Opening the front door, she found Bryce pacing the length of the hallway leading from the entry to the half bath and utility kitchen they used during work hours. She and Bryce had decided beforehand that the entire first floor would be solely business-related.
She waved to him as she started up the staircase, but he gestured for her to stop before he placed a hand over the mouthpiece of the cordless receiver. “Don’t go up yet, Mari.”
Slipping off her coat, Marisol dropped it and her handbag on one of a trio of armchairs in what doubled as a sitting area. Bryce nodded several times to whomever was on the other end of the line, and then pressed a button, ending the call. He approached her, brushing a light kiss over her mouth.
“Do you have anything planned this coming weekend?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“My sisters are getting together and throwing a surprise forty-fifth anniversary party for my parents before Dad takes Mom on their around-the-world cruise.”
Marisol wished she’d had a prior engagement so she wouldn’t have to accompany Bryce. “Where is it?” Her tone was flat, void of emotion.
“It’s going to be at Georgina’s.”
“Is she cooking?”
Bryce gave Marisol a pointed look. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m sorry.” After more than ten years of marriage his spoiled and overindulged older sister couldn’t boil an egg.
He smiled when seeing her lips twitch. “No, you’re not. But to answer your question, she’s having it catered.” Bryce reached for her hand, leading her into his office. He sat on a leather love seat, bringing her down to sit on his lap. “How did it go with Wes?”
Resting her head on Bryce’s shoulder, Marisol closed her eyes. “Well. He spoke Spanish, which gave me a chance to practice mine.”
“His ability to speak fluent Spanish helped him get elected.”
“He’s very bright.”
“Are you going to take him on as a client?”
She nodded. “Yes. It’s been several years since I’ve been to Puerto Rico—”
“Puerto Rico?”
Marisol felt Bryce go still, as if he’d been paralyzed by a powerful tranquilizer. She sat up straight, meeting his stunned gaze. “Didn’t he tell you that the house is in Puerto Rico?”
“No, he didn’t. When he said he bought a house I’d assumed it was somewhere around here.”
“Sorry, m’ijo, but this time it’s not within driving distance.”
“I don’t like it.”
“What don’t you like?”
“That you are going away with a man.”
Pushing against his shoulder, Marisol forced Bryce to release her. “What’s wrong with you? The man is a client, not my lover.”
Bryce blushed. “I didn’t say he was your lover, Mari.”
“Then what is it you’re saying? I need to hear it.”
“I guess you can say I’m jealous.”
“Jealous of what, m’ijo?”
“Wes is an attractive man and—”
“And so are you, Bryce,” she said softly, cutting him off. “Wesley Sheridan isn’t my first male client and hopefully he won’t be my last. None of them have ever crossed the line between business and personal because that’s something I won’t tolerate. You’re a D.C. insider, and I want to know if you’ve ever heard any gossip about me and another man.”
“No, babe.”
She kissed him. “Then I don’t want to hear about me and Wesley Sheridan. I’ll go with him to Puerto Rico to see his house, then I’ll help him select what he needs to make it a home.”
Bryce’s gaze softened as he stared at the tiny round face with the luminous dark eyes. He pantomimed zipping his lips. “The topic is moot.”
“Good.” Marisol kissed him again, then stood up and left her husband’s office. She didn’t know what had sparked Bryce’s sudden jealousy, but she did not intend to dwell on it. She knew she had to prepare herself to come face-to-face with her in-laws in a week, and she also had to select an appropriate gift for a forty-fifth wedding anniversary.
Chapter Fifteen
Bethany sat in the small, cramped office occupied by her former mentor. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, she thought, staring at Nathan Nelson as he shifted through stacks of papers and unopened letters.
