by Lee Winter
Listening through the door, Maddie could hear no sign of movement. Elena had probably gone. Great. She’d have to kill Natalii later for her meddling. She stepped out of the bedroom to find Elena perched with her usual regal grace on a sofa that looked far neater than Maddie had left it. In fact the wine glasses and pizza boxes were also gone.
Had Elena actually cleaned up for her? She tried to picture the media boss stacking her dirty dishes. Oh God, oh God.
Maddie was working herself up to a full-on self-flagellation, when Elena cut her off at the pass.
“Don’t,” she said. “It needed doing, and I had nothing else to do.” Elena fiddled with one of her rings. At least the enraged expression was gone.
“Thanks. Can I get you a coffee or something?”
“No.” Elena glanced at her watch. “We have an hour. I’m an honourable woman, despite what the various gossip rags think of me. What would you like to discuss?”
Maddie stared at. “You’re still going to do this thing? Talk to me for an hour?”
Elena gave the faintest of shrugs. “A deal’s a deal. And I won’t have Emmanuelle Lecoq getting a Natalii exclusive.”
“Oh.” Of course. This was business.
Elena cocked her head. “Well? You wish, perhaps, to explain to me why that Hunter creature thinks you two are an item? I was informed today that, after I left the event, she spread the word that you and she planned to do considerably more than look at her photo collection last night.”
“She’s full of crap. I didn’t speak to her again for the rest of the night.”
Elena studied her. Then nodded. “I see.”
“It’s a stupid lie. Why would I want to be with her when all I want is to be with you?” She couldn’t go on like this, with so much left unspoken. It was time to lay their cards down. “But if you want that too, even if it’s not now but later, I need you to say it, because I’m really not good at guessing. Not with this. Not with all the hints in the world. I need it spelt out.”
“I thought you could read my mind,” Elena said, eyes half-lidded. “Isn’t that what you said?”
“On many things. Work things.” Maddie folded her hands in her lap to hide their tremble. “On this, it’s different. I need to know. Have I misunderstood? Do you want more from me?”
“I am getting a divorce,” Elena said, her tone flat. “It will be messy. There will be press…and now, accusations levelled…” She faded out with a look of dissatisfaction. “I really don’t want to muddy things.”
“Oh.” Maddie suddenly felt ridiculous. So Elena had just been flirting with her, nothing more. She was a little bit of fun to tease. And, occasionally, Elena got a little territorial, but she wasn’t about to risk anything for Maddie. She wouldn’t dare jeopardise her standing. Actually, Maddie knew this already. In her heart, she knew. She’d been fooling herself. Nothing like hearing that out loud to punch a person in the gut.
“So,” Maddie said, praying her voice would stay steady, “all of this was, what, a bit of fun for you? Do you even like women that way?” The trembling increased, and she balled her hands into tight fists.
Elena eyed her. “Aren’t you bold?” She sighed.
Maddie wished she’d just put her out of her misery. A single bullet between the eyes would be better than this. Faster, too. She looked down. “Okay, well, I get it. Finally. Let’s just forget that I ever said anything, and we can go our separate—”
“You are an intriguing woman, Madeleine.”
Maddie’s head snapped up.
“Smart, unique, and talented,” Elena continued. “You create art with words and food. I told you once, I appreciate beauty…” Her gaze slid over Maddie’s body. “In all its forms.”
Maddie tensed, waiting for the “but”.
“Anyone should be proud to date you.”
She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Including me.”
Maddie’s eyes flashed open. “What?”
“But not now.”
She stared at Elena, startled.
“I thought I was quite clear. At the Duchamp show? I was openly appreciative. I assure you I have never…done that with anyone before. But you are inspiring. You robbed my lungs of breath on that catwalk. You were a revelation. Honestly, can you truly not read my mind on this? How much I desire you?”
“I didn’t want to be wrong.” Maddie spread her hands. “You’re Elena Bartell! And I’m just…” She glanced at herself. “I’m just the woman with a hangover, who thought she’d blown it.”
