He concentrated on pouring bourbon into his glass. Shock turned her body to ice when she recognized that this wasn’t his first drink of the day.
Her heart began to pound. Brad didn’t drink. He might have one mixed drink at a social function but she’d never seen him drink at home. Nor had he ever done more than sip a glass of wine when they’d had dinner together at a restaurant. Her sense of foreboding intensified.
“Bad news?” he repeated slowly, enunciating each word as though tasting it. He appeared to review her statement carefully before he nodded sagely. “I suppose you could say that,” he agreed. His gaze fixed on her once more.
She unconsciously leaned back in her chair when she saw rage radiating from him. Rachel had never been afraid of Brad, even when he stormed around the office shouting about a subcontractor or supplier not doing their job. He didn’t do it often and she had recognized that he needed to let off some steam before dealing with the problem.
She couldn’t imagine being afraid of him, but she had never seen him like this. She felt alarm at his cold rage, not understanding what had happened to set him off.
She clasped her hands tightly in her lap and asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
He studied his glass and the lone ice cube that appeared to be swimming in a topaz sea. When he raised his head and looked at her again, all expression had been wiped from his face. His gaze was shuttered.
“I suppose that it’s necessary, yes.” He took a sip of his drink and leaned his head on the backrest of his chair. With a mocking motion of toasting her, he said, “You first.”
He made absolutely no sense. Her fear and frustration mounted. “Me? I do not understand you at all, Brad. What do I have to do with whatever’s upset you?”
He mouthed the word upset to himself, shaking his head with dark humor. Brad nodded his head slightly. “What do you have to do with my behavior, you ask? That’s a good one, but I wouldn’t have expected less from you. You are female, after all. I don’t suppose you can help being what you are.
“A daughter of Eve, good ol’ dad would say. A woman lives a lie every day of her life, pretending to be loving and compassionate and kind. Especially kind.” He took another sip of his drink. “You suckered me in, all right. I was the fool for believing you were any different from the rest.” He toasted her once more. “My mistake,” he added. “Won’t happen again.”
“You’re not making any sense,” she said, feeling as though she was in her worst nightmare, unable to comprehend what he was talking about. Daughter of Eve? Good grief. I wonder how long he’s been here drinking himself senseless? The bottle is half-empty. He must have bought it today, which means he’s seriously inebriated by now. She didn’t need to strain her powers of observation to come to that conclusion.
“Of course I’m not making any sense,” he agreed. “I’m just a dumb male, easily buffaloed, ready to believe anything and everything you feed me. All these years I never understood what a seductress you are, how cleverly you played me.”
He leaned forward, his eyes burning. “Tell me, Rachel, did those anonymous notes that you so conveniently used as a reason to leave actually exist, or did you make them up so you could pretend to be afraid to stay? Doesn’t matter, does it, because your scary story worked exactly as you planned. You knew how I would react when you came in to announce you were leaving, didn’t you? You knew that I valued you as an employee and that I didn’t want to lose your expertise. Well, lady, I’ve gotta hand it to you. You suckered me in without a struggle, and, like a typical mark, I never saw it coming.”
Rachel numbly stared at him. His obvious contempt and disgust shattered her heart.
“What is it you think I’ve done?” she finally managed to whisper, tremors shaking her body.
“What I think you’ve done?” he repeated in mock amazement. “All right. I’ll tell you. You set me up, lady. That’s what you did. You created a scenario where you knew I’d do everything I could to keep you from leaving. Maybe you were surprised when I actually offered to marry you. I can see why. Hell, it surprised me. Of course it didn’t take you long to jump at the unexpected windfall, did it?”
Brad leaned back in his chair once more and shook his head wearily. “Well, I’m tired of the game, okay?” He sighed, sounding defeated. Whatever this was had devastated him, she could see that. But what was it?
Brad’s voice dropped. “I don’t know what you wanted from me. If it was money, you could have asked for another raise. If it was the opportunity to make me look like a fool, you’ve managed that as well.”
He swiveled the chair so that she could no longer see his face, but his stinging, painful words continued without letup. “You must have been amused when I wasn’t ready to make our marriage public. I played right into your hands, didn’t I?”
“Did you?” she asked quietly. “What did I hope to accomplish by that, do you suppose?” She hurt so badly that she wondered if her heart had been ripped out of her chest. She much preferred feeling numb, but it was too late. Feeling had returned, much too much feeling for her to handle at the moment.
“I haven’t quite figured out all the details, yet,” he mumbled.
“No. I can see you haven’t.” Rachel stood and walked over to the window a few feet away from him. She stared at the garden as he did. She wondered what he saw, or if he was too filled with rage to see anything but red. “May I ask how you managed to discover this—er—scam of mine? Do you mind telling me?”
He continued to sip on his bourbon and stare out the window. “Not at all. There was no effort involved on my part. All I had to do was overhear some of the office gossip, which can sometimes be amusing…but not always.”
She stared at him in amazement. “Are you telling me that all of this is about the rumors that you and I are having a hot and heavy affair? I’m sorry I didn’t warn you but frankly, Brad, I never expected you to behave this way. If you don’t want people to know we’re married, just tell me to cancel our wedding plans, okay? All of this melodrama is unnecessary.”
