Having Fun with Mr. Wrong

by Celia T. Franklin

  But there was nothing else in the world Guido was interested in talking about. He lived, breathed, and drank thoughts of Carmala, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Yeah, she was an obsession, but it was his obsession to have and he wouldn’t give it up. No matter what.

  ****

  Jon Barlo stared at his models doing the practice run for fall fashion week. Everything fell into place; it’d be another fantastic season. Life was out of kilter without Carmala Rosa in his life. She was such a doll, so sweet and innocent. He wished he could somehow, some way, make it all up to her. Poor Carmie. She had to think he was an awful person. Still, he hoped that one day she’d talk to him again. They had some fun times ahead, he just knew it. If all went well, she and her little posse wouldn’t be able to resist the plan he had in mind.

  Carmala ought to thank him. He had helped her get away from that onerous boyfriend of hers.

  And poor Guido, what a mess. What the hell did he think he was doing? As hot as he was, Guido was not gay.

  The last model walked down the catwalk.

  “Okay, girls that’s a wrap. We’ll reconvene Monday and do a full walk-through.”

  Jon had a couple of hours to play with. He needed to grab something to eat, pick up his dry cleaning, and get to a show for a client’s one-man act at some obscure theater downtown. Shoot, he had forgotten where it was. Maybe his assistant Millie knew. He glanced around his showroom. It was already deserted. He Googled the play name and located the theatre.

  Jon walked briskly down Fifth in the freezing cold weather. Good thing he had his overcoat. He grabbed a cab—his driver had the night off—and headed downtown.

  He stepped out of the cab and noted the area was unusually crowded. Then he remembered. They were laying the last beam at the WTC site that day.

  Fortunately, his client had his tickets waiting for him at the theater’s will-call so he wouldn’t have to wait in line for them. He’d grab something to eat on the fly.

  “Where you runnin’ to?”

  The familiar voice stopped him in his place. Warily he looked in the direction of the deep-throated sound. It was Guido. Jon hadn’t seen Guido or talked with him since the morning he left Jon’s apartment.

  “Ah, hey, Guido, how are you?” Jon attempted to act casual, but he heard his voice shake.

  “Fine, how’s things with you?” Guido moved closer. Close enough Jon could smell liquor on his breath.

  “Guess today was a big day for you, huh?” Jon’s hair rose on the back of his neck. He feared what Guido would do next.

  “No more small talk. You bastard…I begged you not to say anything.”

  “Guid, I—I don’t know—”

  He moved in closer now, his face right in Jon’s face. Terror crept up Jon’s spine and froze him in place. He had never seen this side of Guido, although he heard plenty about it from Carm.

  “You don’t know shit, do you? What the fuck, Jon? You ruined my life!”

  Jon attempted to pull back, but Guido grabbed him by the arms. “I think it’s about time someone knocked some sense into you—”

  Jon pushed at Guido’s iron grip, to no avail. Great. Guido was going to beat him up. Should he scream?

  “You think I’m a fool to let you get away with it, don’t you?” Guido roughly shook him. Jon’s heart beat so hard against his chest he could hear it in his ears. He tried like hell to move. He turned his face away, but Guido only moved in closer.

  “You might think you’re safe. But remember this, I’ll never forget what you did.”

  And then, miraculously, Guido let him go. He gave Jon one last menacing glare and then smiled, more like a Cheshire cat grin, turned on his heel, and walked the opposite way.

  Jon made his way to the theater and tried to get his banging heart to calm down.

  What did Guido mean by saying he’ll never forget? Was he going to come after him?

  Nah, he wouldn’t. Guido was just hurt. Jon would let some time pass and then reach out to him. Surely, they could put this all behind them, couldn’t they? They were adults, not children.

  ****

  Bill had special plans tonight. It was his and Jane’s first month anniversary, and he planned to take her out for a long, luxurious dinner with some chilled champagne.

  A tap came on his door. He glanced up from his paperwork, and there stood the most amazing woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Her long, sweeping blonde curls surrounded her lovely head. She wore a beautiful two-piece winter-white suit and pink blouse under an opened full-length white mink coat. Her inviting green eyes spoke of love. He appreciated the fact that she wore the fur, his favorite Christmas present to her.

  Bill stood to greet Jane. He encircled her in a warm embrace, greedily kissing her lips, not caring who was still around the office to stare. Let them. They were newlyweds. This was his wife, and by God, he was proud as hell to show her off.

  Jane inched away from him. “You’re going to muss me.” She smiled. “I thought we had early dinner reservations.”

  “We do, my dear. I got these for you.” He grabbed the dozen long-stemmed red roses off his back credenza and presented them to her. “To my beautiful wife. Happy anniversary.”

  Jane accepted the roses and sank her nose deep into them.

  “Shall we, dear?” He grabbed his coat and guided her out of the office, wishing everyone a good weekend on the way out.

  Bill and Jane were into their third course and on their second bottle of champagne. He could tell she’d felt the effects of the champagne by the way her eyes slightly drooped.

  “Honey…”

  He detected a slight slur. That was okay. He’d put his sleeping beauty to bed as soon as they got home. It was Friday, no work tomorrow.

