by Kendra Leigh
My thoughts were too scattered to do much more than nod. Less than half an hour ago, I’d been fast asleep, and now I’d discussed five million dollar bank accounts and marriage. Marriage!
“Oh and, baby, about this weekend.” He halted just as he made it to the foyer door.
“This weekend?” I muttered finally finding my voice.
“My parents,” he reminded me. Shit, his fucking parents. Millions of dollars, marriage, and now parents! I nodded enthusiastically, my lips pushing up into a smile in an attempt to mask my consternation. “I’ve arranged for us to visit with them Saturday. I want Mom and Dad to have time to get to know you before Damon and Abby turn up on Sunday. You know how effusive she can be, and she’s been gushing to show you off to them. Anybody would think you were her life-changing news to share. So we’ll stay with them Saturday night, if that’s okay?”
Holy shit! A full twenty-four hours to decide that they hate me. “Sure, that’s fine.”
Ethan smiled, his eyes filling with sudden compassion as he held out his arms. “Come here, baby.”
I couldn’t fool him. No amount of painted on smiles, fake gusto, and inane nodding could hide my dismay from him. Suddenly, I felt like I might cry, my face heating with transparent diffidence and fury that I had zero ability to suppress. I splayed my hands across my face, peeking through the gaps between my fingers, just wide enough to allow me to run to him without tripping over something on the way.
Ethan’s arms wrapped around me, crushing me against his chest in a comforting embrace. “I promise they will love you. Please try not to worry so much.” He reached down, tilting my chin up to look at me. “I love you. How could they not?” He kissed me firmly on the lips. “I’m sorry, baby—”
“I know, you have to leave.” I released him and stood back to straighten his tie. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. I’ll be fine. You go.” I turned him, pressing my fingers against his back to urge him through the foyer and into the elevator. Once inside, he turned to face me, the love in his eyes and the corresponding love in my heart prompting me to voice a concern I didn’t realize quite how much was bothering me. “You’re mine, E, remember…” I raised a stern finger “…no touching.”
For a second, he looked perplexed, and then realizing I was referring to Natasha Stephens, he laid his hand across his heart. “No touching, I promise.”
I shook my head. “No kissing.”
He covered his mouth with his palm and spoke from behind. “Absolutely no kissing.”
I smiled. “I love you.”
“I love you.”
The elevator door slid closed.
Among other things, I spent the day imagining Ethan sitting around the table in the boardroom at his offices. Natasha Stephens was pouting and batting her lashes while running her bare foot up and down his leg. I growled each time the image came to mind, causing Jia to wonder about my sanity.
Although he hadn’t called, I’d received a couple of text messages throughout the day. The first had read:
Christ, this guy’s a dick! I love you x.
And the second:
If I don’t come home tonight, it’s because I’ve committed murder! God, I miss you! x
I replied with:
Don’t worry. I have access to funds for your bail bond. I miss you more x
My stomach rumbled at around six-thirty, reminding me to eat, so I closed down the file I’d been compiling for Sloane and called Jackson to come collect me. Jia had already left for her kickboxing class, and I still had no idea when to expect Ethan home. My cell buzzed just as I was about to exit the building, my heart leaping excitedly when the caller display informed me who was calling. Charming.
I answered quickly. “So, you’re either at the 19th precinct and need me to post bail or you finally got your own way, sealed the deal, and want me to come get you?”
He sighed. “Neither really. Well, the second, I guess, in theory. But Valiente wants to drag us out for dinner to toast the agreement. Until he’s signed on the dotted line, it’s all still subject to change.”
My heart sank, the image of Natasha, her pouting lips and wandering foot burning an angry, jealous hole in my mind. Only this time it was worse, because in this vision she was a few glasses of wine braver and more barefaced than she was in the office.
“Oh. So, you’re going to dinner with Natasha?” The question popped out before I had the chance to edit.
“And several other people, yes.”
Anxiety bubbled in my chest, words getting jammed up against it and impeding my speech.
