinets made it feel like a hundred-year-old Italian farmhouse, even as the high-tech appliances screamed twenty-first century.

  Running her hand along the cool granite countertops and the backs of the wrought-iron stools alongside the counters, Maria wandered into the connected, oval-shaped dining room, the only area, as far as she could tell, that was fully furnished. Several candelabra marched down the center of an enormous carved table, and the candlelight glittered on the crystal and china. On the sideboard sat more food than fifty people could eat: cheeses, grapes, figs, olives, breads and thinly sliced beef, baklava and other pastries, pistachio nuts and more bottles of red wine than she could count. Through the arched floor-to-ceiling windows at the far side of the table, she saw the glittering blue waters of an enclosed pool with spa and splashing fountains, a year-round swimmer’s dream. Outside, beyond the pool, sat a large pond upon which several ducks floated.