Since no one ever seemed to check up on her, she would have to take full responsibility if she had failed—if anyone even told her she had failed. That might be Hagen’s job, which would make matters awkward, since she was sleeping with him. The old adage about not bringing the job home clearly had some disadvantages—for him, rather than her. Well, his job, his problem. If all else failed, he could always ask Tiggy to wave her magic wand, and hey presto, a good sale.
In the evening, she planned to pack her bags for a few days’ stay with Hagen. The idea half appalled her and half delighted her. Being with him made her empty life into one of completion. She had never imagined he would forgive her for refusing him all those years ago. He had an ego, like most people.
He had been right about his car in the street outside. For her whole life, she’d had the same neighbors. She doubted anyone would be scandalized by his car being left there overnight, but as soon as he moved on, they would be swift with condolences. All over again she would be poor Marigold. Being lucky Marigold suited her much better. She now fit into the definition of shallow.
She wallowed in the thought of having her meals prepared and someone to clean up after her, and she would manage being treated like a spoiled rich girl as long as she could. Sex once or twice a night wasn’t too hard to bear, either. This morning, she had initiated a bout herself. Watching Hagen wash his gorgeous, big body had turned her into a mouth breather, and she had practically tripped herself up in her speed to join him under the shower.
After the second duplex had been furnished with light painted wood to match the creamy-white kitchen, and after green and melon accents had been added, she had raced home and left within fifteen minutes. Hagen was waiting for her in the kitchen. As she walked apprehensively through from the garage, he grabbed her into his arms and kissed her.
“You didn’t bring much luggage,” he said into her hair.
“Mainly underwear. I sort of wear a uniform to work, in case you hadn’t noticed.” She leaned back and stared into his warm blue eyes.
A satisfied smile curved his lips. “I didn’t. I must have been too busy looking at your breasts.”
She placed her hands flat on his chest. “You’re never going to shock me because I know you don’t do that sort of thing to women.”
“Don’t be too sure,” he said in a drawling, superior voice, deliberately staring at her not particularly lush cleavage. Then he flashed his golden Hagen smile. He passed her a glass of champagne. “This is to celebrate your first official night here. Leave your bag. I’ll take it upstairs later. Do you want to eat in the dining room or the morning room?”
“We could try out the new table in the dining room. I saw some chairs today that might be okay in there, too. They have soft brown leather seats and slightly curved legs. I saw them online, so I haven’t checked for comfort.”
“Would you be willing to sell your dining chairs? You have a set of twelve.”
She pursed her mouth, thinking. “They’re antiques and not very comfortable.”
“What about mixing them with the more modern ones? We would have to because you don’t have enough for this house.”
“I’m sorry, Hagen. I can’t. They’re from the original settlers in my mother’s family, the only thing handed down from them. Her cousins didn’t get much, either, but not a lot was left in the end.”
“It was just a thought. I’ll take a couple of the morning room chairs in there for the time being. Imelda left a curry for tonight. I’ll zap it.”
She ate with him and after dinner, she took her clothes into her dressing room while he tidied up in the kitchen. While she was there, she skimmed through the racks, wondering what to wear tomorrow night. At least four of Hagen’s gowns would qualify as formal. She had her heart set on one. She didn’t know how she could have missed seeing it before. The only other time she had been in this room, she had noted the two black formal gowns that would look very smart and the white that wouldn’t do a lot for her coloring. The previously unseen yellow would warm her almost blue white skin. And she craved that gown with every little craving gene she had in her body. But would an event coordinator wear a heavy lace gown that everyone would know must have cost a small fortune?
She had no idea.
* * * *
While she showered before changing the next night, Hagen refreshed his shave. “What are you wearing tonight?” he asked, twisting his mouth for a razor stroke along his chin. She loved the way that even the hair on the back of his hands gleamed golden.
“One of your black gowns. That would be more in keeping if I need to stay in the background.” She stepped out of the shower, grabbing for the towel. Water dripped from her head.
He eyed her. “What gave you the idea you need to stay in the background? You’re my partner for the night.”
“I’m representing the firm.”
He nodded, evading her gaze in the mirror. “Then, black is a wise choice. We’re a flamboyant newly rich family. We ought to be modest about our wealth. Anything less than black would be flashy.”
“I, however, am not an Allbrook.” Raising her chin, she shot him a challenging glance. “If I want to wear, oh hell, a bright yellow dress, I can.”
He stared at his own face in the mirror and wiped the soap from his chin. “I’ll stick to black and white.”
She wrapped her wet hair in a towel. “Well, should I wear the yellow or not?”
“I bought it for you to wear but if you don’t like my taste, I’ll return it.”
“You bought it?”
He shrugged, half smiling. “Not personally. I described your coloring and the shop’s stylist chose it for you.”
She moved across the warmed marble tiles to reach his side. “Thank you,” she said, her voice husky. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never owned anything as beautiful.”
He turned, glanced into her eyes, and cupped one hand beneath her chin so that he could place a careful kiss on her lips. “That’s enough of that. We need to arrive there early. I can’t have you distracting me.” With a wide smile, he left the bathroom to her.
