by Tiana Cole
He sighed. He’d started wondering the same thing himself. He hadn’t done much lately that made him proud or even like himself. No matter what had happened, treating Deja like dirt wasn’t going to make things better. Even if somehow she deserved it.
“I’m sorry. That was said badly.”
“I think it was said rather well. Succinct and to the point, as an arrow should be.”
Something in her face unnerved him. A lot about her unsettled him—she made him nervous and unsure of himself, but this was something deeper. It had to do with whatever drove her to accept his drunken proposal. His instinct, something deep in his core, told him that she hadn’t been as drunk as he, that she had accepted his proposal for a specific reason. If he knew that reason, maybe he could let himself relax about her. Well, not relax. How did he relax when he were in a bedroom with the girl of his dreams? Especially when he didn’t know if she was friend or foe?
How had he let things get so out of hand? So complicated? There was something wrong about that too.
* * * *
Long after the reporter left, Deja could still feel the tension in the room their abrupt arrival had created. James didn’t trust her, that much was clear. Of course, he was right not to. He’d seemed silly last night, but now, serious and trying to focus, he seemed rather formidable. As he sobered, got his senses back, his true nature was showing.
She liked the emerging James better than the one she’d married. He was sharp and deserved respect. Although he’d been shocked to wake up and find himself married, he hadn’t flown off the handle. He’d restrained himself, and tried to work out what had happened. Even though she’d teased him about calling his lawyer first thing, it made sense. Marriage involved personal finance, and even if her financial situation couldn’t possibly have been much worse and let her still eat, he was successful. Wealthy.
How wealthy he might actually be, she didn’t know or really care. In the light of day, what she cared about was that she felt bad about what she’d done. The man she was meeting deserved better, and obviously she’d been lied to about the real nature of the trick being played on him. It wasn’t some friendly prank—not that it would have been the least bit funny anyway, but a prank that was over the top was easier to justify, to live with, than some predatory trick.
She tried not to show the strain. Fortunately, the reporters had distracted James when he was questioning her. If she was going to perpetuate this fraud, something she was growing less certain about all the time, she needed some distance. Otherwise, he’d ask the right questions, and she’d tell the truth.
And then she’d lose out on the money—that would certainly happen. Beyond that, who had a clue what would happen? If all hell broke loose, Deja could find herself worse off than ever. And she’d never be able to raise the money she needed.
“Those vultures know everything,” James said. He glanced at the closed door as if he expected the reporters to break it down. His breath was labored. “How can that be?”
Unsure of what to say, or that she should even say anything, Deja held her tongue. Everything going on around her was too far outside of her experience. She figured she’d have to deal with a hostile husband in the morning, but she’d never imagined the press wanting to know about her, that she’d have reporters banging on her door, insisting on an interview.
“I wish I knew your angle. I know we were drinking. I know that it was my idea to get married. I can almost get a handle on the state I was in last night. I can look at you, feel the emotions you stir up in me, and that almost makes a certain kind of sense. Certainly wanting you, wanting to have you, is something I understand. But your motives aren’t clear at all. I don’t see you just going along with it. You strike me as more substantial than that. If I’m right, then it makes me nervous.”
His suspicions startled her. Not that he didn’t have reasons to doubt what had gone on was some sort of plot—it was—but after his speculation that she’d called the reporters, she knew he saw her as capable of all sorts of duplicity. She reminded herself that he didn’t know her, but then, at that moment, she wasn’t certain she knew herself.
After all, she’d done this, gotten him to marry her. What else was she capable of? Where was the bottom? Where would she draw a line? A week ago she’d have been insulted if anyone had suggested she’d do exactly what she did.
She picked up her phone and tossed it over in his direction. It lay on the bed between them. “You still think I’m spreading the word about our marriage, trying to get publicity. I didn’t call the reporters or anyone else. So check my calls and see if I’m lying to you. I haven’t made any. When you were out I could’ve called someone, but I didn’t. And let me tell you something about me: if I intended to talk to the press, especially if I had conned you into marrying me so I could sell them my story, I would have arranged to meet them somewhere else.
I would’ve slipped out early, or while you were in the shower, counted their money, and talked privately, not set up an ambush. And once I had done what I set out to do, you’d come back to an empty room, because I’d have what I want and I’d have no reason to put up with your shit. But if you take a look around you’ll see that I’m right here, in our hotel suite, with my ass sitting on our marriage bed.”
He sighed. “Okay, so someone else told them.”
“Or maybe they have someone who searches on the names from the chapels every morning and yours sent up a flag. Or maybe someone who has it in for you called them.”
He nodded as he considered those options. “I guess it doesn’t matter, as it’s done. If we are going to have any peace, we do need to get out of here.” Coming to that conclusion seemed to reassure him. “I still have business in town, but I’ll get us rooms in another hotel.”
“Rooms?”
“I’ll get a two bedroom suite. I’d like you to hang around while we work out whatever we do next.” The smile he gave her was uncertain. “How’s that sound?”
