by Mary Campisi
“Why don’t you tell me because obviously you’re upset with me.”
Those eyes sparked, burned into her. “Obviously.” They stared at each other until he broke the silence with “Okay, I’ll play along. How about you didn’t trust me? How about you accused me of doing something you knew nothing about?” He glared at her like she was a stranger. “How about that?”
This was about Marybeth. It had to be. “Can you be more specific? An untrustworthy person like myself might have done a lot of things, so why don’t you tell me exactly what you mean?”
“Marybeth Caruthers,” he bit out. “You went to see her. You thought I could be the father? Really? You believed I’d keep that a secret from you?” He shook his head, sighed his disgust. “You couldn’t come to me and ask? You had to go snooping around and draw your own conclusions, ones that were not only wrong but could ruin lives?”
What to say to that? “I had to be sure, and I wanted to find out for myself.” She paused, licked her lips. “Without you influencing my thoughts.”
“Without me influencing your thoughts? That’s a good one. When hasn’t everything about you influenced my thoughts?” He let out a laugh, cold, harsh. “You risked ruining everything we shared because you couldn’t come to me? What does that say about us? About our future? Was it really worth it?”
“That’s what I wanted to tell you last night. That’s why I was so upset.”
“Uh-huh, but you didn’t tell me, did you? You cried, let me comfort you and spit out all sorts of promises along the way. At any moment, you could have told me the truth, but you didn’t.”
“I did plan to tell you; you have to believe that.” She didn’t like the expression on his face that said he absolutely did not believe her.
“Believe you? I don’t know if I can ever believe anything you tell me again. Why did you really come to Chicago? Was it random, or did you have a purpose in mind… Say, a target? Maybe me as the target?”
He must’ve seen the guilt on her face because his second laugh was colder than the first. “It’s interesting what you can find out when you talk to the right people. It seems you headed to Chicago with the express intent of seducing me. Imagine my surprise when I heard that? Our sleeping together was no random act of destiny, but a well-plotted-out agenda.”
“Who told you?” Of course, it had to be her old roommate from Nashville, the one she didn’t talk to anymore…the one she’d confided, after one too many drinks, exactly why she’d gone to Chicago. But how had he found out about that? “Did you hire an investigator?”
“Of course I did. Do you think I’m a complete fool? Did you think I was going to marry you without a background check? I might have been dazzled and bewitched by you, but I’m still a businessman.”
His words pierced her soul. She’d thought he loved her, would do anything for her, but in the end, he’d still been thinking about business. Still trying to protect that damnable heart of his from getting hurt. “Well, aren’t you just the smart one? Tate Alexander, man of business and finance extraordinaire. I would’ve insisted on a prenup, for your information.” When he raised a brow and smirked, she said, “Oh, don’t believe it? Doesn’t matter, because it seems you don’t believe much of anything I told you anyway. I would have insisted on the prenup, Tate, to ease your mind and show you that I had no interest in your money.” Pause, a whisper… “I was only interested in you.”
He sighed, balled his right hand into a fist. “Don’t even try with the do-gooder intentions because I don’t want to hear them. Your financial situation is pathetic. I know about the delinquencies, the late payments, the hopscotching to different low-paying jobs. I know all of it.”
“Well, good for you. Then I guess there’s nothing to say.”
He stared at her. “That’s your answer? That’s all you have to say?”
She held the pot with the amaryllis against her belly as though it could shield her from his hurtful words. “What else is there to say? You’ve got it all figured out. I hope you have a good life, and I hope you find your happiness.” She swallowed, forced out the next words before she crumbled. “I screwed up. I never should have gone to see Marybeth Caruthers. I should have come to you first and asked those questions. Maybe I even should have told you about my financial situation, so you could feel sorry for me and pay off all my debts. Wouldn’t that make us all so happy? But I didn’t want your money or your sympathy. I only wanted your trust and your love, but it’s obvious I’ll never have either.”
