It took everything I had not to spill the truth right there. I pressed my lips together hard, smiled, and nodded.
“Do you need anything? I have sparkling water, ginger ale, and I know you don’t want to drink, but my Nanny used to swear by red wine for nerves and morning sickness when I was a child. I have some of that as well if you like?”
“Just some sparkling water, please.”
“Of course. Wait right there and after we’ve finished our drinks, I’ll give you the tour.”
As soon as she was out of the room, I let my head fall into my hands. I would have to do something about this guilt if I was going to be working beside her for an extended period. Oh God, David is going to be here soon; she’ll tell him I’m pregnant. He’ll know everything! Then he’ll tell her what happened in London and oh God…
“Here you are, dear! I didn’t realize how much time we’d spent talking. Let me show you the place.”
I rose, accepted the water, and followed her.
“Clearly, this is where most of the mingling happens. People do seem to love the view from up here, and I would like to accentuate these windows.” She gestured around the big room at the three walls of windows. The space was currently set up in clusters of seating areas with a big open space in the middle. Most of the seats faced the open area rather than the windows.
“This big wall here which separates the front room from the rest of the penthouse has a lot of potential,” I said. “I can paint it so that it has the same effect as the gallery wall, mimicking the colors of the city and the skyline in an impressionist sort of way.”
“Will it work the same way? Oh, excuse me, dear, that’s my phone. Who could—Oh, it’s David. Excuse me a moment, would you?” She walked away down the hall. “Hello? Yes, I’m here with Grace.”
Her voice faded away down the hall, and my hands began to sweat. Maybe she won’t tell him, I thought. Maybe he won’t confess. But my hopes were dashed when I heard her tone sharpen. I couldn’t make out the words, but she was clearly unhappy. When her unhappiness grew into fury, my stomach clenched in an icy fist.
Amelia strode back into the living room, eyes flashing, heels clicking. “David has just told me some news,” she said severely.
Panic loosened my tongue. “He has? Oh good. I mean, not good, it’s terrible, but I was dying from the guilt, but that’s not important. I’m so sorry. It should never have happened. I didn’t know who he was, but that’s no excuse. Just because I didn’t know who he was that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have looked a little harder before jumping into bed with him.” It all came out in a rush, relieving the pressure in my chest so completely that tears began to well up in my eyes as I went on.
“I’m glad he told you. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t have the nerve. But now that it’s all out in the open, I just want to tell you that I’m so very sorry.”
Her face froze, and my heart sank. “You slept with David?” she asked slowly.
I opened my mouth and closed it again. After struggling with the strangling fear for a moment, I was once again able to speak. “He—he didn’t tell you?”
She raised an icy brow and took half a step toward me. “He called to inform me that he would not be joining us for this meeting, in spite of promising to do so just last night. I see now why he would have wanted to avoid it.”
Her eyes drifted down to my tiny bump, then met mine once more. “Is that David’s?”
Swallowing hard, I nodded. “He doesn’t know,” I said, tears stinging my eyes. “I haven’t told him.”
Her eyes narrowed. She clasped her hands, looking thoughtful and cold.
“And nor shall you,” she said definitively. “Let me make myself clear, Ms. Baker. I will not have a scandal on my hands. If you value your business or your reputation, you will keep the identity of your child’s father a secret.”
“But David has to—”
“No!” Her eyes flashed and she bared her teeth. She took another step toward me, and my blood turned to ice in my veins. “Listen close, girl. If you tell David about that bastard child, I will ruin both of you. I will crush the bones of his business and yours. Your reputations will be smeared. You will never recover. Is that the kind of life you want for yourself? For your child?”
“N-no.”
Her face regained its former icy poise. She straightened her shoulders and patted her hair. “Very well. Then we have a deal.”
“Yes,” I said.
I was brokenhearted but more terrified than anything. I had seen something in her which confirmed David’s sketch of her personality and what she was capable of. I had to get out of there before I burst into tears.
I grabbed my purse and headed for the door.
Chapter 19
Grace
“Where do you think you’re going?” Amelia’s voice was a mask of friendly confusion which stopped me in my tracks. “We still have a renovation to discuss, dear.”
I froze, my hand on the doorknob, as chills trickled over my skin. I turned toward her to see her as pleasant and calm as ever.
“You still want me to work on this?” I couldn’t believe it.
“Of course I do, dear. You’re the best in the business, after all. Besides, I couldn’t have you running around with nothing to do but talk, could I? No, dear, you’ll stay and finish the job. That is if you don’t mind an adjustment to the pay. Say, double your rate for the London project? After all, you’ll need every penny once the baby arrives.” She smiled at me like a snake.
I suppressed a shudder. The manipulation sat uneasily in my belly, but what could I do? She was right. I did need the money, and now that she had increased it to such astronomical levels, I couldn’t very well say no. I let my hand slip off the doorknob and fall helplessly at my side.
“That’s better,” she said with a warm smile. “Now, what colors were you thinking for this wall? I would like to tear it down, myself, but it appears to be the only thing holding up the ceiling.”