  “I was thinking. We should have a baby—now. I’m so ready, I can feel it in my bones.”

  Bill almost choked on his champagne. He had to be careful to not show his nervousness. He was still working on things. He’d invested the best that money could buy with the doctors. They weren’t there yet.

  “My biological clock is ticking fast. I know it’s only been a month, but…” She sipped her champagne.

  He willed her to keep drinking. Maybe she’d get sleepy and the subject would be closed. At least for tonight.

  The waiter served the main course. Ah, thank God, the conversation was saved by food, providing a convenient pause in a most uncomfortable conversation. Bill dug in, hoping she’d follow suit.

  She didn’t. “My administrative assistant is due this summer, and we talk about the pregnancy all the time. I crave it, Bill. I want so badly to have a baby. Why aren’t we getting pregnant?”

  Was she serious? Even perfectly fertile couples didn’t get pregnant that easily. “It takes time, dear. It will come. We’ve only been married a little over a month, for goodness sakes.”

  “Yes, but we’ve been off birth control for longer than that.”

  His heart dropped. She hadn’t told him that. So he wasn’t the only one with secrets. He wondered how long she’d been off the pill. “We have our whole life ahead of us. You’re in your first year of work. Slow down.”

  “I’m afraid that we won’t get pregnant. We have to, this year. I want my first two babies before I hit thirty. The office has a very fair policy about maternity leave. I’ve already talked to the DA about it. He’s all for it. Said I can work from home and that a pregnant assistant DA might sway juries even more in our favor.” She chuckled at her own little joke.

  Bill didn’t.

  Sweat formed at his brow. Would she notice? She glanced down at her still untouched food, and he used the opportunity to discreetly pat his forehead with the linen napkin.

  Why the hell was Jane in such a rush to have children? He wanted children—really, he did. The doctor gave him some hope that the new medication was strengthening his sperm. With any luck, Jane would get pregnant one day.

  Hell, if they didn’t get pregnant there were alternative choices. No, sh
e wouldn’t accept that. He knew it.

  “What’s wrong, Bill? Don’t you want little ones now?”

  “Sure I do.” Actually, he lied. Even if he was completely fertile and didn’t have his problems, he wasn’t ready right at that moment. The economy was lackluster, and they had spent a lot of money on improvements Jane insisted upon for their co-op. “As I said, we have plenty of time. Not everything has to work according to a specific timeframe.”

  “It’s my body, Bill. I’m the one that has to carry our baby, lose my shape. It should be up to me when we have them.”

  Now she was buzzed and pissed. Crap.

  “Dear, please. Eat your chicken, it looks fabulous.” Compliments always worked, he’d try that. “And you look fabulous. You always will.”

  She gave him a slight smile and cut a piece of her meat.

  “I promise you, we’ll have that first little one soon. Don’t worry. And, yes, of course I want our babies.” He leaned across the table and squeezed her hand.

  Jane sighed with apparent satisfaction. Relieved that he’d placated her, at least for the moment, he allowed himself to relax.

  Now all he had to do was to continue working on his end of things to make a natural conception happen. If it was possible. He’d try with every will in his body to make it so.

  ****

  Where the hell was Izzie? She was at least an hour late. Ever since they started to party and go clubbing, Margo had been slacking off on the nutrition sessions. But Margo still needed her. Every Friday, Izzie arrived with her groceries for the upcoming week, and they prepared meals together. Margo did not want to go to the grocery store. That was Izzie’s job, and she continued to pay her well to do it. She hated food shopping more than she hated cleaning. Margo should be able to rely on her on such a simple task. The doorbell finally rang.

  She opened the door to an empty-handed Izzie. “Izzie, what the hell? You’re over an hour late, and we have to cook.”

  Izzie brushed past her. Margo could smell the alcohol coming through her pores. She really was too much.

  “We’ll go together.” Izzie smirked as she walked ahead of Margo and went into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator door, removed the chilled white wine, poured herself a generous glass, and sipped it deeply. She then snapped open a notepad and scribbled away. “I thought you were over your little fear of the outside. This refrigerator is practically bare.” Hand on hip, she glared at Margo.

  Lord. Sometimes Margo wondered how she put up with Izzie’s bossiness. Regardless, she was a good friend. And she continued to present numerous invites and activities, keeping their social schedule constantly filled. Maybe she should go shopping with her.

  Even though she so didn’t want to. No so much because she was afraid to go out anymore. In fact, she’d shopped for office supplies and pool stuff and gone on sundry other errands this week. She lived a vampire’s life, sleeping in most days because she needed to recuperate from the night before. Besides, it was just as easy for her housekeeper, trainer, or Izzie to pick up what she needed along the way. But she needed to show her appreciation.

  “If you weren’t so good to me, Izzie, I’d complain. Go ahead and make your list of all the tasteless, boring foodstuff I need, and I’ll go along.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  With Izzie, the party never stopped.

  ****

  In the middle of blow-drying her hair, Carmala vaguely heard her home phone ringing. She ran to pick it up and answered out of breath. “Hello?”

