by Nadia Lee
“A guy like me?”
“He showed me your picture. Unless you were some kind of psycho, there was no reason why you couldn’t marry somebody more respectable.”
“Did you know he was the one who ordered the cake for my birthday?” Elliot asks.
My head snaps up. “What?”
“It’s true. My PI verified it.”
“No, no way.” I start shaking. “I had no clue. I swear! I was just doing a favor for my roommate because she said she couldn’t lose the job, and it would pay well.”
“Can she vouch for you?”
I start to nod, then stop. Caroline wanted money from me, and she was furious that I told her to take a hike. She wouldn’t hesitate to make up whatever story she feels like to spite me. In fact, it would probably give her pleasure to do so.
Elliot stands, his lips curling into a cruel line as he comes closer. He gets close enough that I can feel the heat from his body. His hand grips my jaw and tilts my head so I’m looking directly at him. My breathing roughens with pain. “Is anything you ever told me true?”
“Elliot, I didn’t know!”
“Did you tell Grayson the real reason I had to marry?”
“No!”
“Maybe you didn’t have to because he already knew.”
“He must have, because I didn’t know! Elliot, please!”
“Why did you meet with Dennis despite all those sob stories about your shitty past with him? If he’s that awful, why have coffee with him?”
I wrench away from him. “Were you spying on me?”
“No. I didn’t have to. I was helpfully informed of the fact.”
My thoughts spin out of control. “He wanted to meet. He was upset about his job.”
“Then he should’ve talked with his coworkers, not you!”
“He was upset because he thought you somehow got Gavin to redo his background check! He’s worried about his job!”
Something flickers in Elliot’s dark eyes, then it vanishes, leaving emptiness behind. “And why is that your problem?” He comes so close I can see every speck of color in his irises. “His father killed your parents.”
My eyes prickle with tears, and I blink them away. The knot in my belly grows bigger, and the memories of my ugly past cut deep once more, leaving me bleeding inside. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I get to blame Dennis. He didn’t pull the trigger. He isn’t responsible for what his dad did, just like I’m not responsible for mine.”
“Very understanding of you.” His face a cold, unyielding mask, Elliot slowly pulls back, then turns away.
Panic surges within my chest. I feel like I’m going to burst. “Wait!” I say.
“Do you have more to say?” he says without turning to see me.
“I…” I stop, suddenly feeling clumsy and foolish. I don’t know what to do to make him not turn his back on me like this. “Elliot…”
He waits for a long—a very long—moment, then lets out a soft sound of derision. “I thought not.”
The words are a mere whisper, but they feel like a death knell in my head.
He walks off from me toward his office, each step taking him farther away.
The door closes behind him with an ominous thunk.
* * *
Elliot
I try to work for the rest of the afternoon. There are lots of things needing my attention, but I can’t focus. My body’s jittery with anger and nerves and all the “what ifs”.
What if my wife’s innocent?
What if she’s in cahoots with Keith?
What if Annabelle Underhill is trying to destroy my marriage because her marriages have fallen apart?
What if Dad’s behind all this? Maybe he’s paying Paddington to lie to me…
Then I shake my head. The more I think, the more desperate I become. I want to believe that what my wife and I have had since the disastrous dinner has been real…that she hasn’t said “I love you” to manipulate me.
At the rate things are going, “I love you” is going to end up my most hated phrase.
“Why have you been ignoring me?” comes Nonny’s loud tear-stained voice through the door. She must’ve just returned from school.
Belle murmurs something—she’s talking too quietly for me to catch what she’s saying.
“You’re saying Caroline lied?”
I pause. The name is familiar. Then it hits me. It’s the roommate, the one who came instead of Belle that time. She had dollar signs in her eyes and a smile that said she’d do anything for a few crisp hundred dollar bills.
And she told me she had Belle sub for her because she got sick.
Even if Grayson ordered the cake, he couldn’t have known it would be my wife inside it. So Caroline must’ve helped him. Otherwise it’s simply too much of a coincidence.
Nonny’s almost hysterical now, louder and shriller. “So she didn’t lie? You really…stripped and slept with men for money? And then told me you were waiting tables and cleaning bathrooms?”
I crack open the door and watch the two. They’re so intent, they don’t notice me. Nonny hasn’t even dropped her backpack. Her hands are wrapped tightly around the shoulder straps, her body hunched against impending bad news. My wife, on the other hand looks exhausted, her delicate shoulders slumped, her face pale.
“Nonny, I did wait tables and I clean bathrooms. I didn’t lie to you.”
“You just didn’t tell me everything! How am I going to go back to school tomorrow? You have no idea how it feels.” Nonny’s face is so red, not even the light layer of makeup can hide the dull flush on her cheeks.
My wife hugs herself. “I’m sorry. The stripping was just that one time, and I have never slept with anyone for money. You know me better than that.”
