An Improper Ever After

by Nadia Lee

  Jana’s standing at her desk, looking down at a readout. She’s in a black jumpsuit, paired with a patent leather belt with a golden buckle. Her fingernails are a glossy red, and stilettos add over three inches to her height. She studies me for a moment, and I shift my weight.

  “Is…there something wrong?” I ask.

  “No. There are your tasks.” She gestures at one of the smaller tables near her desk. A sticky note is on top of a pile of papers. “Get them done before lunch.”

  “Sure. Do you need to me to make an appointment?”

  “Hmm?”

  “For lunch?”

  She shakes her head. “Not necessary. The restaurant I go to always has a table for me.”

  “Got it.”

  I grab everything from the table and take it to my cubicle outside her office. Most of the stuff is related to the surprise treasury dump from Friday. Guess she didn’t get to her “prior engagement.”

  I finish filing all the papers and proofread a prospectus for grammatical errors and typos. Suddenly I’m aware of someone watching me.

  “You look super sexy when you’re working.” Elliot grins.

  My mouth parts. He’s the last person I expected to see. And he looks pretty sexy himself in a casual chocolate-colored shirt and expertly tailored slacks. As I drink him in a hot flame ignites within me, as though we didn’t spend way too much time in the shower together earlier this morning.

  “What are you doing here?” I start to get up, but he waves at me to stay seated. “You have an appointment with Pete?”

  “Nope. Just happened to be in the area and thought…why not drop by?” He hands me a basket of sunny yellow daisies. “To brighten your Monday.”

  “It’s already bright with you here.”

  “Well, yes. But for when I’m gone.”

  The unexpectedly boyish grin leaves me breathless. Without thinking, I stand and give him a kiss on the mouth.

  “When’s your lunch break?” he asks, his gaze on my lips.

  “Can’t. Jana’s taking me out.”

  “So cancel.”

  “Elliot! You know I can’t do that. You’ll just have to be patient until tonight.”

  “You are a cruel, cruel woman, Mrs. Reed.”

  I tap the center of his chest with a gentle finger. “If you come by tomorrow, maybe I can arrange something.”

  He gives me an exaggeratedly lusty look that makes me giggle. I start to say something, but then realize that murmurs are welling up around us.

  My coworkers are swiveling their heads and looking toward the hall leading to the elevator bank. I let my gaze wander in the same direction, wondering if someone super famous is leaving.

  I gasp. It’s Dennis, with a security guard on each side of him. Holding a box, my ex drags himself forward. His face is bloodless, his lips pressed so tight they have no color. Strong emotion shines in his unblinking eyes.

  “Oh my god,” I whisper.

  Elliot moves closer and puts a hand around my waist. I lean into him, but I can’t stop staring at Dennis. What happened? He’s too careful to screw things up badly enough to be fired.

  He stops, then suddenly turns around and gazes at the cubicles and offices. Some people look away, but not everyone. His eyes meet mine, and hatred blazes in them. A corner of his mouth twitches, then he actually snarls.

  His inarticulate fury lances me all the way to the core. Shaking, I take a step back. Elliot’s arm tightens around me.

  The guards pull Dennis into a waiting elevator. He doesn’t exactly resist, but he keeps his burning eyes on me the entire time. Finally, the doors close.

  The whole event took no more than a minute, but it felt like forever. My legs trembling, I plop down rather ungracefully into my seat.

  Elliot crouches in front of me. “You all right? You look a little pale.”

  I blink and drag in a breath. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just…surprised.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s just an intern. What did he do so wrong that he’s being humiliated like that?”

  Elliot snorts. “My take? He’s overly ambitious and too impatient. It takes years of hard work to make something of yourself, but he wasn’t willing to wait.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He lied.” My husband’s voice is flat.

  I flinch at the lack of mercy and understanding in his tone. “He just wanted a fresh start,” I murmur, recalling what Dennis told me.

  “Lying isn’t a fresh start. It’s a shortcut.” He takes my hands in his. “You’re cold.” Concern darkens his eyes. “Want me to get you some coffee? Tea?”