Charlotte Donovan walked out of Tate’s life without a goodbye, it’s been nice, or go to hell. Any of these would have been preferable to the stone-faced expression and pinched lips that refused to show her true feelings or let a word slip out. When Tate had finished his barrage of accusations, he’d half expected Charlotte to counter him with a few of her own, filled with enough heat and anger to blow him across the yard.
But she hadn’t. No, instead she’d stared at him like she wished the ground would open and swallow him and his accusations. I didn’t want your money, or your sympathy. I only wanted your trust and your love, but it’s obvious I’ll never have either. Of course, it was easy for her to profess her desire for nothing more than his trust and love. Not because they were true but because she’d been caught. Tate had spent the rest of the night dissecting her words, speech pattern, facial expressions, even her body language to separate truths from lies.
Good luck with that.
When he walked into the office the next morning, he wandered toward her cubicle. Empty. No surprise there. He didn’t need Fred to tell him she’d done a no-show and wouldn’t be back, but apparently the long-time employee felt it was his duty to provide details.
“I’m sure you’re aware that Charlotte Donovan has resigned.”
The tone of the man’s voice and the curious expression said he knew there was a lot more than a simple resignation involved. What had she said? I lied and can’t face what I’ve done? I’ve gotten enough information and I plan to use it against the Alexanders, so I don’t need to stay here and pretend any longer? Or, I can stop faking my relationship with Tate Alexander because I’ve got the information I need to expose a lot of secrets, all tied to the Alexanders? “What did she say?” Why did he care? They were just lies, like all the others she’d told him.
Fred wiped a hand over his forehead, cleared his throat. “I might have been wrong about her, Tate. Actually, I’m fairly certain I was.”
Wrong? Doubtful. “I don’t think so, Fred. I think you were probably right on target, and I was the fool who couldn’t see it.” Pause. “Or didn’t want to see it.”
“I heard the sadness in her voice and the distress. I tried to get her to talk about why she was leaving the company, but she said it was better this way. Tate? What happened? I saw the way you two looked at each other, and I know you care about her. She cares about you, too.”
He did not want to discuss whether Charlotte Donovan did or did not care about him. She’d only used him to get information. “Did you know she was in big financial trouble? Bad debt, no money, and all that other good stuff that makes a man of means the perfect target? She was smart, though, playing it up like she detested money. But did you notice the car, the handbag, the shoes?” He let out a laugh as though he found humor in getting played. “It was all an act, Fred. She pretended she didn’t want to live the designer life, but that didn’t stop her from accepting my sister’s clothes now, did it? Or for coming after me?”
Fred shifted from one foot to the other, his cheeks splashed with pink. “Did you ever think she loves you?”
For a minute, he had believed that. Hell, yes, he’d been fool enough to believe they’d marry, have children, be happy. “Only a fool would believe that.”
“All men in love are fools, but that doesn’t mean love doesn’t exist,” Fred said in a quiet voice. “Whatever happened, you belong together.”
Tate raised a brow, studied the man who had a reputation for lo
gic, reason, and the bottom line. “Are you sure about that, Fred? What if I told you she was only here to gain access to secrets?”
“What are you talking about?”
The whole story spilled out, mixed with the pain of betrayal. “Charlotte found out about Marybeth Caruthers. She discovered the file, the spreadsheets, the payments. And guess what she did with that information? She drove to Marybeth’s house and confronted her.” When he spotted the shock on the other man’s face, he said, “Yeah, exactly. Imagine my surprise when Marybeth called me. And you know what was worse? Charlotte asked if the boy was mine.” All the time they’d spent together, and she didn’t trust him enough to believe he was a decent guy who wasn’t going to hurt her or keep secrets. None of it had meant anything to her because he hadn’t meant anything to her.
“I’m sorry, Tate.” Fred pinched the bridge of his nose, adjusted his glasses. “Perhaps there’s a reasonable explanation? Charlotte Donovan has been known to bouts of impulsivity.”