I followed her in a daze, absent-mindedly putting my purse down as I went. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Did she just suddenly forget what I had said? Did it stress her out so much that she snapped, and then went right back to herself immediately?
“This is David’s bedroom, but I’m sure you know that,” she said with a snide tone which clarified the point for me. “I don’t care what you do in here. Artistically, that is. I would, of course, prefer that you do the work clothed.”
My cheeks burned and I blinked back tears. She smiled at me like a reptile and twirled on her heel to lead me across the hall.
“The kitchen, obviously. I’m tired of the black appliances. I want something sleek and classy. Stainless steel, perhaps? And none of those silly rosebuds. Clean, sharp lines. Monochromatic. Cherry-red accents if you must, but minimal. Are you taking notes?”
“Yes,” I said quietly. I had my notepad out and was also using the voice recording app I had downloaded after our first rapid-fire session.
She led me into the formal dining room, which was slightly raised and boasted an excellent view of the skyline. It was done up in reds and browns with cream accents, just like the main room.
“This room clearly needs updating,” Amelia said. “It’s central to my parties. Something rich and fun. The ballroom was a big hit, something like that.”
I glanced around the space, my work brain finally switching back on. “How do you feel about something more industrial? This painted brick could be stripped raw, and I could take the dropped ceiling out to give some more vertical space which would likely expose the vents. I could tile it in a silver-gray and continue the stainless steel from the kitchen around the windows.”
She tilted her head. “Yes. That sounds fun and chic. Tie it in with the living room. See, this is why I can’t possibly let you go.”
I had no idea how to respond to that so I just didn’t. Her constant stream of compliments felt like a barrage of threats and it was making my brain shor
t-circuit as I attempted to keep track of it all.
She brought me through the back of the dining room to another hallway which led to a series of smaller rooms. She opened the doors one by one.
“The library doesn’t get much use. Turn it into a gym.” She closed the door and opened the next. “Guest bedroom. Make it look like something out of a magazine. Don’t mimic the trends, though, start a new one. Something nobody has ever seen before.”
“Do you have anything specific that you’re looking for in there? And what types of machines do you like to use at the gym?”
She sighed and shot me an exasperated look. “I’m looking for originality, uniqueness. Figure it out, that’s what I pay you for, isn’t it? And I don’t care what machines you put in there. I won’t be using them.”
Then why have them? I thought. But I only nodded and kept my mouth shut.
She turned the corner, leading me back up the first hall she had taken me down. The hall which held David’s room at the end, where I would have expected the guest room to be. As far away from her room as possible. I shook my head, miserable about virtually everything.
“The front bathroom. This is what the guests generally use, make it memorable. No more of that blasé springtime nonsense.”
“Do you want to keep the claw-foot tub?”
She narrowed her eyes at the fixture as though it offended her. “No. Something sleeker. More rectangular, more modern. Silvery.”
“Stainless steel?” I asked tiredly.
“Brilliant! Now, the second guest room is a suite—the bedroom and bathroom should match.” She opened the door and wrinkled her nose at the comfort inside. It was cozy in flannel plaid and forest green, with warm brown walls and a deep cream-colored carpet. If I had it my way, I wouldn’t have changed a thing.
“David did this room up to please his parents, but they never visit anyway so what’s the point? Not that I would invite them. Classless people, really. Poor David has no breeding to speak of, but his money almost makes up for it. Ugh.” She shuddered. “And I’m expected to carry those dirty bloodlines. Although I suppose that’s your job now, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” I said stiffly. “Do you have any thoughts for this room?”
“Same as the last, though not identical. Do something ahead of its time, but not so far ahead that it is indecipherable. Be creative. Get attention.”
She turned her nose up at the room and closed the door firmly behind her.
We went back down the hallway and turned left. Small windows above our heads cast light on a wall which nearly disappeared in the shadows above. I could see exposed pipes and vents snaking almost out of sight, which pleased me. The dining room would suit the natural aesthetic of the place perfectly.
“Finally, my suite,” Amelia announced.
She opened the door to a big, bright room which took up an entire corner of the building. Two walls were all windows, and one led out onto an enclosed balcony. The bedroom was currently done up in leopard print, gold, black, and red. It was terribly gaudy, but somehow it suited her. She made no comment about the room itself but brought me to the closet instead. It was the size of my own bedroom.
“I want to expand the closet,” she said. “Create a walkthrough to the bathroom. Cedar doors and shelves, of course. The bathroom is around here.” She led me out of the closet and around a corner through an archway, into a bathroom the size of my entire apartment.
“I’d like to keep the arch, but for the love of God put a door on it. I never will understand why designers decided that a bathroom shouldn’t be shut away behind doors. Now, I love the setup in here but never have liked the beachy feel. More contrast. More definition. Same thing in the bedroom. Keep the colors dark. It’s so much easier to wake up in a room that doesn’t instantly offend the eye.”
She and I clearly had different ideas of what offended whose eyes, but I kept my mouth shut as she led me back out of the room and down the hall, back into the big open room which took up half of the penthouse.
