Nick waved her away. “Tell Mrs. Pemberton I want to see her.”
“Yes, sir,” Nora said.
Before he lost what little privacy he had, Nick called Andrew Miller. He answered immediately.
“Have you found the son of a bitch responsible for screwing with my accounts?”
“Good morning, Nick. To answer your question, no. We’re still working on tracing him. As I explained, it could take a few days, even a few weeks. If you’re in need of a large amount of cash, there shouldn’t be a problem. I can have the loan department set up a line of credit if you need it.”
He truly didn’t have much fight left in him, and the day was young. It wasn’t as though that was the only bank he did business with. Today was Andrew’s lucky day. “No, I don’t need another line of credit. As soon as you learn who is responsible for this, I want you to call me.”
“Sure. I want to find this jerk as much as you do, Nick. This doesn’t look good for the bank.”
“Fine. Make sure you stay on top of it.” Nick slammed the phone down. He was tired. Business dealings were his life. Until his disease was under control, Nick knew he’d have to back off being the hard-ass that he’d always been. Not that he was going to ease off any of the bastards who were employed by Pemberton Transport. PT, as he thought of it, hadn’t become a multibillion-dollar shipping company by his letting someone else run the show. He knew he had a rough time ahead of him. Nick wished he had more trust in his employees. Maybe if he’d been easier to work with…but no, he wasn’t going to get chummy with his hired help at this point in his career.
A tap at the door. “Nick?” Chelsea stepped inside his room.
They’d had separate bedrooms for years. Nick liked it that way, and he knew Chelsea did, too. The one rule he’d insisted upon when they decided to have separate rooms was that under no circumstances would either of them bring another bed partner home.
Nick sat back down on the bed, drained already. He hadn’t even brushed his teeth.
Chelsea looked like the wrath of God.
He motioned for her to sit down. “Do you want to tell me about last night?”
She shook her head from left to right. Her face was ashen; purple shadows underscored her eyes. She looked terrible. “That’s just it. I can’t seem to remember anything. I woke up this morning on the sofa. The last thing I remember was answering the door.”
Nick watched his wife. She actually appeared confused. “You really don’t remember?” he asked.
“Why would I lie? What is it I’m supposed to remember?” Chelsea questioned.
His cell phone rang. “What?” he barked into the receiver. “Who is this?” Nick listened for several seconds, then tossed the phone on the bed. “Have you seen the papers this morning?”
“No. I’m telling you I woke up, took a shower, and here I am. Nora doesn’t even have the coffee ready. I think we need to consider hiring another housekeeper. She can’t seem to stay on top of her duties.” Chelsea looked at her husband. “Are you all right? You don’t look well, Nick.”
“Nora!” he called out at the top of his lungs.
A breathless Nora entered the room. “Yes?”
“Bring me the newspapers now,” Nick said.
“Yes, Mr. Pemberton, right away.”
“And coffee, Nora. That is something you can handle, isn’t it? If not, I will—”
“Shut up, Chelsea,” Nick ordered.
“I want a damn cup of coffee! Is that too much to expect?” Chelsea huffed.
Nora returned with the newspapers.
“Nora, make a pot of coffee for Chelsea and leave it on the hall table.”
Nora hurried out of the room
“What’s all the mystery, Nick? Who were you talking to on the phone?” Chelsea asked.
Nick opened the Times, scanned the headlines. Rage unlike any he’d ever known flooded through him. He took a deep breath, then counted to ten. He read the front page of the Post, then tossed the paper at Chelsea. “I want you to read very carefully. Then I want to know how the fuck you allowed this to happen.”
Chelsea reached for the paper with shaky hands. As she read the headlines, Nick observed her. Her face turned even more pale than it was already. Slowly, she laid the papers at the foot of the bed. Her mouth looked like an O. It appeared as though she was as shocked as he was.
“Is this really me? The gown…I…It’s what I had on this morning when I woke up.”
“Yes, it’s really you! You don’t recognize yourself?”