The sudden rush of anger felt good to her…empowering. Of all things for him to react to, she would never have guessed acknowledging their marriage would have been so traumatic for him. Just wait until tomorrow when he woke up with the grand-daddy of all hangovers.
He didn’t look at her. He finished his drink and said, “Oh, it’s much, much better than that, Rachel. Not only have you been able to get me to marry you but you’ve also begun sleeping with Rich Harmon without my stumbling onto that fact. I gotta hand it to you, lady. You’re good. Really good.”
This couldn’t be happening, she thought. Brad had gone off the deep end because of a rumor? Because someone had seen them having lunch in the park? She gave her head a quick shake. She knew he had some strong trust issues, but this was too ridiculous to contemplate.
She straightened her spine and asked, “Where would anyone, especially you—who’s with me ninety-eight percent of the time—get an idea like that?”
He dropped his head and began to mutter, as if to himself. “I’ve been so wrapped up in keeping this company going that I haven’t spent much time on my social skills. I bet Harmon knows how to show a woman a good time.”
Another wave of rage must have swept over him because he shoved his chair back and stood, glaring at her. “When were you planning to tell me about him? Or did you think you could continue to keep it a secret from me?”
Disgusted by the whole scene, Rachel crossed her arms. “I have never dated Richard Harmon, much less slept with him. However, Rich and I did have lunch together last Monday…a first, I might add. We decided to eat in the park, which no doubt caused all kinds of speculation among our inquisitive staff.”
Rachel prided herself on having a slow fuse, but the idea that Brad was making such wild accusations about her because she and Rich had been seen together set off the powder keg of her temper.
“I didn’t know that you were in the habit of listening to of
fice gossip. I would have expected you—at the very least—to have asked me about the gossip before believing it and condemning me as a liar and an adulterer!”
Brad sat in his chair looking for all the world like a hanging judge waiting to hear a puny claim of innocence before announcing his guilty verdict.
“Why were you having lunch with Rich Harmon in the first place?”
“I would just like to point out, Your Honor,” she replied sarcastically, “that being seen having lunch with Rich is a far cry from having an affair with him. Not that that seems to matter to you, Oh Righteous One.” She paused. After taking a deep and hopefully calming breath, she added through clenched teeth, “Rich and I had lunch together because we had business to discuss.”
“And this business that was so important couldn’t be discussed in the office?”
“No, Mr. Phillips, it could not!”
He took another drink from his glass before he said, “I’m really curious to hear your explanation about what kind of business discussion you were having that he needed to put his arm around you.”
“His arm!” She stared at him in disbelief until she remembered choking on a piece of ice and Rich slapping her on the back.
Brad expected her to stand there and defend herself against his slimy accusations? To explain to him her innocent actions? Was this what marriage to Brad was going to entail?
Feeling a blessed numbness wash over her, Rachel said, “There is nothing wrong with your office manager and your administrative assistant having lunch together to discuss business matters. Where we choose to have the meeting is not your concern. However, as your wife, I no longer intend to dignify your questions by answering them.” She looked at him with contempt.
“You once told me that you trusted me. Is this your idea of trust? It certainly isn’t mine, and I do not intend to live under a constant veil of suspicion.
“You obviously have me confused with someone else, Mr. Phillips…sir…because I don’t lie, despite what you were taught at your pappy’s knee. I also don’t pretend to have feelings I don’t have. The only so-called secret I’ve kept from you all these years was the information that I’ve been in love with you since soon after I came to work for you. I didn’t consider that a lie then and I don’t now. I consider it self-preservation.” She turned and walked to the door. Before she walked out of the room, Rachel paused and said, “Perhaps I should have remembered my mother’s advice…never waste time arguing with a drunk.” The look she gave him was filled with distaste. “I’ve wasted enough time since I got here. If you’ll excuse me, I have some packing to do.”
The tears didn’t start flowing until she was safely behind the closed—and locked—doors of their bedroom. Correction. His bedroom. She entered the walk-in closet that was hers—he had his own—and pulled her suitcases down from the shelf. She gathered armloads of clothes from the racks and tossed them on the bed. Then she systematically emptied every drawer holding her belongings and quickly folded and packed them.
She found a large shopping bag to hold most of her toiletries. She kept her mind blank of anything but the mechanics of packing. What she had to do was to get out of this house before she broke down completely.
When she’d finished packing, she hauled her three pieces of luggage back through the house and directly to the garage, thankful the two largest bags had wheels on them. What she couldn’t have packed, she would have thrown away. Rachel wanted nothing of hers left in the place.
Once inside the garage, she loaded her car, opened the garage door and carefully backed out.
Thank God I still have the apartment, she thought, following the driveway to the gate, which automatically opened as she approached. That’s when she remembered that she had given notice to vacate the apartment. She had less than two days to decide what to do next.
Maybe she’d put her belongings in storage and fly to California, spend time with her family and evaluate her life and what she wanted to do with it. Thank God for family. They would put up with her moping around the house. They would also deliberately create distractions from her wounded heart.
