It was out of my mouth before I could stop it. “There were never any accidents?”
His eyes met mine. It was a powerful gaze that rendered me silent. “Babies aren’t accidents, Coralie.”
“I’m sorry,” I apologized immediately. “Of course not. I just meant–”
“I know what you meant,” he responded tersely. He turned back to the real estate ads, effectively dropping that part of the conversation. “I figure at least a three-bedroom home. Maybe four. We could use the spare bedrooms as offices, a workout space or a guest room for Darcy when she comes into town.”
“Sounds perfect,” I said, because it did. It wasn’t an 12,000-square foot house in Bel Air, but a nice four-bedroom home could give us all the space we needed to spread out, to grow… to become.
By the time we headed out, we had a list of about six open houses to hit that afternoon.
The experience was positively surreal. Every time we arrived at a new place, I pictured what my life would look like there. The minute we’d walk through the entry way, I was decorating the place in my head, trying to figure out what kind of furniture I might want or how I might change the wallpaper, the paint or the curtains, anything to make my environment homey and inviting, a place to retreat after a long day at the office.
As we would linger in the living room, I’d think about what it would be like to wait for Devlin to come home from work, or golfing with the guys, or the hours we’d spend cuddled on a sofa, talking, reading or watching TV. When we’d move along to the kitchen, I’d think about all the meals we’d prepare there. Most of the places we chose had backyards built for entertaining, so I always pictured Lucy and Gus joining us for outdoor barbecues and pool parties. In the bathrooms I’d daydream about the bubble baths I’d indulge, or the way Devlin and I would share the mirror as we got ready for work in the morning, side by side.
And of course the bedrooms… I always wondered what it would be like to go to sleep there with Devlin every night, and wake with Devlin every morning.
All of that was completely normal. What was unexpected was the way I felt when I walked into a kid’s bedroom. The walls were blue with red racing stripes, and the bed itself was a racecar. Toys lined the room, little robots that were standing guard to protect their tiny human master.
On the wall were fun posters and letters and pictures all targeted for a rambunctious little boy. For some reason I started to think about Devlin and what it must have been like when he was a little kid. He hadn’t grown up in a fun room like this one. He could only daydream about something like this, which was why I supposed now he thought about giving this kind of life to one of his children.
Why wouldn’t he want children? Why wouldn’t he want to get right what the universe had obviously gotten so wrong?
In that flash of clarity, I could see a little boy who looked just like Devlin, with dark hair and intensely green eyes that would likely melt my heart whenever he looked at me. Just like that I fell in love with an idea of a person, as if I instinctively knew that was someone I would meet someday.
Suddenly the idea wasn’t so scary anymore. We were married, and that’s what married people did. They grew families. One day I would have his babies. That was a certainty. And when I did, I would be so fiercely protective and loyal that I would move heaven and earth to give them the life they deserved.
Dev and I could do that. We were some of the lucky ones.
I took his hand in mine as we walked back out to our car after Open House #3. “I liked that one,” I confided.
“Me, too,” he grinned. “Right in our price range, too.”
I nodded. “Even if Dad kicks me out of the company.” I slid into the passenger seat.
“Don’t say that,” he grumbled as he started the car and set the navigation for Open House #4. “He’s not going to kick you out of the company.”
“You don’t know that. What if he gives me some kind of ultimatum, like divorce you or lose my job?”
His eyes swung to mine in shock. “Would he do that?”
I shrugged. “Who knows? I just think it’s smart to be prepared for anything.”
Part of that, for me, was mentally preparing myself for the next step in my marriage. Like I said, we’d been fucking like bunnies. Eventually I was going to spin that chamber and wind up knocked up, like many other women before me.
I needed to know that I could do that with or without my father.
It was some serious grown-up shit to consider.
By the end of that afternoon, we found two houses we liked, one enough to make an offer. It was a quaint modern Tudor built in 1926, located in the Hancock Park neighborhood just north of Wilshire Boulevard. The lavish landscape was meticulously maintained, with swaying regal palms and flower-lined pathways up a steep driveway to the house. The ceilings were vaulted, and the front room featured a dramatic wood and marble fireplace. All the floors were hard wood, and the cabinetry had been restored to its former glory. There were two master bathrooms, a gourmet kitchen and a loft that we could use however we wanted. The backyard was a virtual oasis, with a pool, a waterfall, a hot tub, barbecue, fire pit and outdoor shower.
I could see us living there from the moment I walked in the door. I was stunned to find something so perfect right away, but Devlin just cuddled me close and said, “Haven’t you figured it out? It always happens fast for us.”
He then began haggling with the realtor on a price. He handled that as expertly as he handled everything else. But I figured if anyone knew about value and price, it was a gigolo. Hell, he’d put a $25,000 price tag on himself and I had happily paid it.
I was feeling mighty proud of both of us as we headed back to his apartment, which paled quite a bit in comparison with the new place, even for Devlin. We stayed up late into the night, but instead of making love, we were making plans. We sat in front of a computer to window-shop for furniture, and Devlin himself drew a rudimentary blueprint of the house so we could furnish it with nothing more than our imaginations. Like I had done with Devlin, I kept that house in my imaginary cart for a while, just to see how it felt to “own” it, just to see if I wanted to commit to buy.