Chelsea picked up the paper for a second look. “It is me. I swear to you, Nick, I have no memory of this. Someone is playing games with you. With us.”
“And you have no idea how this could’ve happened? Who would go to such great lengths to do this to me? Some of your Bronx clan maybe?”
She shook her head as though in a daze. “Give me a break! Maybe someone you’ve had bad business dealings with? I truly don’t know. I’m as shocked as you are. I swear on my life, Nick, I had nothing to do with this. You’ve got to believe me! I wouldn’t ever, ever go to that terrible part of town. I’d be afraid of getting mugged or, even worse, killed!”
As much as he hated to, he believed her. She wouldn’t place herself in harm’s way even to get back at him. Finally, he grudgingly said, “It’s funny, but I believe you, Chelsea.”
Chelsea cast her dark brown eyes at him, reminding him of the first time he saw her at that party all those years ago. She was still a beautiful woman, even though greed and power had taken over her life. She’d become hard and cold. Bitter. Like me, he thought.
“Really? You’re not saying this to try and trick me?”
“No. The question is, who did this and why? I think it might be a good idea if you called Dr. Warner. He should have a look at you. Check for any venereal diseases or hepatitis or, God forbid, AIDS.”
“Nick, I didn’t have sex with anyone!”
“How do you know? You said yourself you have no memory of last night.”
Chelsea looked down at the Persian rug on the solid cherry floor. The carpet had cost tens of thousands, more than many families earned in a year. She traced the pattern with her bare foot. “A woman knows, Nick. Trust me.”
“How?”
“Do you really want me to go into details? Let me say this. There are areas that are tender after a woman has sex. I don’t need to draw you a picture, do I?”
He held up a hand. “No, no, I get the picture.” He grinned. He’d embarrassed his wife, the woman who had the mouth of a sailor.
“What?”
“Nothing, Chelsea. In nineteen years of marriage I don’t think I’ve ever seen you embarrassed.”
“Well, maybe if you paid more attention to me, you might learn something,” Chelsea challenged.
“I’m not going to argue with you. We both know this marriage wasn’t made in heaven. So don’t fool yourself. Right now I need to find out who did this to you, to me. Pemberton Transport could lose several contracts. I can’t allow that to happen.” Nick raked a hand through his hair. A clump of it fell out. Chelsea saw, and tears sprang to her eyes.
“Nick, I’m sorry what I said that day in the hospital. I don’t want you to die. I just get so…I don’t know. I just get angry at the world when things don’t go my way. Is there anything I can do to help you get through this?” She held her hands behind her back, crossing her fingers.
“Actually there is. Keep our name out of the papers. I don’t need another scandal. This is bad enough. You could get the word out that I’ve got something…hell, I don’t know…mono, something debilitating but not life threatening. I worry that if word of my illness gets out, it could cause an uproar among the company’s customers and competitors. See what you can do to keep the lid on this. Dr. Reeves says I’m doing as well as he expected. My blood levels are abnormal, but I do have a goddamned blood disease, so I expect that’s par for the course.”
Nick and Chelsea hadn’t talked so civ
illy to each other in years. Maybe there was hope for them, after all. But that little voice whispered in his ear, Can you trust her? He chose to believe not. She’d screwed him too many times in the past, starting with day one.
Nick’s cell phone rang again. He dreaded the next few days. “Yes?” he stated.
“Would you like to comment on the article in the Post?” a female voice asked.
“How did you get this number? This is a private cellular line!” Nick shouted.
“Mr. Pemberton, do you have any comments?” the female voice asked again.
“No!” Nick clicked the POWER button off. “That was a reporter. I don’t know how she got my number. This is going to be a nightmare. I can feel it already.”
“I could call a press conference or something. Tell them the story is a lie. It is, Nick. I wouldn’t live with a man who knocked me around. I think you know that. I must have been drugged and taken from the house. I can ask Dr. Warner to run a toxicology screen. I’m going to file a police report, too. I’m sure I was taken unwillingly from the penthouse last night. The last thing I remember was hearing the doorbell ring. I…I was upset because Nora didn’t answer…. After that I draw a complete blank. Now, the question is, who did this and what was their motive?”