“I don’t know what to think.” Nonny wipes away tears.
I shouldn’t interfere. This is between the two of them.
Belle’s body language spells defeat. I hate seeing the anguish twisting her face, but I’m too messed up in the head right now to offer a word of comfort.
A small, petty part of me says I should be happy that she’s hurting because I’m hurting too. But all I feel is a throbbing ache in my chest, and there’s no satisfaction. I’d much rather she feel my pain—and understand how she’s gutted me.
Nonny buries her face in her hands, and I can’t stop myself. I’ll be damned if I let the kid become collateral damage. “Nonny,” I say.
Her head snaps my way. Her cheeks turn even redder. “Elliot.”
I gesture at Nonny to come into my office, and she obeys without a fuss. I shut the door. She takes a seat on a couch, her mouth pressed tightly. Her shoulders are practically touching her ears. “If you’re going to yell at me for talking to my sister like that—”
“I’m not.”
“Oh.” She relaxes about a quarter millimeter. “Okay. So…?”
“Those articles…” I inhale harshly, buying myself time to gather my thoughts. “They’ve exaggerated your sister’s past. A lot. She was never a prostitute.” I don’t know why I’m defending my wife to Nonny. I should be furious with Belle.
She digests that, then lowers her head. “But she did strip. For guys.”
“Yes. That’s how she and I met, and there’s nothing wrong with stripping. She did it to provide for you.”
“I didn’t ask her to.”
“But you couldn’t take care of yourself,” I point out.
“I could have gotten a job! I could’ve provided for us!”
“On minimum wage, working less than twenty hours a week? And gone to school? And done well enough to get into a decent college?”
She looks away.
I sigh. As teenagers go, Nonny seems easy to deal with, but I don’t have any experience with this kind of mess. “The kids at your school can’t make you feel bad unless you make a big deal about it. Do you know how much crap gets published about me? But this is Hollywood. Nobody really takes that stuff seriously because we all kn
ow most of it is bullshit. But if you fly off the handle, get angry or embarrassed, then people are going to wonder if it’s true after all. So. Keep your chin up and just shrug if anybody comments. Make them feel stupid for believing what the tabloids write even for a second.”
I can see her thinking it over. She swallows, then nods. “Okay.”
“Good girl.” I mentally give myself a half-hearted pat on the back for averting a total disaster, but somehow the image of my wife’s dejection just moments ago won’t go away.
Once Nonny leaves, I make a call.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Elliot
The hotel is happy to give me a suite on the top floor at the last minute. I’m sure flashing my black AmEx didn’t hurt.
I study the vast space, opulently appointed with thick rugs and plushy chairs in some ornate style. Some fancy European chandeliers hang from the vaulted ceiling with murals. It’s not to my taste—I like my space more modern and hip, but I’m certain it will impress the snake I’m about to confront.
At eight thirty sharp, the lock on the door chirps, and Caroline Wiseman walks in. She’s in a trench coat like before. Underneath she’s probably almost naked. She wears a pair of cherry-colored “fuck me” heels, her red hair artfully disheveled as though she’s just rolled out of bed.
She struts in, her slim hips swinging, then stops short when she realizes it’s me watching her from the armchair. I’m in a black suit with a black shirt for effect, my mouth set in a contemptuous line. The expression isn’t something I can control though.
“Mr. Reed,” she breathes out the words. Her eyes dart back and forth between me and the door, then she pushes her shoulders back, her chin tilting up. “I don’t know what Annabelle told you—”
“Shut up. I didn’t ask Madame G. for you to chat.”
She closes her mouth.
“Come to the middle of the room.”
She does, her steps small. Her tongue flicks out to wet her lips, a gesture more from nerves than an intent to seduce. Or at least I hope it is, since it’s a singularly unsexy tic. Finally she reaches the spot I want and stops.
“On your knees.”
Her throat works once, but she drops to her knees.
I get up slowly, and unbutton my jacket as I approach her. She looks up at me, greed and curiosity in her eyes.
Like this, she’s in the perfect position to suck me off. She’s just tall enough that she wouldn’t have to twist or strain to reach my cock. The notion strikes her too. I can see it in the way her eyes flare.
I deliberately tunnel a hand into her hair. Her lips part. She’s so fucking self-absorbed that she doesn’t seem to notice I’m not hard.
Anger surges within me. I hate her for hurting my wife, and I hate it that I give a damn. I shouldn’t—not after all that shit Paddington dumped on me. Secrets, lies, and all those little inconsistencies that I ignored because I was being stupid…again.
With more force than I intended, I yank Caroline’s head back. She gasps. “If you knew what was good for you, you should’ve kept your mouth shut about my wife.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
I twist my hand in her hair and she cries out. “Lie to me again and see what it gets you.”
Ugly red blotches her face, but she glares up at me. “Try it and see what happens. I’m going to tell Madame you assaulted me.”