“Fine with me. I suppose separate bedrooms was advice from your lawyer.”
“He said I’d need your help. I do.”
“And what about what I need?”
“Can we just address one crisis at a time? Please?”
“No, I’m afraid we can’t. Not unless we address mine and put yours on hold.”
“What do you need?”
“In case you’ve forgotten, I have a job. And before I go to work I need to see someone.”
He looked alarmed. “Who?”
His concerned expression made her smile. Not that she enjoyed seeing him alarmed, but she could tell that she was seeing the real person behind the facade of the billionaire businessman—and despite everything, she found him delightfully human. “Not the reporter,” she assured him. “I didn’t call her, and if she’s hanging around, I won’t talk to her. I promised my sister I’d go see her today. We have some important family business to talk about and I made that promise before I ever met you.”
She watched him digest the idea and wondered if it was just dawning on him that she might have family, or a job, for that matter.
“I see.”
“What the hell does that mean? I see. Are you saying you’re okay with me getting back to my life, or are you going to hold me against my will?”
“No, that’s fine.” He gave her a confused look. “Go ahead. I’m sorry for being jumpy. I like things organized, and this is about the most disorganized mess I could imagine.”
“Then I’ll need to get going.”
“I’ll leave a note for you at the desk telling you where I’ll be.”
Her heart went out to him. More than anything, she wanted to tell him everything. To tell the entire story of her involvement. Now that she knew the truth, that this wasn’t just some prank like she’d been told, it felt like she owed it to him.
But she owed Barbara a lot more, and telling the truth would screw that up, And, as James said, it was important to address one crisis at a time. She was doing the be
st she could.
“I need to go see my sister.” She picked up her handbag and went out the door. She sensed that he was watching and she thought that maybe there was something she could say on her way out the door that might ease the tension. Maybe there were a lot of things she could’ve said, should’ve said, that might make things better. She wanted things to calm down.
She had no idea how this would play out, but she knew she hated the wall she felt between them. She understood that what she really wanted, if she could manage it, was a chance to find out what James was really like. She’d like to let him get to know her. She felt a magic that ran from him to her, an electricity that somehow was staying alive despite everything. If they could just get through this.
With all the crap that was going on, all the shit that was flying around them, and the fact that her secret would probably come out sooner or later, she had no clue how that could possibly happen. Once he knew the truth, James would hate her. It really wasn’t any more complicated than that. Doing what she’d been asked was a fix for one important thing, but just might be stabbing a knife through her heart.
She pulled herself together and pushed the button for the elevator. If the man was holding up his side of the bargain, she had some things to do. Important things. Her love life, whatever she could make of the relationship with James, would just have to wait.
CHAPTER FIVE
She stepped out of the elevator into the ornate lobby and walked straight to the front desk. A woman in a business suit stood behind the desk marked Concierge.
When the woman looked up, Deja smiled. “Do you have anything for Ms. Fontaine in 1215? I was expecting an envelope.” Her heart pounded as the woman turned to look.
It had to be there. It better be there.
Then the woman had an envelope in her hand and a smile on her face. “Yes, I certainly do.” She slid it across the desk. “Here you are.”
Deja felt a tremble of relief as she thanked the woman. Looking at the envelope, conflicting emotions tore at her. Part of her had hoped it wouldn’t be there. If Alan had screwed her, then all bets were off. She could self-righteously go back upstairs and tell James, face the music, and blow away this cloud hanging over her head.
But if it hadn’t been there…she calmed herself. It was there. She’d done what she’d done to get this. She took the envelope and walked over to a large sitting area. Settling herself on a couch, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She still felt tense, but the tremble eased. No one was near her or paying the least attention to her. It occurred to her that James might hire a private detective to follow her, or check her out for something he could use against her.
What was supposed to be a rather simple game was turning into a serious business with a lot more at stake than she’d been told. Of course that explained why the money was so good—too good to be true.
She opened the envelope and saw the green bills. Without removing them, she flipped through them, counting twenty beautiful fifty dollar bills—one thousand dollars, exactly as promised. The envelope also held a piece of paper and she pulled it out.
The handwritten note had a telephone number and a name. She knew what it was and her heart skipped a beat. James was almost right. The name was that of a tabloid reporter who loved scandals, of trashing well-known people. Alan expected her to call this man, but that wasn’t part of the deal and the idea turned her stomach.
She wadded up the note and stuffed it in a garbage can beside the couch, then put the envelope with the money in her purse. She sat thinking for a moment, steeling herself for what had to happen next.
She needed to go. Barbara was expecting her, and if James came downstairs and found her sitting there when she’d told him she had to leave, she didn’t have any reasonable explanation for her actions. Even if she managed to ad lib something, he was already too suspicious of her. And rightly so.
So she stood, brushed the wrinkles out of her skirt, and headed for the door. As she passed through the automatic door, a man in a business suite glanced at her. He smiled and then his gaze ran down her body and over her legs.
