As he joined Sean and Marty and they followed them, Ned was puzzled at the way Andrea was behaving but it was Sean who voiced the concern.
“Do you think she has any idea how this will set with Mr. Littlefield?”
“No clue,” Ned said curtly. “But she’ll damned sure find out.”
For the short time he’d known Andrea, Ned had become increasingly impressed with her, and he definitely liked the way Ivan was when he was around her—mellow and contented—however, her earlier remark and this sudden bravado had surprised him. He had always thought she was painfully quiet and shy. But she was different now.
It made him wonder what had gone on behind Ivan’s closed doors to change her this much, because the flirtatious woman he was watching now seemed a far cry from the innocent young girl Ivan had married.
“What should we do?” Marty asked.
“Nothing. Just let it all play out,” Ned replied with an exasperated sigh.
At that moment, he found himself feeling as sorry for Andrea as he did for Roger Dalton, because he knew Ivan was an uncompromising man who valued his property. And he had no doubt but that Ivan considered Andrea his private property.
He knew, although Ivan kept a tight rein on his temper for the most part, the man could be like a demon-possessed maniac when crossed just right.
Thinking of that, Ned silently debated the situation and his options.
Maybe Roger Dalton doesn’t know about Mr. Littlefield’s temper, but he will. Hell, maybe I won’t tell him about this at all.
Watching them, Ned realized both Andrea and Roger Dalton were just being young and stupid. He also realized he didn’t dare withhold this kind of information.
If the boss found out from someone else and knew I hadn’t told him, if nothing else, he wouldn’t trust me again and I can’t risk that.
In the solitude of his thoughts, Ned used her given name.
So sorry, Andrea, but I’ve gotta tell him. As for you, Dalton, you’re gonna get about what you deserve. Ten to one she’s told you she’s married and you’re acting like she’s free for the bagging; so you deserve your lumps.
He made his decision as they watched the two of them through the plate glass window of I Love Burgers, sitting at a table, laughing, sipping milk shakes, looking for the world like two young people on a date.
Shaking his head, Ned snapped another picture.
Damn, should I tell Mr. Littlefield this? Or show him the pictures? I have to be careful because I don’t want him thinking I’m trying to start trouble. Why is Andrea acting this way? Why the hell has she put me in this position?
* * *
When Andrea glanced up and saw Ned and the others watching, she paled. It hit her hard that Ivan had no doubt told them, and especially Ned, to watch her. She got mad, resenting the fact that Ivan had instructed she be monitored like a wayward child.
I’ve given Ivan no reason not to trust me. Maybe he doesn’t because he’s reflecting his own feelings; because he knows he’s untrustworthy. Heaven only knows what he’s up to right now or what he has planned for his off business time in New York.
With the fire of ignorant youthful defiance burning in her spirit, Andrea deliberately leaned toward Roger. She pretended to hang on his every word, laughing at some stupid joke he’d told that she’d only half heard, because her emotions were raging and she knew she was being watched.
You want to get an eye full, Ned Garrett? I’ll oblige!
“So, where is the infamous Ivan Littlefield today?” Roger asked, pleased with himself, believing he was accomplishing exactly what he’d been ordered to do and in record time; visualizing himself free of debt.
“He’s out of town.”
“Ah, so while the big cat’s away the sexy little mouse will play, huh? Rattling around in that big mansion of yours I guess you got lonely. Tell you what, why don’t you come to the show tonight? My treat. Dinner and the works. What d’ya say?”
Andrea tortured her lip. Feeling bold in broad daylight to show Ned Garrett and the others that she was her own person was one thing, but going out at night unescorted was quite another.
“I don’t think so. Ivan wouldn’t like that.”
“What harm could there be in watching a show? Running the risk of blowing my own horn, I promise you you’ll enjoy it. You can have a nice dinner and when I’ve finished my session, we’ll share a toast before you hop in your chauffeur-driven limo and head for your hideaway mansion with your trailing entourage. Perfectly innocent. Good food; good show; good relaxing time. Right? A few laughs are just what the doctor ordered for boredom. Give it some thought. Show starts at 9:00. I’ll leave word at the door and I’ll reserve the best table for you.”