  “No. You should get going.” I put a hand on one strong shoulder. “Thanks for coming to see me.”

  He kisses me on the forehead, then searches my face. “Call if you don’t feel well, okay?”

  A smile curls my lips. I can’t stay upset when Elliot is looking at me so tenderly. “Yes, Daddy,” I whisper, more for my benefit than his. I feel like I’m falling so deep that I may never come out.

  His gaze narrows. “Stop provoking me…unless, of course, you want me to toss you over my shoulder and cart you out in front of everyone.”

  I laugh, and he kisses me and walks away. The second he disappears into the elevator, the electric charge in the air vanishes. I turn to my work, resolving to focus. I need to give it a hundred and ten percent if I want to get done by lunch.

  At noon sharp, Jana comes over. Her expression is neutral, but I can sense something’s bothering her.

  “Jana, is there something I can help you with?”

  “Our lunch. I hope you didn’t forget.”

  “Of course not.” I close my laptop and grab my purse.

  She sticks her lower lip out appreciatively. “Nice flowers.”

  I flush. “Thanks.”

  The restaurant she takes me to is a block away from the office. It’s a delightful Japanese place that specializes in sushi and tempura. The interior is bright with natural wood and paper lanterns, and the air holds faint whiffs of sweet vinegar, hot oil and ginger. The place is bustling with the lunch crowd, but a hostess in a bright red and yellow yukata smiles widely at Jana and takes us to a private room in the back.

  The hostess takes off her wooden Japanese sandals and gestures us in. Jana removes her stilettos, and I toe off my pumps and follow her into the room. It’s big enough for a party of four. The flooring is Asian straw matting that feels cool against my soles. The seats have high backs, but no legs. The table is very low, but there’s a square hole dug into the floor where we can lower our legs.

  We’re immediately served cold, unsweetened barley tea. Jana orders a sashimi lunch set, and I get seafood and veggie tempura since I’m not brave enough to do raw fish.

  “It’s unfortunate things have changed. No more lunch drinks,” Jana says casually. “You might’ve benefited from a couple.”

  “I don’t understand.” What did I do to make her think I’d need a drink?

  “I saw the little byplay between you and Dennis.”

  “Oh.”

  “You know him?”

  “Well…yeah.” I clear my throat. “We grew up in the same town. I actually dated him in high school.”

  Jana nods. Our food arrives soon after, and she picks up a slice of red tuna and dips it into wasabi-green soy sauce. She uses her chopsticks as expertly as she navigates the market. I’m slightly awed.

  “Is that going to be a problem?” she asks suddenly.

  I startle, then realize she means me and Dennis. “No. We aren’t that close anymore.”

  “Good. It’s best you don’t talk to him or have any other contact.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s a dishonest son of a bitch, and he did something he shouldn’t have. He’s lucky the only thing Gavin did was fire him. He could’ve been criminally charged if Gavin wanted, and trust me, the boss and the DA’s office are tight.”

  The shrimp tempura turns to dust in my mouth. I can’t
believe Gavin would be so vindictive about the small lie about who Dennis’s father was. He seemed so nice during dinner at home…but then that was with his pregnant wife. He might not show his ruthless side to family and friends.

  “We can tolerate mistakes, but we don’t tolerate betrayal.”

  “Betrayal?” I repeat, dumbfounded.

  “He tried to finagle a job at another firm…using our client list and market positions.”

  I gape at her. “But how…? He’s—was—just an intern.”

  “I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. He got access somehow, and I’m pretty sure this means we’re going to implement more enhanced security protocols. I’m certain he had help.” She eats another piece of red tuna, her eyes on mine.

  The way she’s studying me is a little alarming. “Jana…do you think I had something to do with it?”

  “No. If I did, you would’ve been escorted out with Dennis. But keep your head down and don’t do anything that draws unnecessary attention to yourself. And do eat your tempura before it gets cold. It won’t be nearly as good.”