* * * *
Hagen finished dressing in his black suit and knotted his black tie, wondering if he had been out of line buying Marigold’s gown. More than likely, she would prefer to choose one herself, but then she would insist on paying. He knew her wage as well as he knew his own, and the two didn’t compare. Although she would have looked equally stunning in one of the blacks, he had the idea she ought to stand out from the crowd. If she didn’t want to, she’d had the choice.
As he was leaving the bedroom to wait downstairs, she came out of the bathroom, wearing his toweling robe. He made a mental note to buy one for her, too, and he stood breathing in her glamour. “You look good.”
“I’m wearing lots of makeup.”
“Maybe, but you’re a beautiful woman.”
She smiled. “Let’s hope I don’t let you down.”
“You couldn’t.” In the artificial light, her eyes looked like molten gold framed in ebony, mysterious and exciting. Her skin had a pearly sheen. She had straightened her hair and a waterfall of red-gold hung to her shoulders. He had to glance away for a moment to take back control of his feelings for her. In his eyes, no one could be more beautiful or more desirable, but overwhelming her with his needs at this stage would be unwise. First, he wanted to hear she liked more about him than the way he could urge a response to his desire. “I’ll wait for you in the living room.”
She had always appealed to him physically because of her beautiful toned body, but after he’d gotten to know her, and realized she wasn’t a smart arse, he appreciated that she stood out from the crowd because no one ever intimidated her. She had a rare confidence in herself, a maturity that other girls lacked, an independence that he also admired. He should never have let her leave him without a word. He had allowed her to dum
p him because of his own ego, his refusal to chase her.
If he had tried, despite living in the university college and not at home, he could have had regular news of her from his sisters, with whom he connected in passing. While they were studying, the twins had lived together in one of Far’s rentals not too distant for him to visit from time to time. Instead, he had thrown himself into the life of an eligible single—drinking too much, concentrating too little on his studies, and generally being irresponsible. He’d never had a steady girlfriend until Mercia, who hadn’t let herself be shaken off. And so he eventually married her, hoping for a marriage like the one his parents had, a union of energetic people with similar goals.
Deciding not to pour a pre-dinner drink, he wandered restlessly around the house, from the pristine kitchen, through the half-renovated dining room, and into the sitting room. He gazed through the French doors at the garden, nothing on his mind but his mistakes. With the chance to begin again, he hoped he wouldn’t make another.
As the grandfather clock in the hall chimed the quarter hour, the creak in the staircase warned him Marigold was ready. He turned and realized that he had chosen exactly the right stylist for her. The heavy lace gown covered her from the neck to the calves and the elbows, and clung to her every feminine curve. She had done a Jessica Rabbit style with her hair, one side tucked behind her ear and the other seductively clinging to her cheek. She turned for his inspection. The back dipped low and showed the pristine white of her skin that, against the gold of the gown, looked delicate and somehow pure.
“Very nice.” He tried to sound impartial but she was smart enough to read his dazed expression.
“Thank you. It may be gauche to say this, but this is my very first grown-up gown and the very first time in my life I have felt beautiful.”
“It’s not, however, the very first time you have looked beautiful. You always do.” He shrugged, awkward in his praise.
“You look very handsome yourself, but then you always do. Always have.”
He noted she wore her pearl earrings, and he approved the simplicity. “We chose our parents wisely.”
“Is this bag suitable?” She held a quilted clutch in black to match her shoes.
“I don’t know why women have to have bags.”
“Because we don’t have pockets. I need tissues in case I cry and lipstick in case I eat.”
He laughed. “Let’s go. If you don’t eat, the venue will answer to me.”
“Tough guy.” She hitched a hand under his arm and walked beside him to his car.
When they arrived at the venue, they weren’t the first on the red carpet, which gave him an opportunity to introduce her to the lingering businessmen he knew by name, but first he pulled her up in front of his parents in the foyer.
His mother took her hands and kissed her on the cheek. “You look very intelligent,” his mother said to Marigold. “I’ve been told we are not supposed to tell women they look beautiful because we’re affirming that looks are all that count.”
Marigold stopped a sudden spurt of laughter. “The smart color of this dress wasn’t even my idea. Hagen found a stylist.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug.
“Hagen?” His mother tilted her eyebrows, her face expressing overdone shock.
He found he needed to glance at his shoes. “She hasn’t been in the workforce long enough to have an outfit for every occasion. She ought to get a modicum of use out of that one.” He kept his voice and his face cool.
“They don’t wear those outstanding dresses as often as you might imagine,” his father said, seriously. “But, Marigold.” He turned to her. “You look very beautiful.” He clasped her shoulders and drew her to him in a bear hug.
Marigold leaned back and stared directly into his eyes. “Thanks, Alex. And to be PC, so do you. Demi looks intelligent.”
His mother preened, but she always looked smart. They separated, his parents introducing moguls to financiers and vice versa while Hagen concentrated on moving Marigold around the room for maximum exposure to the people he knew.