Chapter 19
The Mistake
With her heart pounding erratically and feeling daringly wicked, Andrea began dressing at 8:00 p.m. She donned her new red, sexy outfit. She put her hair up in a sophisticated do, squirted a small amount of expensive perfume on her wrists and neck and then summoned Ned via the intercom.
“Ned? Will you bring the limo around? I want you to drive me to the Roman Spa. I’ve been invited to see the show.”
She was waiting outside as Ned pulled the limo around. The Escalade, driven by Sean with Marty next to him, parked behind them.
Ned exited and opened the passenger door, wondering what he could say to stop her from making this mistake. He decided to speak out as she approached and asked, “Ned, is it necessary for the guys to follow us?”
“Mr. Littlefield’s orders, ma’am. And excuse me for saying so, Mrs. Littlefield, but do you think going out tonight to that casino is wise?”
Having just struggled with her conscience and liking her newly found backbone of courage, his question reminded Andrea of how she really had no say over her own life, adding to her mounting frustration. Angry that he should ‘rain on her parade’, Andrea snapped, “I think where I go is my business, Ned.”
Taken aback, feeling firmly put in his place, Ned shrugged. “Yes, ma’am.” Thinking on the heels of that statement, it’s your funeral!
Ashamed that she’d been so hateful, Andrea settled in the limo, immediately contrite and apologized as Ned climbed beneath the wheel.
“Ned, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. But I’ve already wrestled with myself over this innocent outing. And I can’t get used to being followed everywhere and watched constantly.”
Then she exploded in a torrent of rationalizations.
“You see, I finally decided it couldn’t do any harm. I’m just going to see the show for heaven’s sake, and then I’m coming straight home. I don’t intend to make a long night of it. It’s just so quiet and lonely here with Ivan gone. Surely Ivan wouldn’t object to my seeing a show, would he? I’ll bet he’ll see a Broadway show while he’s in New York.
“Besides, I haven’t been anywhere since we married, other than out to shop and I’m feeling claustrophobic. You can understand that, can’t you, Ned?”
Seeing his hesitancy, she asked, “Would Ivan mind that much? Do you think?”
Still smarting from her put-down, Ned shrugged. “Like you said, Mrs. Littlefield, where you go is your business. Not my place to comment.”
Andrea almost changed her mind then. And she almost told him to turn around as the two vehicles began maneuvering the long driveway, but she didn’t.
For once there were no reporters hanging around and as they glided through the wrought-iron gate unencumbered, Andrea’s youthful enthusiasm took over, squelching her fears. She squared her shoulders in quiet defiance.
I have a right to a little fun. My goodness, Ivan shouldn’t mind my seeing a show in his absence.
All the way to the casino, Andrea kept justifying her decision, trying to convince herself Ivan would understand. But the truth was that even if he didn’t, she was excited about getting out again, and being on her own.
I just want to hear some music, laugh and feel young.
&n
bsp; Still, her heart hammered with her rash decision, a part of her knowing she was making a grave mistake; another part reveling in her newfound courage.
But as they neared the Roman Spa, her apprehension increased. She dreaded going in alone and having people stare at her; wondering why Ivan wasn’t with her.
Then a solution dawned on her; she could insist Ned go in with her.
Now surely, that would offset any objections Ivan would have. He likes Ned a lot and I know he trusts him.
“Ned, I want you to come in with me.”
“No, ma’am, I couldn’t do that.”
“Sure you could. You deserve a night out yourself. You’re constantly on call. And I won’t take no for an answer. A night out will do you good. Besides, if you don’t go in with me, then of course I shall go in alone, and Ivan probably would like that a lot less, don’t you think? He might even be angry with you for allowing me to go in unescorted.”
Dear God, she might be right about that, Ned thought miserably, feeling caught between a rock and a hard place as he pulled the limo up before the garishly lit casino entrance.