  I reach for another piece, my mind churning. Dennis has his share of faults, but betraying his employer seems crazy. He said he really wanted to work at OWM. Why throw it all away on a stunt like this?

  Jana offers a few pieces of advice on how to handle some of the divas at the firm. I try to pay attention; it’s important, plus I feel like she may actually quiz me later.

  “Most significantly,” she says, “if you can’t handle something, you come to me. Actually, come to me about everything. I hate surprises.”

  “Even good surprises?”

  “Even then. Just imagine: someone says, ‘Great job,’ and I have no clue what they’re talking about.”

  I see her point.

  “Your job is to do what I tell you and be loyal. To me, if that’s not clear. And my job is to bring you along and protect you.”

  “But I’m just a junior assistant. I don’t rank that high.”

  She munches on a piece of pickled ginger root. “So?” She peers at me. “You aren’t going to be a junior assistant forever, right?”

  “No.”

  “So how are you planning to advance if you don’t have somebody mentoring you?” She glances down at her clean plate. “Ready? I have a meeting in ten.”

  “Sure.”

  She pays, and we leave. As we walk back, my phone rings. Jana glances at my purse. “Take it. I’ll see you upstairs. Get three copies of the light crude analysis memo ready for my two o’clock. The research team should have it.”

  “Sure. See you soon,” I say to her back as she walks briskly away. She always moves like she’s five minutes late to a meeting that will alter the course of history.

  I plunge my hand into my bag and pull out my phone, already hitting the green button. “Annabelle Ree—”

  “You fucking bitch!” Dennis’s rage explodes in my ear.

  I flinch and almost drop the phone.

  “It’s all your fault! I told you! I told you!”

  “You stole from the company,” I say.

  “I didn’t steal shit. You fucking cunt! If you just did like I told you, I would’ve been fine.”

  “I’m going to hang up now. Don’t ever contact me again,” I say coolly, remembering Jana’s warning. Elliot has never liked Dennis either. And right now I have zero reason to be compassionate.

  “I’m going to make you pay!” my ex bellows. “Dad should’ve shot you too!”

  My hand flies to my mouth. My stomach knots, and the lunch I had with Jana roils threateningly. I clamp my jaw, my breath hissing through my nose. There’s no way I’m throwing up on the sidewalk less than a block away from the office.

  Heartrending pain and wrath battle inside of me. Wrath starts winning. If Dennis were in front of me, I might actually launch myself at him to rip his face off.

  “Listen to me, you son of a bitch,” I hiss. “It is not my fault your father was a murderer. It’s not my fault you lied on your job application, and it sure as hell isn’t my fault you tried to betray Gavin and got caught. Want to blame somebody for the mess you call a life? Why don’t you look in the mirror? And the next time you contact me, I’m going to sue you for harassment, mental anguish and anything else I can make stick.” I hang up, then power down my phone. My hands and legs are shaking, and it’s an effort to remain upright.

  I blink away sudden tears. The memory of how I lost my parents floods me, bringing a fresh wave of pain.

  I take a seat on a bench and breathe deeply until I’m calm enough to go back to work. Then I throw myself at my mountain of tasks, trying to shove Dennis’s hateful words out of my mind.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Annabelle

  By the time I’m home, I’ve almost forgotten the ugly phone call. Dennis is hateful, maybe even a little deranged, and I won’t let him ruin my time with the two people I care the most about in the world.

  With a smile pasted on my face, I open the door and walk in. “I’m home!” I call out, dumping my purse on the counter.

  “Hey.” Elliot gives me a quick kiss on the mouth.

  I grab hold of one muscled arm and kiss him back. The greeting makes the odd and disturbing day at work worth it. It’s impossible to stay troubled when I have a hot husband waiting for me at home. Especially when he’s in a one of those tight workout shirts that shows off his thick chest and ridged abs, and jeans that mold to his butt, and when I can smell the warm, clean skin that I want to nuzzle for hours…

  But instead of being affectionate or salacious, he looks agitated when he pulls back.