He’d been her mentor at the television station, but that didn’t exclude him from being a bully and a tyrant. When she was first assigned to the D.C. affiliate he had taken her under his wing and protection, but what Bethany hadn’t known was that he’d also wanted to get into her panties. She’d resisted sleeping with her bosses to get a promotion, and it was no different with Nate. What she’d come to respect about the man was that he took rejection well. To him, no meant no, and after he’d dealt with that he’d slipped fluidly back into the professional journalist who had been responsible for the network earning a string of awards during his tenure. Earlier in his career he’d won a coveted Pulitzer for uncovering the CIA’s involvement in the overthrow of a Central American president, replacing him with a U.S.-backed puppet. Now in his late sixties, he sat in an office in a less-than-desirable D.C. neighborhood that was smaller than her kitchen, dwarfed by stacks of old magazines and newspapers. His eyes were rheumy, breath smelling of alcohol, and his rumpled shirt and pants looked as if they hadn’t seen an iron since leaving the factory. His mussed gray hair was oily, which meant it needed washing, and the stubble on his chin was sparse and scraggly.
Bethany, sitting on the edge of the cracked leather chair, met dull gray eyes. “What happened to you, Nate?”
His chin wobbled slightly. “My world fell apart after my wife left me and I hit rock bottom. She had a barracuda for a lawyer who just about cleaned me out, and when the head of the network gave me my pink slip because I couldn’t get up and come to work on time I dropped out of life for a while.”
She waved her hand. “What do you call this?”
Nate looked at the young woman who appeared as if she’d just stepped off the set for a Ralph Lauren photo shoot. Ten years ago she’d been a fresh-faced ingenue looking to make a career in television reporting, and now she was the wife of one of the most influential men in Washington, D.C. He’d always known she was ambitious, but thought that ambition was directed at her career, not landing a much older and very wealthy husband.
He affected a lopsided smile. “It’s my office.”
Bethany wrinkled her nose. “It’s not much better than a hovel. In fact, it’s a pigsty.”
“It’s my motherfucking hovel,” he snapped.
Bethany stood up as if jerked up by a taut wire. “Talk to me like that again I’m going to walk out of here.”
Nate waved at her like he was swatting fly. “Sit down and don’t take yourself so seriously. You’ve heard and said worse than motherfucker and you know it, princess.”
Bethany sat down again. Nate was right. “I try to monitor my language now because I have kids.”
Nate sucked his teeth, and then opened the top drawer in the desk to retrieve a toothpick. “How old are they now?” he mumbled, picking his teeth as Bethany averted her gaze.
“Abby is eight and Connor turned five in January.”
“Who do they look like?”
She smiled. “They look me, but have Damon’s eyes.”
Nate returned her smile, validating he hadn’t seen a dentist in a very long time. “You know they used to call you the blonde Liz Taylor because of your violet eyes. Just watching you onscreen used to make me hard. Sorry about that,” he said when spots of color dotted Bethany’s pale cheeks. “You told me you wanted a job.”
“I need a job, something to do in my spare time.”
“How much spare time do you have?”
“A lot,” she admitted.
Nate ran a hand over his face. “I just put out my last edition of a paper I was doing for several local churches in the area, and I’ve been mulling over the idea of putting together a tabloid geared to who
’s who and who’s doing who in D.C. Fortunately, I still have a few contacts in the capital district that are willing to dish on their enemies. If I decide to go through with this, then I’m going to need someone on the inside. You, Bethany, would be that inside reporter.”
Her eyes opened wider. “You want me to spy on people?”
“It wouldn’t be spying. It would be more like listening in and reporting back what you hear. Not at any time would we print names, because that would make us to liable to lawsuits.”
Bethany shook her head. “Did I just hear the pronoun us?”
“They would sue me and the paper.”
“That’s better.”
“You’re married to a Washington insider, so it should be easy for you to get dirt on some of the women who have shunned you. Yes, Bethany. Don’t look so shocked. I told you I still have my contacts. I know you attend fundraisers with Damon, but not the more private functions because the wives of his business associates still look down on you as the woman who destroyed Damon and Jean’s marriage.”
“Their marriage was over even before I’d entered the picture. Dear sweet Jean Paxton was a whore. She slept with any man who came through her front and back doors, and that included the pool boy and deliverymen. The only one she wouldn’t sleep with was Damon.”