Turns out I totally did. By the time my alarm went off on Monday morning, I nearly wanted to play hooky again, simply so I could be there the minute that they called to accept or reject our offer, which, thanks to the open house, they were considering along with two others.
Real life called, however. Both Dev and I had a busy schedule that day. He had his first photo shoot, and I was expecting my puce maid of honor gown to arrive in time for its final fitting.
Though it was a size bigger, it was worse than I remembered. Instead of being skin tight, like the 14, it bagged and drooped. It was completely unflattering, so much so that my darling husband agreed. I had hoped his eyes would be a lot kinder than the mirrors I modeled in front of, but sadly it was not to be.
“That has to be the ugliest dress I have ever seen,” he said.
I tried to tuck and primp even harder. “It’s not so bad if you’re a size 4.”
“Bullshit,” he countered. “No one can make that dress look good.”
“Well, it’s not my day to be beautiful,” I reminded him yet again, echoing what I had said in Vegas when we couldn’t find a proper maid of honor dress for Lucy’s secret elopement.
He walked up to me, took my hands in his and turned me to face him. “You’re beautiful every day. It’s just a shitty dress. That’s all.”
I nodded. I knew that deep down.
I spent the better part of the morning with the tailor, who would complete the final alterations on my dress. Finally I was able to escape upstairs, where Oliver waited for me in my office.
“What now?” I snapped as I entered the room.
He stood, turning to face me. He was almost as tall as Devlin, so he could tower over me from where he stood a mere foot away. “Your father wants to see you, CC.”
“What’s he doing here?” I
questioned as I turned for the hall. “He’s been ill.”
“He’s been stressed,” Oliver corrected as he fell into step behind me.
“Look, I can’t do this with you right now,” I told him.
“You don’t have a choice,” he informed me as he put his hand on the small of my back and propelled me down the hall.
Father looked much more himself when I entered the office. He wore a fine tailored suit, Cabot’s, of course, and he sat tall and strong behind the big oak desk. He looked as commanding as he had always looked, and for the first time I was actually intimidated to face him.
He wasn’t just my benevolent father anymore. Gone were the days when I could crawl into his lap and be met with a warm hug and loving kisses. Instead I was the naughty child who had disappointed him, and that showed in the clear blue depths of his eyes.
“CC,” he greeted with a nod. “Please sit.”
I quietly did what I was told. Oliver took the seat next to me, which didn’t make me feel any better about the whole thing. This was clearly an ambush. I had seen Jurassic Park. I knew how cunning raptors hunted their prey.
Father strung up my nerves even further when he surveyed the outfit I had chosen for the day. What I was wearing was perfectly professional, but I knew that the contraband from other stores would draw more of his ire.
He opted not to pick that battle that particular morning. “I thought you might like to know that I got some preliminary reports from the private investigator I hired to look into Mr. Masters’ past.”
“Mr. Masters?” I repeated. “You mean Devlin. My husband.”
He looked like he was swallowing glass every single time I said that word. He did his best to ignore it as he leaned forward to open a folder on his desk. “Needless to say, I was quite surprised by what I learned.”
I gulped hard. This was where all my dirty laundry was aired. Those reports likely confirmed Father’s astute assessment that Devlin had worked as a gigolo, and I had no doubt that everyone knew that I had hired him for a salacious sojourn to Sin City. I didn’t regret it. I wasn’t even really embarrassed about it. But I was mortified that Father had learned the truth.
There was no going back to the Good Girl after that.
Father dragged the moment out much longer than necessary as he thumbed through the paperwork that folder contained, as if waiting for me to confess my sins first. My throat was dry as I managed to speak. “And?”
He picked up a piece of paper that looked from the other side to be covered in numbers and figures. “And I have to say that I’m surprised you hired him as a model with a college transcript like this.”
My brow furrowed as I reached for the paper. It was, indeed, a college transcript.
From Stanford University.
I sat back against the chair, speechless. My widened eyes quickly scanned the information, which showed how impressively he had performed while he attended my alma mater.
“Spent roughly six years there pursuing a master’s degree in music,” Father went on to say. “Switched his major to business before dropping classes suddenly four years ago. According to the P.I., it was to tend to a sick relative in Las Vegas.”
“His mother,” I croaked.
Father sifted through a few more pieces of paper. “Yes. A domestic issue of some sort left her an invalid. Unfortunate,” he conceded.
“Tragic,” I corrected.
“Yes,” Father agreed. “And yet Mr. Masters, your husband, seemed to rise to the challenge by starting his own image consulting firm within a year of returning to Nevada.”
He did? News to me. I bit my tongue hard so I wouldn’t give anything away. Father filled in the blanks anyway.
“According to several of his high-profile clients, he was instrumental in their success.” He held up one such testimony. “To hear Suzanne Everhart tell it, he helped her husband win his seat in Congress.” He slid a press package over to me, so I could see the beautiful older socialite for myself.