  An alarm bell clangs in my head. Dennis again? “What’s wrong?”

  Elliot takes a step back. “The details of the deal behind our marriage became public half an hour ago. And it’s trending.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He hands me his phone. I read the article.

  GREEDY BILLIONAIRES CLAMOR FOR MORE, the headline proclaims in capital letters.

  The rest is just as lurid, but the basis for the ridiculous spin is accurate. It details the deal Julian has with his children, and how Ryder and Elliot married already to get paintings that are worth millions.

  Why marry for a reason as crude as money when they already have so much? the article asks toward the end.

  “Oh my god, how did they find out?”

  “My guess is Annabelle Underhill. Paige said she seemed to know.”

  “Is this some kind of payback for the exposé?”

  “Probably.” Elliot puts his hands on my shoulders and pulls me gently toward him. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too. What are we going to do?” I hug him, drawing strength from his warmth. “Oh my god, Elizabeth. She’ll be hounded by men. And your brothers…”

  “Lucas and Blake can handle themselves. But Elizabeth…” Elliot runs a hand over his face. “Yeah.”

  “How’s Nonny?” Given that she hasn’t come out to greet me, she can’t be reacting well.

  “She’s at a friend’s. Maria, I think. But first things first.”

  He leads me to the dining room. Chinese takeout with my favorite sweet and sour chicken and shrimp fried rice is waiting for me. He has duck and some stir-fried greens.

  “You actually want to eat?” I ask incredulously.

  “Can’t fight on an empty stomach. Sit down.” He pulls out a chair. “Please.”

  I sit. He’s right; not eating will only hurt me. He opens the sweet and sour chicken and pushes it my way, along with some utensils.

  “How are we going to fight?” I ask. “The deal is true.”

  He points to my food. “Eat, woman.”

  Making a face, I pop a piece into my mouth.

  Only then does he say, “We have to make people believe it’s not true.”

  “You’re going to lie?”

  “We don’t have to lie. The premise that our father is forcing all of us to marry in the next six months to i
nherit the paintings is already pretty far-fetched.”

  “But true.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  I think it kind of is the point, but ask, “Okay, so what are you going to do?”

  “We’re going to talk with my siblings and figure out how best to approach it. As a matter of fact, we’ve been waiting for you to come home so we can make sure you’ll be on board as well.”

  “I’m fine with whatever you decide.” And I mean that. I trust Elliot will do what’s best.

  Cradling my face, he kisses my forehead. “Thank you for your faith in me.”

  “Let’s eat fast, if they’re waiting.”

  But even as I smile for his benefit, I feel queasy. This is Annabelle Underhill’s second attempt to drag me through the mud. She promised she would. And I hate that her hatred of me is going to hurt Elliot and his family.

  * * *

  Elliot

  It doesn’t take long to wrap up dinner. Neither of us has much appetite. We pack up the leftovers and put them in the fridge for later, then go to the couch in the living room. We have three minutes to the call, and I dial in.

  Others hop on within seconds. Ryder, Paige and Elizabeth are the first to join, then Blake. His voice is cold and low, and that tells me he’s too furious to yell.

  “Fucking Julian,” he says. “It’s gotta be him.”

  “Annabelle Underhill knew we had to marry,” Paige points out. “She said as much at the charity dinner Elizabeth organized with Nate Sterling.”

  “If it’s Annabelle Underhill, I’ll take care of it,” I say. Paddington sent me the recording. I’m forwarding it anonymously to Stanton Underhill, illegally made or not. After that, it’ll be up to the old man to decide what to do about his psychotic wife, but I doubt he’ll shrug it off. A man like him doesn’t get to be where he is by being overly understanding and forgiving.

  “How about Mira? Didn’t she know?” Elizabeth says.

  “She did,” Ryder says, “but she wouldn’t spill the beans. Her agent contract came with an ironclad NDA. She might be a backstabbing bitch, but she wouldn’t do something to make me an enemy for life.”