“Angel?”
“Yes, I heard,” I finally managed. And then the words came from nowhere, bursting through the dam of bubbling angst like a tidal wave. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll probably call my new client, see if he wants to meet to discuss his requirements. I was supposed to have dinner with him Wednesday, but I could bring it forward. I mean, what’s good for the goose and all.”
There was a long silent pause, although Ethan’s frenetic fury was traveling at an almost tangible rate through the phone line. “Fine.” He hissed the single word and the line went dead.
I stared blankly down at the cell in my hand, my thoughts a tangled mess of jealousy and panic and disbelief. While I stood wondering what the hell to do, it started to vibrate again. I accepted the call, placing the handset to my ear in silence, too perturbed to even acknowledge him.
“It’s not fucking fine, Angel.” His tone was a riotous combination of anger and distress. “I’m sorry for hanging up on you, but you really can’t say shit like that to me. I’ll have a fucking coronary.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, realizing immediately that my outburst had been gratuitous. “It was juvenile. I miss you and I’m jealous—you’re right.”
“Come with me,” he blurted suddenly.
“What?”
“Come with me. Please, it makes sense on every level. You’ll be able to mark your territory to your heart’s content.”
“Ethan, I can’t come to a business dinner, you’ll all be talking… business.”
“We’ve done all our talking. The last thing I want to do is instigate grounds for the fuckers to change their minds. You’ll be a great distraction. Please. We’re leaving for Babineau on 7th in a few minutes. Jackson can bring you to meet me.”
“I’m not dressed for Babineau.” I stared down at my black skirt with pastel shaded paisley patterns. It was a wrap over design, ruffled at the edges creating an uneven length: one side being above the knee, the other below. I wore it with a black chiffon blouse and black pumps. It was a chic but informal look, probably almost edging on foxy. Definitely adequate enough for cocktails, but Babineau? It was an exclusive French restaurant, for heaven’s sake.
“You’ll look perfect whatever you’re wearing,” he encouraged.
The battle was won. The need to stake my claim on my man was far too compelling to disregard. “Okay.”
“You’ll come?”
“I’ll come.”
“You’re amazing, I love you.”
“You’d better. This is taking me way out of my comfort zone.” The nerves were already fizzing in my tummy.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised.
“Oh? And how do you aim to that?”
“I’ll come to dinner with you and your new client.”
After I’d smothered my horror at the thought of Ethan and Sloane at the same dinner table with an unconvincing titter of agreement, I said goodbye and hung up. Then, knowing I had only minutes to work some magic, I fled to the bathroom to touch up my makeup, applying some gloss and a touch of scent. I unpinned my hair from the practical office-like updo and brushed it out so that the waves tumbled down over my shoulders. It would have to do.
The restaurant was busy already, filled with various social and professional gatherings, all enjoying the delights of the outstanding Parisian cuisine. It was opulently furnished in creams and golds, the subtly-lit space ma
de more illustrious and inviting by the abundance of candlelight and rich aromas of sumptuous food.
Ethan was waiting for me the second I entered, the extraordinary communication technique between him and Jackson proving once again to be totally reliable. Taking my worried face in his hands he kissed me softly on the lips. “Thank you for coming, baby.” He took me by the hand and began to guide me through the restaurant. “Come on, we’re about to be seated. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
I followed him nervously through the bar lounge, spotting Damon just ahead, talking to a group and looking as laid-back as ever. He smiled reassuringly and winked as I approached.
Ethan squeezed my hand. “Sorry about that, everyone. I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Angelica Lawson.” All eyes turned to me as Ethan began to reel off names of VS board members and lawyers, none of which I would remember, and all of which shook my hand politely. All except Natasha Stephens, who simply raised her hand in a halfhearted wave. Then Ethan turned to a more serious looking man with a tall, burly frame, who waited patiently for an introduction, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. “Angel, this is Raymon Valiente.” Without smiling, the man took my hand, clutching it lightly at the fingertips and drawing it to his lips. He grazed it surprisingly gently, his eyes never leaving mine. Ethan stiffened beside me.