  “Hello there to you.”

  Her heart fluttered at the sound of the familiar voice, yet she couldn’t place it. “Who is this?”

  “It’s Michael, Michael Maddox.”

  “Michael?” How did he get her home phone number? She couldn’t remember giving it to him.

  “Listen, I’m in New York. It’s a long story, but I have an emergency. Actually, several emergencies. I’ll be in town a couple of days. I desperately need to meet with you.”

  “What’s happened?” Her heart pounded. Did something go wrong with the business?

  “I can’t get into it with you over the phone. I realize it’s Friday and late, but could you meet me tomorrow night? My treat. How about we have dinner at the Plaza?” He hesitated. “If you already have plans, we could make it for lunch instead. If it’s a late one. I need to sleep in, though. It’s been a rough night.”

  “Uh, no, dinner is fine. What time?”

  “Say seven at the Oak Room.”

  “Sure, I hope everything is all right.”

  “It will be, once I meet you.”

  ****

  For dinner with Michael, Carmala decided to wear a shift dress with heels and her silver jewelry for a change. He waited outside the restaurant, as usual dressed to impress. If he’d been stressed out, he didn’t show it now. He appeared gorgeous in his two-piece black suit with a maroon-collared shirt, unbuttoned just low enough to reveal some pretty sexy chest hair.

  They sat at their table, and Michael asked her if she was in the mood for steak. She agreed, and he ordered the steaks, amazingly remembering her preferences, and a bottle of red wine.

  After the waiter served the wine, he told her his story. “My attorney thinks the court will view the accounting records and see that Anabel has taken the money under false pretenses. Whether or not she’s legally on the account, I think we might be awarded much of it back, and she’ll likely be viewed unfavorably with her divorce demands.”

  “I’m in a state of shock. I knew the relationship was less of a marriage and more of an arrangement. But I had no idea she would do something like this to you.” Carmala drank her wine but didn’t really taste it as her mind teemed with conflicting thoughts.

  The waiter served their meals. Sirloin for Carmala and filet mignon for him, along with sides of broccoli and sweet potatoes.

  “She’s become a pathetic mess. I once admired her class and societal status, all of which has fallen by the wayside with the alcoholism.” Michael picked at his dish and drank deeply from his glass of wine. “Anabel may have gotten away with the cash, but she’s losing her position and status with Palm Beach society. Her drunken and disorderly conduct has landed her in town cop cars on more than one occasion. She may not have been arrested, mostly because they took pity on her, but everyone in town knows she’s a mess. She could sue me for support, sure, but you can’t draw water from a dry well. Between her bilking the company and the polo school lawsuit, I’m not sure there’s much left for her to take anyway.”

  “It’s sad, Michael. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. What can I do to help?”

  “I need to get some quick cash to keep the ship afloat, that’s all. Then I need to address this divorce and get it over with as soon as possible in order to cut my losses.”

  “You sound so clinical about it all. You must be somewhat sad to end a twenty-year marriage.” He sounded like he was negotiating another business deal.

  “The relationship is essentially a business arrangement, especially in recent years. I’ve tolerated her alcoholism all this time. But it got out of control. She refused help. And I, I lost all feelings for her in the process.” He cut a piece of his filet, took a bite, and stared out into space, apparently in deep thought.

  “The first thing you need to do is close every account with her name on it.”

  “I did that yesterday. Tell me something I don’t know, like where I can get a quick hundred thousand.”

  “That, I’ll have to work on,” Carmala said, and then they were silent for a few minutes.

  She couldn’t help but relish, a little bit, that his marriage was over. Especially now that she was single too.

  She had to stop it. This was business. But she had a surprising surge of feelings for this remarkable man. When his entire world appeared to come crashing down on him, he forged forward, poised and head held high, to calculate ways to save his empire.

  She would help him. If it took all day
and night. She believed in him. He was a fighter and would do everything in his power to save Maddox Industries.

  She’d have to scrape around with every possible investor, call in all the favors she had coming to her, and pool money from every source she could find. If she had to, she’d put up some of her own money. But she knew down to every fiber in her being she’d make it happen for him.

  “I would have to say that you’re on, Michael. We’ll tackle this problem together, and you’ll rise above, stronger and happier for it.” Carmala smiled and allowed her mind to fantasize about the prospects of that happiness.

  Maybe she wouldn’t have to settle for Mr. Wrong, after all.

  A word about the author…

  Celia T. Lucente is a retired CPA and banker. Her work experience includes nine years as a public accountant and an internal auditor and seventeen years as a senior loan officer for a national bank.

  She’s currently a full-time writer of contemporary romance and women’s fiction and is now publishing her finished works under the pseudonyms of Celia T. Franklin and Celia T. Rose. She is a PRO member of RWA, and a member of the RWA Contemporary Romance, RWA-WF, RWA Romance Critique Group, and her local chapter of Space Coast Authors as well as Treasurer of the Contemporary Romance Writers of the RWA. She is a participant with several critique groups and CP’s and enjoys working on her craft by helping fellow writers.

  http://havingfunwithmrwrong.com

  Thank you for purchasing

  this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.