“I want a wet bar in here somewhere. Something to break up the space—it’s too open. Not down the middle, of course. I still have to host a party, after all. But perhaps carve a cozy conversation area off to the side somewhere. By the balcony.”
“I can do that. A ten-by-sixteen rectangle right there, with the bar coming off of this wall. Is there a bathroom in Dav…Mr. Harris’ room?”
“Don’t be coy. Yes, David has a bathroom. Why?”
“Because if there’s already running water in that wall, it will make everything easier.”
“Fine, fine. When can you have it done?”
I mentally tallied up all of the work to be done, compared it to the Kensington mansion, and checked it against my rapidly declining energy levels.
“Two months,” I said. “I’ll have it done by May 5th if I get started today.”
“Then I suggest you get started. I’ll be hosting a party April 30th. I will expect it to be finished by then.”
Chapter 20
David
“I guess it shouldn’t surprise me. You never have cared about our reputation; why should you care where we live? It’s not like you’re ever there anyway. I should make Grace paint your room in garish orange just to teach you a lesson.”
Amelia’s words rattled around in my head, stoking an impotent fury. For the millionth time, I thought how great a mistake it had been to marry her. For the first time, my mistake left me drowning in a deep pool of despair. Grace was there with her, alone. I had put Amelia in a mood and unleashed her. She would eat Grace alive if she had a mind to.
A rush of protectiveness overwhelmed every other emotion. I couldn’t recall if I had ever felt particularly protective of Amelia. Then again, she needed about as much protection as a cobra would. She had never needed me.
Is that all this is? I wondered. Are you simply playing the white knight to a woman who might need you more than Amelia ever has?
I dismissed the thought out of hand. Grace was wholly capable of being her own champion. She was no damsel in distress waiting for her Prince Charming.
Still, she was different from Amelia even in her independence. She used it to care for the people she loved, to pursue her passions, to restore history and bring it to life. She felt deeply and her feelings informed her work, and her work was better for it.
It was the opposite of what I had always done. I closed my emotions off when there was work to be done, choosing to proceed with ruthless logic and unforgiving reason. Emotions never played a part. Which is exactly what got you into this mess.
I had never felt about anyone the way I felt about Grace. I had never thought myself capable of developing such deep feelings for another person, even if I had the time to try. Now that I had been given the opportunity to connect deeply, to bond with another person—now that the idea of love finally had a face—I was trapped in the aftermath of my own poor decisions.
“David, your thoughts?”
I blinked, startled. I had been so wrapped up in my self-pity that I’d nearly forgotten that I was in a meeting. The meeting which kept me trapped, pining in London rather than arguing with my impulses in Manhattan.
“Apologies, gentlemen. What was the question?”
Thinly veiled disapproval lined the faces of the men with whom I was attempting to negotiate. My assistant, Bernard, cleared his throat and gave me a stern, yet somehow still subordinate, look.
“Monsieur Charpentier is willing to accept three million euros for the development property in Normandy, with the stipulation that he retains thirty percent ownership over the property, with an investment return minimum of ten percent per annum, and the ability to perform an annual inspection and review.”
It was tempting to simply accept the offer and catch the next plane to New York. Charpentier and I had been deadlocked in negotiations for three days, and I was fed up with it. But I was no fool. His stipulations would leave the property a hemorrhaging liability in my po
rtfolio. I had seen the way he ran his businesses. He didn’t deserve three percent control. Thirty was asinine.
I tapped my pen on the table, calculating and projecting in my mind. Generally, I would have taken the safe route and rescinded my offer entirely, but I was feeling reckless. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I was tired of living my risk-averse little life, accepting whatever I knew I could get, taking the safest path. It was time to break the mold.
“Monsieur Charpentier, I will give you ten million euros to own the property flat-out. No partnership, no inspections, no creative control, nothing. You take the money and forget the property exists.”
Bernard forgot himself. His eyes nearly popped out of his head and he opened his mouth to argue with me, but I stayed his words with a raised hand. He shuffled papers in obvious discomfort while Charpentier narrowed his eyes at me thoughtfully.
“The property isn’t worth two-thirds of that price,” he said slowly. “What am I missing, Mr. Harris?”
“My temper,” I snapped. “That property is a liability in your hands. In mine, it will be a productive bit of earth. Accept the offer or decline, but I will not negotiate any longer.”
Bernard stared at me as though I had lost my mind. Maybe I had. Frustration buzzed at the base of my skull, making the cool room feel stiflingly hot, the dry air feel thick and oppressive in my lungs. I would not be trapped in this room, in this life, for another moment.
Charpentier looked stunned. His assistant was whispering furiously in his ear in French.
Shaking my head, I rose to my feet.
“A shame we couldn’t come to an agreement,” I said, extending a hand to Charpentier.
“A moment, Mr. Harris. I accept your offer.” Charpentier’s assistant lost all of his color and swallowed hard. Bernard’s jaw dropped.
The Baby Scandal Page 11