“Do you know this for a fact?”
Bethany nodded. “Yes.”
“Can you prove it?”
She nodded again. “Damon waited for Jean to take their daughter with her when she went to visit her mother, then he had the house wired with hidden cameras. Once he’d recorded hours showing Jean in bed with different men, he showed it to his attorney. When Jean was shown the footage she had no reaction. They had a quickie divorce, Damon gave her the house and a sizable settlement and three months later I married Damon.”
“Do you know the names of the men she slept with?”
“Some of them. But I’m not going to tell you. What I do know is the names of her friends who were also cheating on their husbands.”
“Are they still married?”
“Yes.”
Lacing his fingers together, Nate leaned forward. “How would you like to get even with the bitches?”
“I don’t know, Nate. I don’t believe in an eye for an eye.”
“What do you believe in, princess?”
Bethany lowered her gaze. “Karma.”
“What if we speed up karma?”
She crossed her legs and angled her head. “What exactly do you want?”
“I want to sell newspapers. And nothing sells like tabloid gossip. Go online and people are blogging and tweeting. Turn on the TV and all you see are reality shows with out-of-control parents, children and elected officials. I’m sixty-eight years old and I’m barely making ends meet after paying rent on my apartment and this place. If it wasn’t for my pension and social security, I’d have to move my bed here and cook on a hot plate. I haven’t seen my grandkids in five years because my daughter says she doesn’t want her children to know their grandpa is a drunken bum. Yeah, I drink, but it helps me forget what I had and lost.”
Opening her handbag, Bethany took out her checkbook. “How much do you need?”
“I don’t need your money as much as I need dignity. And selling newspapers will do that for me. Come on, princess. Help an old man out.”
Bethany stared at the broken man who’d made it possible for her to rise quickly as a television journalist at the D.C. affiliate. She had been slated to become a weekend anchor if she hadn’t given it up to become Mrs. Damon Paxton. “Okay, Nate. Tell me what you want.”
He gave her a wide grin. “I want you to accompany Damon to as many parties and fundraisers as time allows. I’m certain your husband will be pleased to show off his beautiful wife. Keep your eyes and ears open for anything you think will sell copies. I’ll create a column and an anonymous byline for you. I’ll also tie it into the internet with a blog.” Nathan paused. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“It’s ludicrous.”
“No, it isn’t, princess. The column will be titled ‘Fact or Fiction, Real or Rumor?’ You can be as creative as you want with the column that will become the catalyst for the Daily Dish.”
“What’s the Daily Dish?”
“It’s your blog.”
“I don’t blog, Nate.”
“You’ll learn. I also plan to set up a Facebook page for the paper, and between blogs and tweets we’ll be back in business. Everything will be done online, so you won’t have to come to this upscale neighborhood and my posh office,” he drawled facetiously.
Bethany thought about Nathan’s proposal. There was no doubt she would help him out financially, but what was in it for her? “What’s in this for me?” She’d spoken her thoughts aloud.
Leaning back in the creaking antique executive chair, Nate laced his hands over his protruding belly. “I can get you a part-time position with the station editing copy. What do you say?”
She was hard-pressed not to show her excitement. “I thought you were persona non grata.”
Nate winked at Bethany. “I still have a little juice with some folks in HR.”
Bethany appreciated Nathan putting in a good word for her, but she was still ambivalent about gathering information and dishing on people who’d unfairly judged her. She wasn’t proud that she’d slept with a married man, but she hadn’t experienced any guilt, either. However, Damon’s reluctance to out his wife had made Jean a martyr and Bethany a pariah. When she’d spoken to Damon about it his response was that he didn’t want Paige to know about her mother’s sexual escapades.
“Do you mind if I think about it?” What she didn’t tell her former mentor was that Damon didn’t want her to work until Abigail and Connor were older.
“I do mind, but I suppose I don’t have much of a choice.”