“Oh? Are you still going to call this ‘assault’ if I throw a few hundred bucks at you?”
She hesitates.
So predictable. “It’s always about money, isn’t it?”
“If you know, why did you ask? Yeah, I need money, and I’m going to get it any way I can. I told Annabelle what would happen if she ignored me.”
I narrow my eyes. “You tried to blackmail my wife?”
“It’s called bargaining. I never threatened her.”
“Caroline.” I keep my voice deliberately low. “If you needed more money, you should’ve gotten busy sucking more dicks.”
She breathes roughly. “You fucking asshole. It’s only fair that I get something. Without me, she would’ve never met you.”
“Yes, I wonder about that. How did you get her to go into that damn cake?” I give her a long stare. “You weren’t really sick, were you?”
“My parents showed up unexpectedly. They won some kind of sweepstakes trip to L.A. I couldn’t ditch them and work. They don’t know what I do. So I had no choice. Madame G. didn’t have any other girls to sub for me that night.”
I study her face for a sign of deception, but I can’t find anything. Besides, she has no reason to lie about this. “All right. Now listen carefully. This is a courtesy warning. It’s the only one you’re going to get. Next time you interfere with me or my wife, I will fucking ruin you.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Oh yes I can.” I let out a dark chuckle for her benefit even though I feel like breaking a few things right now. “It’ll be easier than stomping on a snail. As a matter of fact, why should I even wait for a next time when I can do it right now?”
A shiver runs through her. She tries to hide it, but I can still feel it through the hand buried in her hair. “I didn’t fuck with you or Annabelle. Jesus. Don’t jump to conclusions.”
“Then how did all that stuff get published? I’m pretty certain it wasn’t my wife who leaked it.”
“Well…I could sell you that information…”
I laugh, the sound ugly and grating even to my own ears. “I’m not playing a game of ‘let’s pay Caroline to see what she knows’.” I tilt her head back further. “If you know, say it. If not, then shut your mouth.”
“It wasn’t me! I swear it!”
I snort, then let go, shoving her away from me. I’ve suffered enough of her toxic presence. “You’ve wasted enough of my time. You have exactly four hours to get the fuck out of the city or else…” I give her my most menacing look.
She sprawls on her ass, but keeps talking. “You can’t hurt me!”
“Just watch. Watch as your life goes down the toilet. A man like me…with power…money…influence…” I give her time to think about it. “…can get away with anything. And you know it better than anyone.” I pull out my phone. “First call will be to Madame G. I do believe you’ll be needing to look for a new job tomorrow…”
Sweat dots the skin above her lips. “It’s this chick.”
This chick. “Is that the best you can do?” I make a big deal of entering my code and swiping the screen.
“Her name’s Annabelle, too.”
I go still.
“This brunette. Really pretty, high maintenance looking.”
Caroline doesn’t have to say more. I already know it’s Annabelle Underhill. Why the hell is she so interested in my wife? She knows I don’t take kindly to people fucking with me. She wanted me to help her divorce Stanton, and I’ve texted her the lawyer’s info. I also made it clear I don’t want to see her or hear from her again.
“She wanted to know about Annabelle—your wife, I mean. I told her it would cost her, and she paid me a thousand bucks. I had no idea she was going to sell it to the tabloids.”
I turn around slowly to face the girl still on the rug. “What did you think she was going to do?”
She shrugs. “None of my business. I just wanted the money.”
Stupid, greedy bitch. I pull out my money clip, peel off a few Benjamins and throw them at her. The crisp bills flutter in the air, then land around her. “Next time somebody asks you about my wife, you call me.” I drop a card with nothing but my assistant’s number in front of her.
She gets on her hands and knees and grabs the money. “Okay.” She’s not even looking at me, her focus one hundred percent on the bills.
Disgusted, I stalk out, take the elevator down and tell the front desk to kick Caroline out. Then I leave the hotel and drive aimlessly. I don’t know where to go. If I were still single, I might hit a club or two and do some really stupid shit
. But I’m not, and I don’t want the tabloids to get a picture of me at one of those places and make a big deal about it.
Why not? Who cares if Belle is humiliated? That’s the least she deserves.
As soon as the thought pops in my head, I recoil. I can’t bear to see her unhappy. I don’t know when it happened…but somehow her misery has become mine.
Our marriage is only for a year. I shouldn’t let these complications get to me. Granddad’s portrait is what’s important. So what if she’s not who I thought she was? Now that I know everything, I can make sure she doesn’t screw me over, then quietly get rid of her after the year’s up.
But the spot over my heart burns. I hate myself for letting her in and giving her the opportunity to cut me where it matters the most. And I hate her more for making me feel.
——
Thank you for reading An Improper Bride. I hope you enjoyed it! Don’t miss the conclusion to Elliot and Annabelle’s unforgettable love story—An Improper Ever After—coming early 2017!
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