“I’m calling Trevor.” Trevor McDermott had been the family attorney since Nick was in high school. “This is libel or slander.”
Nick kept the attorney’s number on his speed dial.
When Trevor answered, Nick didn’t bother with the usual amenities and started to explain what he and Chelsea thought had really happened. Trevor had read both articles.
“I can file a lawsuit for libel against both papers. It’ll take time. And since you’re a public figure, there is no chance of winning in court. Moreover, I’m afraid it won’t do much to alleviate the rumors. I mean, she was there. The pictures are the proof. I know the publishers of both papers. I might be able to get them to print a retraction, something along those lines. But those pictures…Kidnapping, now, that’s going to bring in the FBI. You want to go that route or maybe just make a statement, take the heat, and wait for it all to blow over?”
“Chelsea mentioned something about a press conference. What’s your take on that?” asked Nick.
“Let’s not do anything just yet. Let me make some calls. I’ll let you know what, if anything, you’ll need to do. For now, my best advice is to lie low. Don’t answer your phone unless you recognize the number. Tell your staff if any of them decide to talk to the media, their jobs are history.”
“Thanks, Trevor. I won’t do anything until I hear from you.”
“Good.” Trevor promised to call as soon as he had something concrete.
Nick rehashed his conversation with the attorney for Chelsea’s benefit.
“Does this mean I shouldn’t make an appointment with Dr. Warner?” Chelsea asked.
“Yes. As I said, don’t do or say anything to anyone until Trevor gets a handle on all of this. The man’s been a damned good attorney for us and the company. He’s one of the few people I actually trust. As hard as it may be, Chelsea, you’re going to have to stay inside, curb your desire to shop, gossip, and whatever else you do with your time. Is that clear?”
Chelsea walked to the door, then turned around. “I want to say, ‘Crystal clear,’ but I’m not sure I can keep such a big promise.”
Chelsea walked to the kitchen to take a coffee tray with her out to the terrace. Settling herself in the chaise with a cup of steaming coffee, she tried to remember, all those years ago when she’d seen Nick at that stupid party, just what it was that had attracted her to him. Not his good looks. Not his charm. Just his family fortune. She had never been in love with him. She had been in love with his fortune and had tricked him into thinking that it was he who had made her pregnant. Once his father had forced him to marry her, and stay married to her, he had given her a life of luxury. And now she could see that life of luxury starting to crumble around her. She felt a wave of fear unlike anything she’d ever experienced. If something happened to destroy his fortune, what would become of her? God, she’d be just like all those women who thought all they could do was sell real estate. Her thoughts carried her back to that fraternity party nineteen years earlier.
Before she even had a chance to wipe the froth of beer from her upper lip, Nicholas Pemberton strode across the hardwood floor in her direction. Chelsea glanced at her younger friend, Caroline. “He’s coming over here!” she whispered. Her face turned a deep, dark shade of crimson.
“So?” Caroline stated, then took another drink of her beer. “Now’s your chance to meet him.”
Chelsea had to restrain herself from giving Caroline the finger, but it wasn’t the right time. Nervous, she licked her lips, tasting the slick cherry lip gloss. As she observed Nicholas Pemberton moving toward them, he stopped to speak to a gorgeous, tall blonde with legs as long as forever. He whispered something in her ear. They laughed. Sure she’d lost her chance to meet the man of her dreams, the man she felt sure she could trick into marriage, Chelsea felt her heart plummet. She just knew they were talking about her. It was obvious she didn’t belong there. She was about to tell Caroline it was time to go when Nicholas walked away from the leggy blonde, his eyes totally focused on Chelsea.
He was at least six-two, with oarsman’s shoulders, hair a deep shade of black, and whiskey-tinted eyes she could drown in. She almost fainted when he smiled at her. Her face flushed with happiness, and her heart rate quadrupled. She resisted the childish urge to pinch herself.
He walked up to her and held out his hand. “I’m Nicholas Pemberton, and you are?”