Andrea continued to argue her point until he reluctantly agreed. After she had exited, she waited until he had parked the limo. She saw him talking to Sean and Marty and flushed as she saw them snickering; knowing they thought it was funny that he was going in as her escort.
The two of them remained stationed outside as Ned joined her. Andrea did not see the reporter standing outside who snapped her picture, but Ned did and silently groaned.
Andrea gave her name to the maitre d’ and he seated them at the ringside table that had been reserved for her.
Roger stepped onto the stage smiling at the audience, his gaze raking them, looking for Andrea.
He spotted her the minute she sat down, and for the moment before it dawned on him that she had brought her chauffeur in, he was elated.
Damn! That puts a crimp in my plans! He silently lamented.
He had planned on slipping a Rohypnol in her drink at the end of his song, then sitting down with her until he was certain the pill had taken affect, before spiriting her away to have a good fuck, complete with pictures to prove to Carl Cothane he’d done what had been required of him.
Rethinking his position, he knew the only alternative now was to make it obvious to everyone that he cared for Andrea and she was there because she cared for him, too. Then, seeing Carl Cothane enter the lounge and knowing he was watching, waiting for him to make his move, Roger swallowed hard, hoping his new plan would satisfy the man.
* * *
As soon as the music started, Ned realized just how big a mistake he had made by bringing Andrea to the Roman Spa and by coming in with her. Not only had they been photographed already—and he had no doubt but that the picture would be plastered across the front pages of both the Review Journal and the Las Vegas Sun by morning—but Roger Dalton immediately made his way right toward them. His intention was obvious as he stopped, extended his hand to Andrea who blushed furiously, then accepted what she believed would be a handshake. But instead, Roger kissed her hand and then started crooning a suggestive love song, winking at her, openly flirting as though they were a closeted item he had decided to bring out in the open, brazenly declaring their relationship to the whole audience.
Ned silently cursed. Sonofabitch! He’s making such an open play for her that Mr. Littlefield will probably get wind of it even before he gets back; even before the picture of her arriving here gets published!
Scanning the crowd, Ned spotted a couple of Ivan’s business acquaintances in the audience and groaned inwardly.
Uh oh! The shit will definitely hit the fan.
Toward the end of the song, Ned watched as Roger leaned even closer to Andrea, casting a lustful glance down at her low-cut gown and flashing his toothy smile, his eyes saying more than the steamy lyrics of the song.
God, it’s like he’s fucking her in public, right here in front of everybody.
Ned cleared his throat, scowling his disapproval, trying everything short of yelling the man’s name to divert his attention, but Roger Dalton continued to stubbornly ignore him.
Exhaling an exasperated sigh Ned gave up after one more menacing glare, which Dalton ignored. He might as well not even have been there.
You are digging your grave, you stupid sonofabitch!
As Dalton leaned even closer to Andrea, his eyes riveted on her bosom, Ned wondered, is he insane?
He could see how uncomfortable Andrea was getting with the attention. She was flushed and fidgeting, darting worried glances at him, as though she expected him to do something but he refused to meet her eyes, reminding himself, she insisted on getting herself into this predicament, so she’ll just have to suffer the consequences. I just hope to hell I don’t have to suffer them with her.
And there would be consequences. Of that, Ned had no doubt.
* * *
Ivan cut his trip short by a day and the minute he stepped into the waiting limo, he blindsided Ned with the fact that someone had, indeed, informed him of the events at the Roman Spa.
Ned’s worse fears materialized as he silently endured Ivan’s verbal wrath. He knew he couldn’t hold back a single thing he’d seen or thought if he wanted to keep faith with his boss, and as much as he liked Andrea, and suddenly felt sorry for her, he wasn’t about to let her destroy the five-year relationship he had built with Ivan Littlefield.
