by Nicola Marsh
“Shut down Divorce Diva.”
“Go to hell.” She thrust her chin up, eyeballed him. “Sara can’t lose her business.”
“She won’t lose. Name your price. I’ll pay you whatever it’s worth in lost revenue—”
“No.” One syllable, deadly cool, deadly calm, when inside she seethed with so many emotions she could’ve launched herself at him and shaken him until he understood.
Not that it would do any good. If he didn’t get it now, he never would.
“No?” His incredulous expression was that of a man not familiar with being refused anything.
“Is that your solution to everything? Throw a few million at the problem, hope it’ll go away?” She stepped into his personal space, resisting the urge to throttle him. “Need a wife? Easy, fling half a mill at her. Need her to go away? Fling some more.”
She jabbed at his chest, hating how she registered how rock hard it felt at a time like this. “Newsflash. I can’t be bought.”
“Really? Because it worked before.”
She saw he regretted it the moment the accusation spilled from his lips. He swiped a hand across his face as if to erase it. “Sorry, that was a cheap shot—”
“You can stick your apology and your offer up your ass.” She made it sound like he’d proposed to give her the plague rather than cash. “I married you to save my sister, and yeah, the money is helping. But I thought…” She swallowed the rest of what she was about to say, hating that emotion could cloud her judgment at a time like this.
“What?”
“Never mind.” She shook her head, but it did little to shut up her inner voice, the one wishing he’d give up everything—including his precious deal—to be on her side.
“I need this deal to happen.” He grabbed her upper arms. “And I need you to help me do it.”
“I can’t—”
“Then that’s it.” He released her and stepped back, the cold finality in his tone making her shiver.
“This marriage is over?”
He couldn’t meet her disbelieving stare, his glassy gaze fixed on some point over her right shoulder. “Whatever you think.”
All the confusion of the last few weeks—dealing with uncharacteristic emotions including stupid love, marrying in a whirlwind, moving—erupted in a flash of fury. “I think you’re scared. So damned terrified of what’s been happening between us that you wanted out of this marriage and this is your way of doing it.”
“What the—”
“You leaked the Diva info. You knew Stan wouldn’t tolerate it. You’re running scared.”
He finally dragged his gaze to meet hers and the devastation she glimpsed matched hers. “You’re not making sense. I need this marriage to work—”
“Wrong. Once you signed that deal you wouldn’t need me at all. But you screwed up. You thought you’d sign the deal today and I’d be out of your hair come Monday. Too bad for you Stan changed the deadline and your leak worked against you.”
“You’re crazy.” He backed away, not having far to go until he hit the closet door. “Are you listening to yourself? You’re a bundle of contradiction.”
Maybe she was. Maybe she was so overwrought at losing the one guy she’d been foolish enough to fall in love with that her brain had entered meltdown. But she couldn’t stand here one second longer and participate in her marriage falling apart. A marriage that suddenly meant more to her than she could’ve ever thought possible.
She squared her shoulders and tilted her chin to stare him down. “Well then, this crazy person better get the hell out of your life so you can get on with what you do best. Make money.”
She pushed past him.
He grabbed at her arm. “Poppy, wait—”
She brushed him off and with one last withering stare she slipped out of the door, firmly slamming it on her past.
And headed for a future that didn’t include obnoxious billionaires who didn’t trust her at all.
Chapter Thirteen
Divorce Diva Daily recommends:
Playlist: “Here I Go Again” by Whitesnake
Movie: Eat, Pray, Love
Cocktail: Morning Glory
Every bone in Beck’s body ached, the same way it had after a beating he’d taken from a bully in junior high for daring to challenge him in football. Now, like then, he felt like pummeling something. He wanted to go after Poppy. He should. But that physical beating he’d taken as a kid was nothing like the emotional thrashing he’d just received.
She didn’t trust him. The only woman he’d ever let get close, the only woman he’d ever considered a real future with, thought he’d betrayed her. It hurt ten times worse than anything he’d coped with in the past.
His folks had been grade-A losers, so every letdown had been expected. He’d grown immune to the hurt after a while, had perfected an indifference not many people could penetrate.
Poppy had managed to do it in less than a month.
“Damn it.” This time he did punch something, a stack of hotel linens that absorbed his frustration.
He’d botched this entire situation badly, demanding she give up the business she’d fought so hard to save. How would he have felt if she’d demanded he walk away from his deal for her?
Only one solution. If she wouldn’t back down, he’d have to.
Because he couldn’t live without her.
He’d spent the better part of two years putting this nationwide expansion together, devoted countless hours and money to ensuring this deal would be the crowning glory for Blackwood Enterprises. His name in every business journal, newspaper, and magazine across the country for being the desert king with the Midas touch.
Would he give it all up for a woman? Could he?
He’d been so close to declaring his jumbled feelings when Stan interrupted, had seen the answering spark of something deeper in her eyes. Could he hang his hopes that she felt the same way he did, and that’s why she’d overreacted?
She’d been irrational at the end, flinging crazy accusations that didn’t make sense.