Tate shook his head. “No kidding.”
Chapter 13
“I need a job.” Charlotte held her brother’s gaze, determination in her voice.
Rogan tossed his pencil on the desk and leaned back in his chair. “A job? What happened to the one at the palace?”
“I left.”
“Left? I see. Did you just leave the palace, or did you leave the prince, too?”
So, the story hadn’t swarmed through town yet. It would soon enough, and there’d be all sorts of comments about what did and didn’t happen. He might as well hear it from her first. “Both.”
He raised a brow, waited for her to say more. That was one thing about her brother; he had a boatload of patience, a quality Charlotte did not possess. “You might as well hear what I did, and while I’m not proud of it, I did it for a good reason.” She sank into the chair opposite his desk, crossed her arms over her chest, and began, “My job at the company was to match up files, and if I located discrepancies, I was to hand them over to him.” No sense identifying who him was because Rogan knew who she meant. “I actually enjoyed it, because it was almost like a puzzle. Match one piece with another, look for the holes, hand them over. And then I found a file that made me curious…”
Rogan’s gaze narrowed on her, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “And?”
There was a lot of heat in that gaze and a ton of emotion in that single word. “And I wanted to ask about it, but he wasn’t in the office.” A shrug, a nonchalant “I didn’t think it would be a big deal to leave a note on his desk. Of course, Mr. Neat Freak had no notepad or pens sitting out. I opened the drawer and found a file with copies of checks payable to some guy named Hayes, and it made me think of Elizabeth.”
“What did you find out about the man?”
“Nothing. We never got that far.”
Rogan held her gaze, said in a quiet voice, “Phillip Hayes was Elizabeth’s father.”
“What? So, her father knew the Alexanders?”
Big, unhappy sigh. “Yeah.”
“But why would there be a file on the man and copies of checks to him in Tate’s desk drawer?”
Her brother’s expression turned grim. “Because Phillip Hayes is also Gordon T. Haywood. Tate discovered it and confronted Elizabeth. She wanted to tell me, but he threatened her to stay quiet until the factory opened. When I found out what he’d done, I punched him in the nose and threatened to break the damn thing if he ever pulled a stunt like that again.” He rubbed his jaw, sighed. “He said he did it to protect me, and I guess maybe he did, but it didn’t feel like that at the time. When Elizabeth and I had a falling-out, he was the one who came to me, made me see reason.” He let out a small laugh. “Who would’ve thought, right?”
Tate had threatened Elizabeth to protect Rogan? “Why would he do that?”
“The guy might actually be a decent human being. Maybe he really isn’t like the rest of them.”
She did not want to hear that, not now after Mr. High and Mighty had accused her of not caring. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”
“Hey, I really don’t want this getting back to Elizabeth, okay? It tore her up that her father hurt so many people, especially Dad. The reason she came to this town was to try and pay back the damages without letting anyone know who she was. She never meant to get involved with me. No one was supposed to learn her true identity, but leave it to that pain in the ass, Tate Alexander, to sniff it out. I guess I do owe him because you can’t have a relationship built on lies. As hard as it is, you’ve got to own up to the truth and deal with it.”
“Right.” Tate had helped them? She couldn’t get past that part, or why he’d do it.
“Tell me what’s going on between you two. From the look on your face and the comments, it doesn’t sound good.”
“I found another file in his desk.” Charlotte leveled her gaze on her brother, forced out the truth. “Marybeth Caruthers.” He flinched, drew in a deep breath. “Of course, I had to find out what that was all about. There were copies of checks, a timeframe dating back twelve years, and a snapshot of a boy who looked like an Alexander. I suspected the worst.” She shook her head, bit her bottom lip. “You know me, dive in first and ask questions later. I drove two hours to the address in the file and didn’t even bother to call the woman to see if she was home. Nope. I just drove, imagining all sorts of things, beginning and ending with a secret tryst that had lasted twelve years and continued while Tate was with me.” Her voice wobbled, cracked. “When Marybeth opened the door, I bombarded her with questions, especially the one about the little boy in the picture. I asked her who the father was.”