“I do know the feeling.” Elena gave her a rueful look. “On both counts.”
Now that she said it, Maddie could see the tiredness around Elena’s eyes that no amount of make-up could entirely hide.
Elena rose from the sofa, and Maddie scrambled to her feet.
“I know it hasn’t been an hour, but I really am on deadline. Would you mind telling Natalii I have…satisfied you?” Her eyes crinkled with amusement.
“Only if you promise to actually do so later.” Maddie grinned at her own audacity.
“Really, Madeleine.” Elena tsked and took a step closer. “I believe you’re flirting with me.”
Maddie shot her a lopsided smile.
“It’s a shame I’m still married and have no wish to risk losing the high moral ground during the divorce.” Elena shot her an indignant look and swayed closer. “Or I’d kiss that smug smile right off your beautiful face.”
Elena lifted her index finger and trailed the contours of Maddie’s face, as though seriously considering it.
Maddie shivered and detected a tantalising hint of perfume. “I’d never tell,” she said in a whisper. She edged forward. “No one would ever know.”
“I’d know.” Elena dropped her fingers and disappointment surged through Maddie. “I would think of nothing else if we…” Elena sighed and, shifted her hands to Maddie’s shirt collar. She tugged her nearer and impatiently closed the gap.
It was an urgent kiss and Maddie met it with passion. Heat shot through her. Her knees weakened at the softness of her, the sweetness of their kiss. Their tongues met, and Maddie clung to Elena’s waist as the arousing sensations threatened to undo her on the spot.
Elena gave a tiny, frustrated sigh and pulled away. Looking annoyed with herself, cheeks high with colour, she let out a ragged breath.
“That never happened,” Elena said. With a rueful expression, she reached forward to wipe the lipstick off Maddie’s mouth using her thumb. She did it slowly, as though hoping to also remove the kiss. She stopped and tapped Maddie’s lip. “I wish…” She shook her head. “Many things. But until I’m divorced, we never did that.”
“Did what?” Maddie asked with an air of innocence. “We were just talking.”
Elena smiled and leaned her forehead against Maddie’s. Her breath was warm against her lips. “I wish we could ‘talk’ longer, Madeleine, but I have to…”
She pulled back and glanced at her watch, her expression tightening. Her eyes met Maddie’s, searching.
Maddie nodded. “It’s fine. Go.” She stepped back.
Elena paused, and then her lips gave a quirk as she shouldered her bag. “We’re done,” she said, injecting her trademark haughty steel into it, enough to make Maddie’s breath catch as desire rippled through her again.
Elena’s eyes, lit with a knowing amusement, held Maddie’s. And then she was out the door.
No, Maddie told her thudding heart, they were definitely not done.
CHAPTER 32
Dear Foolish Girl
Elena sat at her desk, on the penthouse office floor of Bartell Corp, gazing over New York’s skyline. The impressive view from her wide, curving windows held little sway. She should be celebrating. The official figures were in. The Duchamp issue had smashed every sales record and corrected Style Sydney’s circulation dive, bringing in new readers as well as most of the wavering ones who had dipped their toe in over at CQ.
Globally, Style Internati
onal had never been stronger. So, she’d returned to her head office, ready for the next challenge. She was back where she belonged, she told Perry. The man had uttered a mangled half snort and given her a disbelieving look, which she chose not to acknowledge.
Of course she wasn’t oblivious to his opinion. In fact, Madeleine and Perry seemed to share a certain viewpoint. But Elena hadn’t built up one of the largest media corporations in the world just to throw it all away on following her teenage, fashion-editing dreams. Winning was not without sacrifice. And she did enjoy winning.
So…why didn’t she feel better?
Elena was starting to wonder whether she was cursed. The Richard mess was bad enough. It had been unnerving, also, to discover that her inconvenient interest in Madeleine had not disappeared the moment she’d installed her as an assistant in Sydney and started treating her like one. Madeleine had taken her behaviour as a hint to withdraw from her, becoming a perfectly professional assistant. Just as she’d hoped.