Beck needed this marriage to work even after the deal went through, though technically she’d been right. Once Stan signed and the cooling-off period lapsed, there wasn’t anything the investors could do without losing a small fortune, something they wouldn’t do, seeing as they were businessmen first and foremost.
He’d intended on ending the marriage when the time was right.
The way he felt now, that time would be never.
But first, he had to do some serious work to ensure he didn’t lose everything, including his business…and his girl.
…
Poppy couldn’t get away from Beck fast enough. Which was how she found herself unlocking the back door of Party Hard’s offices at three a.m.
She’d taken the red-eye to LA with nothing but the slinky chartreuse cocktail dress on her back and a clutch containing ninety-seven bucks. Maxing out her credit card to grab a last-minute seat had been worth it to escape Vegas. And him.
Stupid thing was, even as she’d fidgeted at the boarding gate, she’d half expected to see him vaulting the check-in desk to stop her. And half wanted it to happen, too.
Crazy. Because if he’d wanted to, he would’ve come after her at the party. But he hadn’t, effectively ending her happily-ever-after fantasy.
Though she’d done a good job of ending that herself.
She’d acted like a lunatic, accusing him of leaking her identity to escape their relationship, when every caress, every gesture lately had indicated he wanted the opposite. Though he had demanded she give up the business. Crazy. And what had he said before Stan interrupted them? Something about her being incredible and changing his mind.
Yeah, she’d botched this big time. But maybe it was better this way. End it after a month of marriage before she got in any deeper? Though how much deeper could she get than falling in love?
She stubbed her toe on the edge of Sara’s desk and bit back a yell. Silver-
spangly peep pumps were no match for wrought iron.
Fumbling her way to the back room, she flipped a switch.
And screamed.
A figure brandishing a baseball bat leaped at her from behind the door and she kicked out, realizing a second too late the action would only serve to increase the throbbing in her toe.
She howled with pain as the intruder said, “Poppy? Is that you?”
“What the…” Hopping around on one foot, Poppy bumped into Ashlee and sent them both toppling onto the nearby sofa. Sofa bed. Which was currently a bed with a body-shaped indent where her best friend had just been.
“Why are you sleeping here?”
Ashlee glanced at the sofa bed and Poppy knew her best friend well enough to imagine her trying to come up with a fast excuse. “Would you believe Craig’s place has rodents?”
Poppy shook her head. “Try again.”
“How about an infestation of bed bugs?”
“Nope, still not buying it.”
Ashlee sighed and sank onto the mattress. “We broke up.”
“What?” Poppy collapsed beside her. She hadn’t thought anything could snap her out of her own misery tonight. She’d thought wrong. “I can’t believe this.”
“Believe it,” Ashlee spat out, her fiery retort belied by the hurt in her eyes. “Apparently my rat bastard ex-fiancé is going through some kind of mid-life crisis twenty years too early.”
“I don’t understand…”
“Neither do I.” Tears filled Ashlee’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “One minute we’re choosing flower arrangements for the church, the next he’s telling me he needs space.” She held up a shaky hand and ticked off points. “Taking a trip to Hawaii. Changing his job. Buying a new car.”
Poppy didn’t want to ask, but it was the obvious question. “Another woman?”
Ashlee shrugged. “Who knows? Not like he’d admit it.”
“I’ll kill him.” Poppy draped an arm across Ashlee’s shoulders and squeezed. “Say the word and I’ll put a hit out.”
Ashlee’s wobbly smile cut through her tears. “Thanks, but then he won’t get to see me moving on with some hot stud with a bigger…” She wiggled her pinkie and Poppy hugged her harder.
“Could’ve been worse,” Poppy said.
“You think?”
“You could’ve found out after the wedding.”
“Yeah, but then I would’ve had a bunch of sensational toasters and tea kettles to comfort me.”
“You’re cracking jokes. That’s a good sign.”
Ashlee plucked at the hem of her T-shirt. “Want to know the worst part?”
“Does it involve Craig wearing women’s underwear?”
Ashlee snorted. “I never want to picture that jerk naked again, let alone in satin panties.”
Poppy winced. “Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood. What were you going to say?”
“The worst part of our breakup?” Ashlee’s gaze shifted. “I’m more upset about moving out of his cool apartment than losing him.”
Wow. Poppy had always thought Ashlee and Craig were great together. He could be a little anal at times, but he balanced her bubbly friend nicely. They complemented each other and she hadn’t been surprised when they’d moved in together after six months and got engaged twelve weeks after that.
To learn that a relationship she assumed rock-solid wasn’t only reinforced what she already knew: love sucked.
“Can’t believe I’ve become one of those cliché fiancées, more in love with love itself than the guy I was about to pledge my life to.” Ashlee’s bitter laugh ended on a sob. “What a sap.”
“Hey, you two were great while it lasted. Focus on the good stuff.”
“I guess.” Ashlee sniffled and Poppy plucked a tissue from a box on the table and handed it to her. “You don’t mind me crashing here, ‘til I find a new place?”
“‘Course not. Though you could’ve told me.”
“And interrupt your Vegas honeymoon?”