“Chelsea Wilson.” Her hand remained locked in his warm palm. Shivers shot up and down her spine.
“Well, Chelsea Wilson, what brings you to New York City?”
Thinking she would be tongue-tied, Chelsea surprised herself when she spoke. “I’m staying in Manhattan with a friend.” Perfectly normal. She could do this. Nothing to it. She was an adult, not a bumbling teenager. A wealthy man was her only chance to escape the humdrum life she’d been born into. A wealthy man was her ticket out of the mess she’d made of her life with that useless asshole who’d knocked her up. She’d best watch her p’s and q’s with this one.
Caroline perked up. “She’s staying with me.”
“And you must be her friend,” Nicholas said, extending his hand.
Caroline clasped his strong hand. “Caroline Whitaker. I’m a student at NYU. First year.”
He laughed. “I remember those days well. It’s not bad, really. If you can stand all the seniors trying to give you girls and guys a hard time, you’ll be just fine.” He turned his gaze to Chelsea. “So, why haven’t I seen you before now? Surely you’ve attended some of the more…uh…noted parties?” Nicholas asked Chelsea with a sexy smile.
Demurely, Chelsea lowered her gaze. “This will be my first.”
The three laughed.
“Caroline, is that you?” A female barely topping five feet, with long black hair and wire-rimmed glasses, came bounding up to her friend. “Remember me? I was in your English Lit class. I dropped out before the end of the semester.”
“Of course I remember you, Holly Jolly! How in the hell did you wind up here?” Caroline asked.
“Long story.”
“And she’ll be more than happy to tell you while I introduce Chelsea to some of the gang. Right?” Nicholas asked the small girl, but his eyes were on Chelsea.
The small girl glanced at Caroline for confirmation. “Sure,” she said, eyes asking a question.
“Come along, Holly,” said Caroline. “I think Nicholas wants to get to know Chelsea, who is staying with me for a while. I think we should disappear.”
Chelsea waved hi to the black-haired girl, all the while wondering just what Nicholas Pemberton had in mind. Thinking of the knockout drops she had brought with her, she took a small sip of beer while he poured a mug for himself. She did not want to lose her fo
cus when so much depended upon what happened with Nicholas that night.
“Let’s find a place to talk.” He took her hand and led her into the main room. The party was in full swing. Chelsea observed the guests. Some were dressed to the nines; others wore jeans and T-shirts. Some of the girls wore long dresses, their hair reaching the back of their knees. Hippies. Chelsea smiled. She’d smoked her share of pot with a few in her day.
Nicholas found an empty corner, where he cleared a place for her to sit. She sat down on a brown leather chair while he cleared a space on the floor by their feet so they could set their mugs down.
“Not much room around here tonight,” Nicholas said.
“I thought you were going to introduce me to your friends.”
Nicholas laughed, revealing perfectly white teeth. “You believed that, huh?”
Chelsea wanted to come across as naive, so she lied. “Of course I believed you.”
Nicholas sat on the floor next to both mugs of beer. “When I saw you, I knew I had to meet you, pure and simple.” He smiled again. “Scout’s honor.”
If her heart rate climbed any higher, Chelsea knew her heart would explode right out of her chest. She searched the depths of her soul for a response, but nothing surfaced. She reached for her beer. He caught her hand. Waves of anticipation swept through her. For a second she was so nervous that she thought she might throw up, but the urge passed. Mortified at the thought of puking in front of Nicholas, she begged her unresponsive brain to come up with something to say. “How long have you lived here?”
He leaned against the wall, his caramel eyes gazing into hers. “Most of my life.”
Ashamed at her own stupidity, she laughed in spite of herself. “That was a dumb question.” She sounded normal, but she sure as hell didn’t feel normal. Chelsea had spent enough time around guys to know her reaction to Nicholas Pemberton was anything but normal. She could see a future with this man. Maybe even marriage, if she could make him think that he had seduced her and made her pregnant, but it had to be that night. She was running out of options fast. Who cared that she’d only known him for less than an hour?
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