And since she was one of us, Father gave weight to what she said.
I, however, said nothing. I was still waiting for the bomb to drop with the dreaded word “gigolo.”
But Father said no such word as he leaned back against his leather chair. “Seems like hiring him for some pretty-boy model is a waste of his talent.”
I nodded, but still couldn’t say anything. My brain was reeling. Devlin had never bothered to share any of this with me. “We just… we just didn’t know where he’d fit in.”
Actually if Devlin had told me any of this, I would have been jockeying for him to get an executive position from the start.
Why hadn’t he told me?
Father closed the folder, which gave me hope that he hadn’t unearthed any salacious details about Devlin’s hidden past. Surely he would have said so if he had. He was practically glum to realize that Devlin was far more suited to me than he, or I, previously thought. Now that he knew that his son-in-law was a successful businessman with many of the same credentials that Oliver held, or even I held, maybe he would come around at last. “I’m sure we can find something a little more suitable,” he assured, indicating to Oliver. “Oliver tells me that one of our marketing managers will be leaving at the end of the month. That sounds like a much more respectable position for the husband of a Cabot.”
I wanted to point out that I wasn’t a Cabot anymore, but I decided not to press my luck.
“Of course, he’ll have to report to Oliver, the same as you do.” Father retrieved another piece of paper from his desk. It was an offer of employment on the Cabot’s letterhead, extending a management position to Devlin Masters. The salary tripled what he expected to earn from modeling, along with a generous benefits package.
I was dumbfounded as I glanced back up at Father. I had expected my whole world to fall apart, but he had just handed me what appeared to be the keys to the kingdom. “Why are you doing this, Dad?”
“This is how you run a business, Coralie. You assemble the best team to protect your interests and keep your personal feelings out of it. If Devlin had walked in my office, some stranger off the street looking for a job, possessing the same credentials, I would have hired him on the spot.”
I nodded as I thought about Devlin’s transcript. I would have hired him too.
“Besides, you’ve made it plain that this is the path you are determined to take, my feelings be damned. Despite it all, I am your father, Coralie. It’s my duty to protect you as best I can.”
I softened as I looked up at him. Still, it seemed a little too easy. “I’ll run the offer past Devlin,” I said as I folded the letter. “Ultimately it’s his choice.”
“Of course,” Father said. “But do keep in mind that the longer he takes, the more likely it is we find someone else. He gets a chance because he’s currently the best candidate for the job, not because he’s your husband. I’m not going to grind my business to a halt for some kind of personal favor.”
“I understand.” I stopped myself just short of asking to see what was in that folder from the private eye. I wasn’t about to let Father or Oliver know that anything in that folder would come as news to me, although it already had. Big time.
I couldn’t wait to get my husband home so we could have a little chat.
Since he was on a photo shoot, I ended up going home alone when five o’clock rolled around, simply because the shoot was running late. I stopped by the store for something to make for dinner before I headed up to the apartment I hated… the apartment his escort work had paid for.
Or did it? Per Father, Devlin had a legitimate consulting business, or so it appeared on paper anyway.
Who the hell was Devlin Masters?
I stopped myself just short of rifling through his private home office to find out. I called Lucy to talk me out of breaching that level of trust before I went too far.
“What do you mean, he went to Stanford?” she repeated, as flummoxed as I was about this new information.
“I saw the transcript, Luce. He had something like a 4.15 GPA. His major was music.”
“Well, I guess that makes sense,” she said. “I mean, you’ve heard him play. He didn’t get that good accidentally.”
No, I thought to myself. He hadn’t become good at anything he had mastered accidentally.
“But why wouldn’t he tell me this? I understand not getting into the specifics of his work, but not this.”
“He’s been through a lot, Ceece. Who are we to judge how he decides to protect himself?”
“Maybe,” I conceded, but it still made no sense. There were plenty of things that made sense to hide from one’s wife. How many women he’d slept with, why he broke up with old girlfriends, how hot he found other women… all of those things are perfectly understandable to hide.
That he went to the same exclusive university as his wife, not to mention kicked total ass when he was there, was totally not one of those things.
I had just set the table when I heard the keys rattle in the front door. I glanced at my watch. It was a little after eight o’clock. I walked around the table to greet him as he entered the dining room, and he surprised me with yet another bouquet of roses.
I supposed he could afford them now.
“Hey beautiful,” he greeted with a kiss. “How was your day?”
What a loaded question, I thought. “Good,” I said as I took the flowers into the kitchen to put them in a vase. “How was yours?” I called back to him.
“Same ol’ same ol’,” he said. I joined him in the dining room. “It’s not the most challenging work in the world, but it can take it out of you after ten hours in front of the camera.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I mumbled as I took my seat across from him.
“Our loss,” he complimented warmly. I shrugged it off. “How about you, babe? How was your day?” he asked as he poured himself some wine. “Oliver behave himself today while I was gone?”
There it was. That was my opening. “He was perfectly pleasant,” I said, easing myself into it.
Devlin scoffed. “Clearly he’s up to something.”
“That’s a little cynical, don’t you think?”
Masters for Life Page 5