Vegas. Honeymoon. What a joke. “I’m your BFF. You should’ve…”
Realization struck. When Ashlee had pulled out of Lou’s divorce party, deep down Poppy had sensed something was off beyond the migraine excuse. But she hadn’t pushed, too wrapped up in her own euphoria.
Selfish. Just like her parents. The two people she’d sworn to never be like.
Maybe that’s what love did to people. Made them so egocentric and focused on the object of desire, never mind anybody else.
“What’s wrong?” As if noticing her for the first time, Ashlee pointed at her dress. “And why are you wearing that?”
Poppy knew once Ashlee got on a roll she wouldn’t stop.
“Hang on, why are you even here? It’s three in the morning.”
When Poppy clamped her lips shut and didn’t respond, Ashlee threw her hands up in disgust. “Not you, too. Let me guess, you and The Hottie broke up.”
“Inevitable, don’t you think, considering our marriage wasn’t real in the first place?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Ashlee’s raised eyebrows almost hit her hairline. “All that ‘just business’ and ‘convenience’ crap might’ve been your motivation at the start, but I saw how you two looked at each other. You were crazy in love.”
“Lust, not love, and sometimes it’s not enough.”
Ashlee’s hand flew to her mouth. “Uh-oh, you said the L-word and you never say the L-word.”
“Figure of speech.”
Damn, her voice gave a betraying wobble and predictably Ashlee latched onto it.
“Bull. Want to know what I think?”
“Not really—”
“You’ve fallen for him. You wouldn’t be here in the middle of the night otherwise…” Ashlee snapped her fingers. “Hang on a sec. Lou’s divorce party was tonight. No way in Hades you would’ve abandoned that without good reason, which proves I’m right.” Smugly, she folded her arms and nodded. “You wouldn’t have bolted unless something major went down and to care that much, you must love him.”
“Finished, Dr. Phil?”
“Hey, focusing on you made me forget about Craig for a few minutes.” Ashlee’s mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Psychoanalyzing you is like free therapy for me.”
“Sorry to burst your Freudian bubble, but nothing major went down.” Poppy mentally apologized for the white lie. “We realized we want different things, so what’s the point in perpetuating the sham?”
Ashlee peered at her, a frown slashing her brows. “The point is, you’re full of it.”
“Leave it—”
“No.” Ashlee leaped up and propped herself on the table opposite, leaving Poppy no option but to meet her scrutinizing gaze head on. “Tell me you don’t love him.”
I don’t love him hovered on Poppy’s lips, but she couldn’t do it, couldn’t lie to her best friend. Next to Sara, Ashlee was the only other person she truly trusted, and no way would she let some guy make her lie. “So what if I do?”
Ashlee squealed and jumped up and down. “I knew it! About freaking time.”
“Uh, don’t you find this a little odd, that I fall for a guy I married for his money?”
Ashlee waved away her concern. “Not really. The Real Housewives of someplace county do it all the time.”
Poppy smiled, even though it was the last thing she felt like doing. “This isn’t a reality show.”
“Then cut the drama.” Ashlee knelt in front of her and clasped her hands. “Whatever happened between you two, sort it out.”
Poppy sent a pointed glance at Ashlee’s bare ring finger with the faint tan line. “This from the woman who walked away from an engagement?”
As Ashlee’s eyes filled with tears again, Poppy silently cursed her insensitivity. “Sorry, Ash—”
“There’s a massive difference between walking away from a guy who doesn’t want you and one who does.”
“Beck doesn’t want me—”
“What if he came marc
hing through that door right now? Would that prove he wants you? Is that what you need, some grand gesture because you’re too damn scared to admit the truth?”
Poppy shook her head. It didn’t clear the fog. “I’m not hanging myself out here. He specified no emotions from the start. And he certainly hasn’t given any declarations of undying affection.”
But he had. In his own way.
She’d marveled how a guy who’d been born to druggie parents and had it rough as a kid could be so giving and open with her. He may not have said it in words, but his actions had spoken clearly.
In comparison, she hadn’t told him much at all. She’d vaguely alluded to her parents’ narcissism and she’d given him snippets about Sara only because it tied into her motivation for marriage.
What had she really shared with him, apart from her body?
He’d made the effort to spend time with her, making regular trips to Red Rock Canyon. He’d opened up to her about his past in a way she hadn’t expected. He’d been proud of her at the party earlier while respecting her wish for anonymity.
And what had she done? Accused him of being an underhanded sneak, leaking her diva identity to end their marriage as an easy “get out of jail free” card?
“What are you thinking?”
Poppy rubbed her forehead where the beginnings of a headache pounded to life. “I’m thinking your philosophizing is starting to get to me.”
“You’ve got a special guy, hon. I’d hate to see you lose him over pride or stubbornness.” Ashlee stood and patted her shoulder. “Now if you don’t mind, I need to get back to bed. You took ten years off my life coming in here.”
“What’s with the baseball bat?”
The cheeky grin Poppy had loved since high school creased Ashlee’s face. “It was Craig’s prized possession, next to his metrosexual moisturizer.”
Poppy laughed. “And he let you have it?”
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Ashlee picked up the bat and assumed a hitter’s position. “When he’s freaked out enough I might ransom it for his new Mustang.”
“Good luck with that.”