“Exquisite,” Raymon said quietly, almost as though he were speaking to himself. “It is an absolute pleasure to meet you, Miss Lawson. I knew Wilde here was exceptionally finical in his business dealings, but it seems he is equally meticulous in his choice of a woman.” He released my hand, his face transforming into a beaming smile and turned to Ethan. “Nothing but the best will do, eh, Wilde?”
Ethan eyes were wide with what looked like surprise.
“I hope you don’t mind the intrusion?” I offered, feeling slightly awkward.
“Mind? Christ, if I’d known Wilde was keeping you all to himself, I’d have insisted on you accompanying him from the start.” He laughed a deep belly roaring rumble. “Then I might not have minded so much that he was dragging the damn thing out like he has.”
I noticed Ethan exchange a look with Damon, and then his arm was snaking around my waist, clinching me close to his side as if reclaiming me. I couldn’t resist a sly glance toward Natasha who seemed to be turning a rather nasty shade of green.
“That’s the first time I’ve ever seen the fucker laugh,” Ethan whispered into my ear.
“Where has that damned man gone now?” Valiente boomed as he stretched to look over the crowd, his face crumpled in irritation. “Dom, get over here, will you, man, if I don’t eat soon I’ll expire.” He motioned to a man with his back to me, who patted the person he was talking to on the back and turned to rejoin our group.
Oh shit! I stared in horror at the man, his gaze meeting mine in the same instant and reflecting equal stunned surprise.
Valiente spoke. “Miss Lawson, I’d like you to meet co-founder and—”
“Angel, how wonderful to see you again.” Dominic Sloane reached for my hand, lifting it painstakingly to his lips.
Sloane—the S in VS. Holy motherfucking crap!
“Mr. Sloane,” I muttered, nodding my head with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “We meet again.”
“You two know each other?” Ethan was on instant alert, his tone icily wary.
Sloane looked from me to Ethan, his eyes narrowing suspiciously while everyone else looked on in complete bewilderment. “Yes,” he replied with certainty. “Miss Lawson has agreed to work closely with me on a personal project. She’s an extraordinarily talented photographer. I’ve never known anything quite like her work.”
I felt my face begin to heat.
“Wilde, you never said,” Valiente enthused.
Sloane continued to gape almost accusingly from me to Ethan, his hands now firmly in his pockets. “How are you two acquainted?”
Ethan’s lips turned into a face splitting grin. “Oh, very closely indeed. Miss Lawson has agreed to be my wife.”
What? I looked up at the dazzling face staring back at me proudly, his arm moving to my shoulders in a display of ownership. My beautiful, possessive man had just kicked off a freaking pissing contest. Sloane looked furious, Natasha livid, and Damon was choking on a mouthful of wine and stifled, hysterical laughter.
I beamed a smile around the group, wishing that the world would get a serious move on and swallow me whole. No such luck.
“So, let’s eat,” Valiente boomed, turning and heading toward the dining room.
Ethan held back, allowing everyone to move in front, his arm guiding me to follow at a leisurely pace. “Is that fucker your new client?” he hissed through a fake smile.
“Yes.” This was not the way I’d envisioned telling him about Sloane.
“Then would you mind explaining what the fuck he’s talking about? What’s all this ‘Miss Lawson has agreed to work closely with me’ bollocks?”
We had yet to have the conversation regarding Sloane and his phone call, so Ethan knew nothing of his prerequisite condition that I visit his home, or of the inordinate sum of money he’d offered in advance. I had precisely the amount of time it took to get from where I stood to the large round table in the corner to enlighten him.
“He gave me a check for a quarter of a million dollars in return for my personal commitment to a project. Essentially, he wants me to smother the walls of his home in my work. He seems to think the images I’ve produced are snapshots of my soul that only he is clever enough to really see, and therefore we must have some sort of psychological or emotional connection. I’m not sure, but I think he believes his money entitles him to my exclusive attention.”