He spotted Calli and Kell near the entrance, and indicated to Marigold that they would move in that direction. In the middle of the crowd, he got sidelined. Scarlett Haines reached across Marigold and grabbed his arm, leaning forward to press her cheek to his. Apparently, she didn’t intend to waste her lipstick so early in the night, and for that he was grateful, but she was effectively standing in front of Marigold and blocking her. “Hagen, darling, meet Mike McManus, my dashing escort for the night.”
Hagen turned slightly to the right so that he could use his right arm to grab Marigold’s nearest arm from behind. Somehow, he encouraged her to move behind him to his right side. “Delighted,” he said to Mike and shaking the hand of a chap in his fifties who stood a head shorter than him.
“His delightful wife thought she could trust him to me tonight.” Scarlett gave Hagen the sort of look that said she was warning the other man that he was nothing but a handy date and by no means a person with whom she would pursue an illicit relationship.
“Marigold, you know Scarlett, and Mike is one of our investors.” Hagen read that on Mike’s name badge.
Marigold offered her hand to Mike and a smile to Scarlett. “How nice to be with a man whose wife trusts him,” she said politely. “I don’t know how rare that is, but it’s nice to hear all the same.”
Trust Marigold not to say anything conventional. Hagen grinned at her.
“Good evening, Marigold. Marigold works in Hagen’s office,” Scarlett said to Mike. “She does all sorts of marvelous things with furniture. And yes, plenty of trusting wives have found out too late about an erring husband playing around and not necessarily with strangers. Sometimes they play around with the wives of best friends.”
Hagen’s face froze with horror. “Enjoy the dinner.” He tried a blank smile. With whatever expression he finally managed, he placed a guiding hand on the back of Marigold’s waist and moved her on.
Scarlett’s indiscretion would be dealt with later.
Chapter 11
After being introduced to too many people whose names began to interchange, Marigold was finally ushered into the main ballroom of the convention center. Against the black background, the pristine white-clothed round tables gleamed in the dim lighting. Fortunately, enough space had been left between the seats for invitees to push through to their designated tables.
Hagen’s was in front and to the right of the shoulder-height podium. Following Calli and Kell, Marigold stopped at her place name. The others moved farther along, past the table that would seat Demi and Alex, the governor of the state and his wife, and various other dignitaries, and to the table on the left.
“Everyone at our table is either a major investor or a prospective one,” Hagen said into her ear. “Don’t get drunk and don’t sit on anyone’s lap.”
“I’ll do my best, though a couple of the bellies over there would make the last fairly difficult.”
However, she discovered she wouldn’t be seated beside Hagen but almost directly opposite. Two strangers, who would prefer to have the ear of someone influential would have her attention instead. Anyone married to Hagen would be stuck with this sort of placement forever. Lucky her, that she found a plus in never being his wife.
She made sure of memorizing all the names written on the place cards, and saw that Scarlett Haines would also be at Hagen’s table, though not next to him either. As everyone seated his or herself, she saw his dinner partners for the night were older, respectable looking women who wouldn’t cause Marigold to turn green with jealousy. Unfortunately, Scarlett did. Scarlett effortlessly wore a silver gown with a sequined bodice. She looked like an expensive trophy, in the same way Mercia always had, the perfect corporate wife.
Then Alex Allbrook appeared on the podium and said a few words in his calm way about AA & Co. When he sat again, the me
als began to stream out of the kitchens. She liked the man either side of her, but the problem with big dinners was that people couldn’t hear anyone farther away. Before the main course arrived, Hagen also spoke to the gathered guests. She had never been so nervous in her entire life, though she knew he was a good speaker. He’d had plenty of practice at school, and likely at the university too.
Thomas on her left whispered, “You must be very proud of your boss.”
“Sure am,” she whispered back. “This is the best job I’ve ever had.”
After the main course, people began to move around the room to network. Hagen left to speak to his father. She had no networking to do, but remaining seated clearly obligated Thomas to remain, since Bertrand on the other side had left. She wondered if she ought to try a conversation with Scarlett, who apparently had connections useful to Hagen. Plus, her comment about husbands playing around had been rather pointed, and had clearly annoyed Hagen.
She stood, but Scarlett had disappeared. At that moment, Calli touched her shoulder, smiling.
“That gown,” she said in a reverent voice. “Gold. Good as gold, Marigold. You rock that color.”
“I never would have thought of wearing it. I keep to safe colors as you know, but the moment I saw it, I fell in love. If I spend the rest of my life paying Hagen back for this gown, that wouldn’t be too long.”
“I’ve never thought of my brother as a fashionista.” Calli laughed. “He has always made it quite clear that he is not interested in colors or styles. But if he expects you to pay him back, I’ll certainly have something to say. You can’t buy something for someone and then charge them.” After her supportive words, Calli tucked her hand under Marigold’s arm. “It’s noisy in here with all the men gossiping. Come to the loo, and we can gossip in the queue.”
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