“Let me sleep on it, Nate. I’ll call and let you know tomorrow. Now, if I don’t write the column will I still get the job at the station?” Bethany had to know whether Nate was stringing her along just to get her to write for him.
“Of course, princess. Have you ever known me to go back on my word or break a promise?”
She shook her head. “No.” Bethany picked up her handbag, shaking it to make certain she hadn’t picked up an insect. “Clean up this office and clean up yourself, Nate, because underneath the trash and dirt is your dignity.”
“Damn, princess. You really know how to hurt a guy.”
“I’m serious, Nate.” Reaching into her bag, she took out her wallet and dropped a handful of bills on the paper-littered desk. “I’ll be back in a couple of days. If I walk in here and this place looks the same, then you’ll have my answer.”
Nathan waved his hand. “I can’t clean this up in a couple of days.”
Bethany pointed to the large bills. “I gave you enough to hire someone. All of this paper is a breeding ground for rodents and insects. There’s also enough money for you to get a haircut and a professional shave. Please don’t make me regret working with you again. And another thing.”
“What’s that, princess?”
“Cut down on the booze and make an appointment to see a dentist.”
He saluted her. “Aye, aye, ma’am.”
“I’m serious, Nate.”
“Okay,” he said, sobering. “When are you coming back?”
“Friday morning. That will give you four days to get your act together.”
“We’re going to be a helluva act, princess.”
Bethany smiled. “We’ll see about that.”
She replayed all that had happened on the return drive to Falls Church. Nathan Nelson wanted revenge and he wanted his fight to become her fight. Bethany knew if she’d been warmly accepted as Damon Paxton’s wife her free time would’ve been filled with charity events and social luncheons. She was thirty-five, and like fifteen-year-old Paige she didn’t have one close friend.
Thinking of Paige reminded Bethany that the girl woul
d turn sixteen before the end of the school year. She’d never had a sweet sixteen because her parents couldn’t afford it, but that was not the case with Paige.
Bethany wasn’t certain if her stepdaughter would accept the idea of having a sweet sixteen with all of her classmates present to help commemorate the all-important milestone birthday, but she would present it to Damon first and get his feedback before asking Deanna to plan the celebration.
Chapter Sixteen
Bethany lay facedown on the massage table, reveling in the magical touch of the masseur kneading the knots in her shoulder blades. She’d kept her promise to herself to work out with her trainer three times a week, limit her intake of wine, increase the servings of fruits and vegetable and protein intake and cut back on red meat. The result was she’d lost eight pounds in three weeks. She’d managed to drink six to eight glasses of water a day, which had eliminated the puffiness under her eyes, while a Botox treatment had erased the tiny frown lines between her eyes.
It was the last week in March, and the evidence of spring was apparent with blooming flowers, budding trees and much warmer daytime temperatures. Spring was a time of renewal, and Bethany Collins Paxton felt renewed. She knew she’d surprised Nathan when she told him she would do the column and blog, and had shocked Damon when she announced she would accompany him to a party hosted by the CEO and several board members of a major pharmaceutical company.
Whenever Damon received an invitation to an event he’d always asked whether she wanted to go with him, and her reply had always been no. This time she’d said yes, because if she was going to glean information for her column and blog, then as a good reporter she had to be there.
The soft background music, dim lighting, scented candles and the walls covered with gauzy fabric added to the surreal setting as Bethany willed her mind blank and she fell asleep under the relaxing ministrations of the incredibly talented masseur.
“Wake up, Mrs. Paxton. You’re going to have to turn over.”
Eyelids fluttering, Bethany moaned in protest. Holding the sheet to her breasts, she turned over and immediately closed her eyes again. The reason she frequented the spa was because it was a one-stop beauty establishment. The services included facials, massages, hair and makeup, manicure and pedicures. After the massage she would shower and have her hair styled, and the makeup technician would make up her face. In order to save time returning home, she’d brought the dress, shoes and accessories she’d planned to wear with her. She’d also called a car service to pick her up and drive her directly to the hotel.
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