Except it was a loss she’d felt more keenly than she’d ever imagined. If anything, her appreciation had grown the more she pushed Madeleine away. She’d started noticing the things she missed. Her beaming smile. Her laugh. Her wry commentary on life. The way she used to study Elena, her eyebrows knitted, as though amazed that someone like her actually existed in the world. The way her face brightened whenever Elena wore her vest outfit. She’d taken to wearing it more often, just to get a reaction.
Elena had been in denial. She could see that now. Looking back, it was so clear. With a single intrigued glance from Madeleine, Elena had felt more alive than she ever had before.
She’d assumed her confounding fascination with Madeleine would pass, eventually. The veil of denial was ripped from her at the Duchamp show. The sight of Madeleine on the catwalk made her hungry. Elena had been helpless to stop herself when she had the freedom and privilege to touch. Just for a moment. The memory of her fingertips trailing soft skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake, had distracted her at inopportune times for weeks. There was little doubt, after that night, what this was. This was not friendship or passing attraction. It was something alive. It burned hot and deep.
Elena wasn’t just scared of losing it all. Or losing herself. If only it were just that. But it was all so impossible. There were so many reasons this was a terrible idea. She was fifteen years older. In charge of a global business empire. Separated. She had a reputation to uphold. She couldn’t have some clichéd, midlife-crisis fling with the secretary. This was impossible.
It was.
And then along came that ball. It was, what, a month ago now? Elena had experienced such a vulgar stab of jealousy at the thought of Madeleine involved with that war photographer. Her reaction had been as unexpected as it was extreme. Elena generally avoided emotional extremes. But out of nowhere, this had smacked her between the eyes like a fist. Anger. Betrayal. Desire. And so much jealousy. The ugliness of the sensations crawled around her belly. It had been unnerving how biting the pain had felt at the idea of her Madeleine locked in a kiss with that woman. The chaos of the emotions was terrifying.
A month spent trying to understand what it meant had left an inescapable conclusion. Her heart had laid claim to the woman. Madeleine was hers. No wonder she hadn’t recognised it at first. She had never felt this connection, this sensation, about anyone before.
The next day, Elena’s mood had turned vile when she’d heard the nasty little rumour about what Hunter was saying about Madeleine. She had been murderous at the thought of that woman sliding her fingers over soft skin, kissing the freckles along the bridge of Madeleine’s nose, burying herself in her hair, savouring her scent. Then the call came in from Perry revealing Natalii Duchamp’s demand that she report to Madeleine.
Her rage had been magnificent by the time she’d arrived. To be summoned, like an underling, for a meeting after this humiliation? Was she to be the witness to the morning after? To have her nose rubbed in what she could not have?
And then…she’d seen. The confusion. The honest denial. The hurt. That shouldn’t have been on Madeleine’s face. To her shame, Elena knew she’d put it there. She’d immediately set about making it right.
And then…they’d kissed. Madeleine’s lips had been a warm, sweet ambrosia that made her crave more.
Elena hadn’t meant to allow that. She almost wished she didn’t know how intoxicating Madeleine’s kisses could be. She’d meant what she said—she wanted to look Richard in the eye, knowing her own conscience was clear, during the divorce. But after that? Would she dare then?
She could still barely process the thought. She’d never consciously considered a relationship with a woman, opting for the obligatory husband (or two), which had been more about protecting, or furthering, her one true love. Her business. Everything she’d done had been to ensure her success. And Richard hadn’t been bad company. But she hadn’t even understood the raw power of desire until the night she reached across the charged air and touched Madeleine’s back. Never had she felt a thrill like that.
Subconsciously, had she always known? That her vaunted emotional control would be at risk with a woman? Was that why she’d never even considered anything beyond the safe norms? Was that why she’d never stopped to analyse her love for the beauty of the female form, which made her body hum in a way that never extended to the male form?
She shifted in her seat as a new thought rose.
Why her?
Elena often found women’s forms pleasing but had never allowed her interest to cross over to intimate, unless you counted Jenny Copeland’s artless but enthusiastic fumbles under the sleeping bag during school camp. But Madeleine was the first one to make her want to risk everything.