Ned could tell how hard Ivan was fighting to control his temper as he waited for him to relate his version of what had happened, and he suddenly wished he hadn’t taken the pictures he felt obliged to show—Dalton’s hand on Andrea’s back and the two of them in the malt shop laughing. But he had. And he did.
Ivan glared at them in stunned silence for a moment before grating out the condemnation, “What the hell were you thinking, Ned? Driving her to the Roman Spa of all places?”
“Well, I didn’t know what else to do, Mr. Littlefield. She insisted on going and I went in with her because she said she’d go in alone if I didn’t and that you’d probably like it better if she was escorted. I figured going in with her was better than letting her go in by herself. Sorry if I made a mistake in judgment, boss. She kinda had me by the short hairs, you know? She didn’t really give me a choice.”
“What about the other guys? Were they there?”
“Yes, they stayed outside.”
“Well, dammit, it seems I’ve schooled my wife too well in the art of persuasion. And obviously you weren’t thinking any clearer than she was,” Ivan snarled. “But the gravest mistake in judgment was made by Roger Dalton.
“Two people phoned to tell me how he leaned over the table singing to her, winking at her, practically crawling her ass in front of the whole damned club, and one of them sent proof via a cell phone video. And then I read about the sordid event in the damned paper. Dammit to hell!” He cursed, slamming his fist down on the seat.
“Did you see Cothane watching that spectacle, Ned?”
Ned drew a deep breath before admitting, “Yes, I did.”
“I’ll bet that sonofabitch was eating that up. Dear God, she couldn’t have picked a worse place to flaunt her infidelity. I heard she was acting like a common whore, her breasts practically hanging out of her dress. Would that be your assessment, too?”
Miserably uncomfortable, Ned tried to think of some way to soften the truth.
“Well, no sir, I couldn’t exactly agree with that. I don’t think Mrs. Littlefield was aware of how it all looked and ah—that dress was kinda low-cut, but it was decent enough. So no, I couldn’t agree with that.”
Ivan met Ned’s eyes in the rearview mirror, his steely gaze sizing him up, condemning the lie without saying so.
“Then what way was it, Ned? Did Roger Dalton lean over Andrea’s table? Get into her face? Stare at her bared breasts?”
“Ah, well, yes.”
“Was he singing to her, lyrics something along the line of ‘can’t wait to la
y you down’?”
“Yessir, he was.”
“Did Andrea tell him to stop? Did she indicate by any means that she was not enjoying that kind of attention?”
“Ah, well, she seemed uncomfortable.”
“Did she protest?”
“No.”
“That’s all I need to hear. I’ve always trusted your judgment, Ned. After this, I will have to reassess that trust somewhat, but because you’ve been with me so long, I’m going to overlook the fact that you made a very bad choice.”
“What could I have done, Mr. Littlefield?”
“You should have phoned me, Ned, the minute Andrea asked you to drive her there. I would have told her not to go and that would have been the end of it.”
God, why didn’t I think of that? Ned silently lamented as he nodded
“Yessir, I sure should have. I realize that now. I didn’t think of that. I’m sorry. But she just caught me off guard, demanding I take her and I…”
Ivan dismissed what he would have said with a wave of his hand.
“No need to explain further, Ned. It won’t happen again I’m sure. Right?”
“No sir. You’ve got that right.”
Ned was grateful the gate wasn’t being swarmed by reporters as usual, feeling that had that been the case, Ivan would have taken his smoldering rage out of one of them and either would have wound up in jail or at the very least, the fodder of tabloid notoriety.
He braked before the mansion and hopped out to open Ivan’s door asking, “Anything else I can do for you, Mr. Littlefield?”
“Stand by. Right now I need to have a word with my wife.”
Struggling to contain his rising fury, Ivan took the front steps two at a time. He stormed into the house and up the staircase toward their bedroom. He found Andrea sitting before the vanity brushing her hair.
She smiled at the sight of him, but the smile quickly left her face when she saw the fiery look in his narrowed eyes. It was like he’d struck her with the force of his rage.
“Ivan, I’m glad you’re home. What—what’s wrong?”
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