Ordinarily that would have made her feel good. The attention would seem flattering, but at the moment, it just annoyed her. She thought of telling him, sternly, that she was a married woman.
The idea that she was married, really, actually married, seemed odd and somewhat sad. Marriage was supposed to be a happy thing, wasn’t it? She didn’t really know what she was, but now she had enough money to move her plan along one more step.
* * * *
Deja was relieved to see Barbara looking remarkably well, bright-eyed. It took a practiced eye to notice the weariness that subtly marked her face, made her smile just a little off. But then Barb always amazed her. How could the woman battle cancer for three years, weather the ups and downs that the illness and the treatment put her through, and still manage to flash her little sister that same cheerful and welcoming smile?
Whenever Deja came to see her, Barb made it seem that she was pausing a busy life to make time for her little sister. No one would ever know that she was dying and that Deja was helping her make one last attempt to thwart fate.
You had to know her, know of her amazing strength before you’d see how frail she’d gotten. You had to have grown up with her to be aware of the way pain put a slight hesitation in her movements. You had to know the woman who sat upright, impeccably dressed, to appreciate that she was fading away.
Deja shook her head. “Looking at you, sometimes it’s hard to believe you’re really sick.”
Barbara patted her hand. “I’m not sick, little sister. Remember all those doctor shows we watched when we were kids? I got hooked. I like being around them, so I let them think I’m sick. So stop looking so worried.”
“Any news on the new treatment? Has the doctor found out anything?”
Barbara laughed. “What treatment? Oh, you mean the one that seems to work, the one that is still experimental so my insurance company won’t pay a dime for it?
There’s a chance it might be reclassified soon, but I called the insurance company and apparently that won’t matter anymore. I’ve managed to max out the payments they’ll authorize for my condition trying all the tried and true remedies. They even rejected a request to pay for the tests to see if it would help me half as much as the good doctor wants to believe.”
“I know. I was just up in the business office.”
“Begging for crumbs for me again.”
“Reminding them that without the treatment you’ll die. But that doesn’t affect their bottom line.”
“Of course I’ll die without it. I’ll die even if I get it, just later on. We all die, Deja. The trick is to die well, isn’t it? Let them run their business without making them feel like it’s their fault. I’ve been lucky and I’m still surrounded by luck and love, if not good health. I have my two lovely children and my darling Fred.”
“How’s Fred doing?”
“As well as can be expected, working at his two shitty jobs. He’s more or less keeping up on the bills.”
“He couldn’t do any more than he’s doing.”
She stroked Deja’s cheek lovingly. “And I have you—you’ve done so much to help me and my family. I couldn’t have had the treatments I’ve gotten if you hadn’t been helping pay for the deductibles that are eating up every penny we earn. It hurts me that you’ve sacrificed so much, quitting school and working so hard. What you’ve done for us has helped me keep my family together. Obviously, I’ve been blessed.”
“And now you are giving up?”
She smiled. “Not giving up, just accepting that I’ve run out of medical options. Railing against the system might be fun, but it won’t help. I have some time left and I intend to spend it with the people I love, and stop running up medical bills. That way I can enjoy myself and I can have some hope the family finances will recover once I’m gone.
The poor children have grown up making do with so little.
I’m reminded of the tales our grandparents told of growing up in the Great Depression, except that our grandparents weren’t surrounded by friends and classmates who had plenty.” She bit her lip. “I wanted so much to be the kind of parent who got her children the best books and nice clothes…not indulging them, but providing the best of what they really needed.”
“And you’ve done that.”
“Until three years ago. The best laid plans…”
Deja held her sister’s hand, wanting to give her hope. But she couldn’t say anything definite. Not yet. Not until she had the money she’d been promised, and before that could happen she had to make sure James didn’t divorce her, or annul the marriage. But she could hint.
“If we can get the money for the surgery—”
“We don’t even know if it will be right for me. Without the tests the doctor is just hoping I’ll be a candidate.”
“When I was in the office I found out that the doctor is certain enough that she talked to the people at UCLA who came up with the treatment. They agreed to underwrite all but a thousand dollars of the costs of the tests. They’ll do the lab work under a grant.”
Barbara shook her head. “As if we had a thousand dollars.”
“I just gave it to them. You’ll start the tests tomorrow.”
“Where did you get that kind of money?” Her voice was sharp.
“I did a favor for someone. They felt it was worth a thousand dollars.”
“A favor! What kind of favor? Never mind—don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I don’t care. But I do care that you’re wasting your money, Deja. Even if I’m the perfect candidate for this treatment, even if they magically covered most of the costs, we’d still need thousands more for the surgery. What’s the point?”
“Then the point would be getting the money. I’ll get it. Somehow.”
Barb frowned at her. “So you waltzed in the hospital with a thousand dollars?”
“I did.”
“And now you’re broke.”
“Not entirely. I have a few dollars, and I’m going to work from here. I’ll get enough in tips for taxi fare.”