“Oh, Charlotte…”
“Sure, why not blow apart the only relationship that ever mattered to me, and the only man I ever cared about along with it? Why not just destroy it? I asked her if Tate was the father, and the look she gave me said I didn’t have a clue. She told me to get out, but I wouldn’t. I persisted. You know how I can be.” The look he gave her said he knew exactly the kind of trouble she could get into when she used her emotions instead of her brain. “I wouldn’t leave until she admitted the boy was an Alexander.” Her eyes stung, but she fought back the tears. “I should have told him that night, before he knew what I did. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I cried, and I really did try to get the words out, but they wouldn’t come. I wanted him to know how sorry I was without telling him what I’d done, and I wanted him to know how much I cared. So—” she gripped the edge of the desk, leaned forward “—I told him I loved him. Only a fool would say that, right? Especially before admitting the part about accusing him of fathering a child and keeping it from her.”
Her brother shrugged, said in a gentle voice, “People do all kinds of things for love, and sometimes none of them makes sense. What did he say when you told him?”
Laughter bubbled up, spilled out. “He told me he loved me, asked me to marry him. Idiot fool that I was, I said yes. I planned to tell him the whole truth the next day and ask him to forgive me. But Marybeth got to him first.”
Rogan shook his head. “What a mess. I’m not trying to side with the guy, but you put him in a tough spot. Guys like us don’t trust often, or well, and when you break that trust, it’s hard to forgive.”
Guys like us? So, he’d placed his old enemy in the same category as himself? Great. “I never meant to hurt him; I never meant to hurt anyone. I just had to find out for myself.”
“And then what? You tell him and wait for him to forgive you? Or you don’t tell him and live with that between you for the rest of your lives? You should’ve gone to him, Charlotte. You should’ve told him straight up and given him a chance to explain. But you didn’t, and you damaged the relationship. No doubt about it.”
“Hey, when did you become his champion?”
His gaze narrowed on her, made her blink. “I’m not his champion, but I do believe in honesty in a relationship. I had to learn the hard way, and so did Elizabeth. No matter how difficu
lt it is for us, we promised never to keep the truth from one another again. You kept the truth, and you accused the guy of something he didn’t do.”
“I know.” Of course, she knew now that it was too late.
“You told the guy you loved him, said you’d marry him, but you didn’t tell him the part about jumping in your car and driving two hours to confront a woman you thought he might share a child with…?”
“Okay, so I blasted the relationship; you think I don’t know that? But he’s done his share, too. He accused me of being with him for his money.” She paused, spat out, “Targeting him.”
“And did you?”
How could her brother accuse her of such a thing? “Nice. You think I went after him for his bank account?”
“No, I don’t think you care about the money, but I think you went after him, and I think he couldn’t resist you.”
“He’s a big boy, if you haven’t noticed. He could have said no.”
Her brother raised a brow, his lips a slash of distaste. “No guy can say no to a woman he wants to be with, even if the woman’s forbidden fruit.”
“Forbidden fruit?” She laughed. “He could have just said no.”
“I never liked the guy, mostly because I thought everything came too easy to him, and if it didn’t, his family made sure he got exactly what he wanted—or what they thought he should have. But I’m starting to think he had it harder than any of us. Everybody wants a piece of him, and people who are supposed to care about him take advantage of him. The way I see it, you took advantage of the guy, too, and when he gave you his heart, you crushed it.”
How could he say such hurtful things about his own sister? “I thought I would get a little sympathy from you, but I guess not.” Charlotte stood, grabbed her jacket, and stuffed her hands into it. “I came here to see if I could have a job.” She flung her scarf around her neck. “I need the money.”