Why her? The thought hammered her brain.
The soft curve of Madeleine’s ass or the straining tightness of a T-shirt had drawn her focus on many late nights in New York. Not to mention those curious eyes. And her even more curious mind. She was a riddle, a contradiction. Sad yet amusing. Isolated but keenly aware of her world. Her blog was another side of her again.
There was a reason Elena had started working later and later at that fishbowl of an office. She needed to know more. Her curiosity had to be fed.
Madeleine had a directness to her, a way of seeing beyond Elena’s mask. She had no interest in Elena’s fame. She asked nothing from her and remained as unintimidated by her title now as she had been the day they’d met. But what Elena most appreciated was the fearless way she put her passion into the things she cared about—words, food, or people. When Madeleine Grey cared for you, you felt it.
Elena felt it.
But now, little had gone right. She spun around to the computer to glare at the email she’d discovered. Opportunity of a lifetime was the subject header. Madeleine had apparently sent her résumé far and wide, seeking freelance work, and Condé Nast Traveller had replied. Maddie was thrilled with the job they’d offered her.
Vietnam! I’m going to Vietnam, all expenses paid by the Singaporean government. Okay, I know that sounds weird, but Vietnam is too poor to fly media in for travel stories, and they desperately need tourists for their economy. So, Singapore pays for their media junkets as part of a foreign aid deal and…oh, I’m rambling aren’t I? Anyway, the brief from CNT was to go off the beaten track after I’ve done all of the usual tourist stuff the publicity team will send me to see, and whatever I do, make it interesting and different. They said if I could make a fashion designer’s story fascinating, I can do anything. Three months! Can you believe it? So excited! I have some great ideas, and none of them involve the usual fluff. Sorry, I have to miss the next gala we were supposed to go to together, but I’ll be back for the one after that.
Maddie.
On Elena’s desk sat another not-parsley plant—both a reminder of the girl’s absurd sense of humour and a partial apology. It had arrived not ten minutes ago.
“More exorcism plants?”
Elena glanced up to find Felicity
glaring at it.
“Oh God! I’ll get rid of it at once!”
“No.” Elena brushed her hand away. “It stays.”
Felicity backed out of the office with such a confused look on her face that Elena almost laughed.
* * *
Elena hadn’t known how to reply to that email. She didn’t have the words to explain that Madeleine would be greatly missed. So she didn’t say a thing. She picked her up in her Lexus, put on that dubious Latvian folk band on her car music system, much to Madeleine’s mirth, and drove the intrepid reporter to the airport herself.
She sat with her in the departure lounge, drinking terrible tea after terrible tea, for almost two hours. Madeleine chattered on, spreading out her Vietnam maps, and pointing out her plans. Elena trusted that she’d nodded in all the appropriate places.
When it was time to leave, Elena hesitated, then pulled her into a tight hug, savouring the smell and feel of her. She was all lumpy due to a padded jacket she’d filled with various supplies. Madeleine squeezed her back, dropping a tiny sigh against her ear.
Elena might not have spoken much at all that morning, but she hoped Madeleine understood what she was saying. Couldn’t she read her mind, after all? Isn’t that what she’d said? They stepped apart.
“I’ll write as often as I can,” Madeleine promised, swinging her backpack over her shoulders.
“See that you do.” Elena was proud of how dry and imperious she sounded. Not at all like someone wishing they could ground a plane.
Madeleine laughed at her tone and waved, disappearing into the crowd.
Despite having a mountain of work backed up, Elena stayed and watched as the plane took off almost forty minutes later.
Three weeks crawled by after that. Deep down, Elena was beginning to fret. Okay, she was well beyond “beginning to”. Vietnam was a stable and beautiful country, she reminded herself. It was rustic and, in rural areas, primitive by western standards. It was essentially all the things Elena recoiled from, because you could not control such variables. But Madeleine seemed undaunted. And yes, there were issues with poverty and crime, but Madeleine would be conscious of this. So all would be well.