“Over my dead body,” Ethan snarled. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me about this?”
“You were busy being mad at me for other stuff.”
He recoiled with a startled expression, but then quickly recovered, noticing the party had reached the table and were waiting for us to join them. “Have you banked the check?”
“No.”
“Good. Don’t.”
We joined the group, Ethan keeping a tight hold on me, guiding me to a chair next to him, and motioning to Damon to take the seat on my other side. Before Damon could oblige, Sloane had slithered into the space between us, his hand seizing the back of the chair. “You don’t mind do you, Damon?” He smiled politely.
Damon hesitated and then took the next chair. “Go ahead,” he replied, glancing at Ethan apologetically.
Ethan fumed silently as everyone else took a space. Valiente on the other side of Damon, followed by the others, and Natasha settling smugly into the seat beside Ethan. The whole ensemble was an evolving nightmare.
For a time, everyone was absorbed in small talk, perusing menus and ordering wine and food. By the time appetizers arrived, Valiente had taken the head-of-the-table role, monopolizing the conversation with his controlling, slightly intimidating tone. He deliberated on everything from world politics to golf, while Damon injected humor at every given opportunity to try and lighten the mood. Drinks flowed freely; each time a bottle of wine was empty, Valiente would order more. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen anybody consume so much alcohol.
We made it through the meal, for the most part, in a collective colloquy, but when waiters arrived to clear the main course plates and top up wine glasses, the communal table talk halted, urging individuals to instigate chatter with those closest to them. Natasha was quick, leaning surreptitiously toward Ethan and muttering some legal jargon about the contract.
Of course it was a topic choice designed to ensure my exclusion, and I wasn’t sure if it was this that irked me the most, or the way she’d drawn him in, demanding his full attention away from me without him even appearing to notice. Doing my best to smother my prickling irritation, I tried to ignore them, only attempting to eavesdrop when the giggling started, but whatever she was saying was meant for his ears only. I wanted to tap him on the shoulder and
ask him what the fuck he was playing at, but this was a business dinner, after all, not really the time or place for a jealous hissy fit.
Choosing instead to be the bigger person and brush it off, I focused on the conversation taking place across the table, predominantly between Damon and Valiente. I listened as Valiente boasted about how skilled VS were at implementing wireless systems in healthcare facilities across the country and how they’re fulfilling their educational promise with cutting-edge research and learning applications in universities. He went on about backhaul solutions and DAS offerings, droning on and on with the bloated, rapturous, exultation of a proud parent.
“Would you like me to wake you when it’s time to leave?” Sloane’s voice roused me from my mind-numbed state. He leaned in closer, discreetly bowing his head toward my shoulder. “I’m afraid Raymon tends to forget that he’s the only person in the world who lives and breathes telecommunications. One of these days, he’ll talk a glass eye to sleep.” I couldn’t help but be amused by the comical expression, my smile transforming into a steady chuckle as Sloane moved his mouth in time to Valiente’s words, mimicking him as he rattled on about something to do with 3G and 4G capacity and coverage. “Look, even poor Damon is going to need a defibrillator to bring him round after this.”
An involuntary laugh burst from my lips, and in the same instant, I felt Ethan’s hand grip firmly around my knee as if in warning. I swung him a look but he was still facing away, focused on something Natasha was saying. My skin itched with irritation. He was annoyed because I was speaking to Sloane, but thought I should be okay with him virtually having his back to me while he indulged another woman’s advances. I pulled my knee away sharply, causing his fingers to grip a little tighter.
Sloane glanced at Ethan. “I’m sorry if I was a little terse earlier. It came as a bit of a shock—you and Wilde, I mean.”
“Oh. Well, yes, I guess it must have seemed surreal, me turning up halfway through a business dinner, all out of… context and... What?” Suddenly I was distracted by his expression and the way he seemed to be battling with his face to contain his amusement.