An unwanted thought appeared. Brad had never known the luxury of a supportive family.
Don’t start feeling sorry for him! she scolded.
If anyone deserved sympathy she did. Her fairy-tale marriage had just exploded in her face. Prince Charming had inexplicably turned into a fire-eating dragon, ready to burn her with his unfounded suspicions and ridiculous accusations. Where did he get off accusing her of cheating on him? Didn’t he have one modicum of trust anywhere in his body? He hadn’t bothered to check out the rumor. No, not Brad Phillips. He’d immediately jumped to the silliest conclusion possible. Oh, yeah, she was going to cheat on him. Right. The fact that they spent a large part of each twenty-four-hour day making love seemed to have escaped his very short memory. When was she supposed to see anyone else?
The man was crazy, pure and simple. She was certainly grateful that she’d found out so soon into their marriage. She’d get over him faster that way.
By the time she reached her apartment, Rachel had worked up a full head of steam, fueled by righteous indignation. Once parked, she dragged her luggage into the elevator and punched the number for her floor. As soon as she reached it, she carried her belongings to her apartment door, unlocked and opened it, before dumping her luggage inside.
After carefully closing and locking the door, she went to the kitchen and put water to boil for tea. From there she went to the bedroom and made up her bed with fresh sheets from her scented linen closet. The place had a closed-up feel to it. For good reason. She hadn’t lived there in weeks.
What a close call she’d had. Her guardian angel must have been watching over her before she’d wasted more time and energy on planning a wedding to a blind, hardheaded misogynist who could quote his rotten father chapter and verse when it served his purpose.
Her tears continued to flow down her face as quickly as she wiped them away. Rachel ignored them.
To think she had believed her love for him would make a difference in his life and the way he looked at things! What had she been thinking?
She must have been crazy.
After making the bed, she returned to the front door, retrieved her luggage and took it to her bedroom.
Good thing tomorrow is Saturday. I can spend the weekend packing the rest of the apartment and getting ready to move.
Her kettle whistled and she went back to the kitchen and poured boiling water over tea. She felt full of energy. What she felt like doing was busting Brad’s chops. He deserved it more than anybody she knew.
Brad lay on the bed Saturday, praying that he would die.
Very soon.
Before his next breath, if possible.
He couldn’t remember ever having been so sick. He’d never been much of a drinker. Age hadn’t improved his tolerance.
He’d been throwing up most of the night. Now he lay in bed with a pillow pulled over his head, trying to block all light from reaching his swollen and aching eyeballs. He hadn’t pulled the drapes closed before going to bed last night and now he was paying for it.
His head pounded so hard he couldn’t think. Hadn’t that been the point of drinking himself senseless yesterday? Or maybe he’d thought it would be a good day to make a complete ass of himself. He should feel proud of himself—he’d done both.
Fragments of yesterday’s debacle with Rachel had drifted through his mind each time he roused during the night. At the time he’d had no way of knowing if he’d actually said some of that stuff or merely thought it. Now he was fairly confident he’d said it.
A sudden memory of Rachel standing before him surfaced and he flinched. She looked furious despite her level tone. What had she been saying to him?
Brad groaned. He wasn’t at all sure he was ready to remember.
He couldn’t recall when last night he’d realized that Rachel wasn’t in bed with him. She must really be mad at him to have gon
e to bed in one of the guest rooms.
Just as well. He didn’t want anyone seeing him like this.
He barely remembered yesterday evening, and the night—except for being so sick—was a total blank. What stood out clearly in his mind was the conversation he’d overheard at the office.
He’d gone to Arthur’s office to get a copy of a report he’d misplaced. When he found the office empty, he decided to leave a note on the desk. He seldom came into this part of the office, and he didn’t recognize the male and female voices talking in the hall. He continued to write the note while he absently tuned into the conversation.
The woman said, “And did you see her out in the park with Rich on Monday? They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. I saw him with his arm around her, holding a drink to her mouth like she was helpless or something.”
The words didn’t register until the man replied, “I wonder what the prim Ms. Wood hopes to gain from keeping Rich’s bed warm these days? You knew she moved in with the boss, didn’t you?”
Brad stiffened, realizing the discussion was about Rachel. Rachel and Rich Harmon. What the hell was that about?
“No!” the woman was saying. “How did you hear that?”
The man laughed. “It’s common knowledge. Why do you think the boss took her with him on his last trip? She must be highly addictive!”
“Well,” the woman replied with a sniff, “All I know is that from the way Rich was pawing her, I’d guess she’s seen the color of his sheets more than once. I could scarcely believe my eyes. Right there in the park where everyone could see them. Talk about brazen behavior.”
Brad couldn’t move. The unknown couple continued down the hallway, unaware that they had just ripped his life apart.
The stupidity of his reaction now galled him. However, at the time he hadn’t doubted what he’d heard. He’d always thought that Rachel was too good for him, had always been afraid he wouldn’t be able to hold her.
He remembered wondering how long Harmon had pursued Rachel. Rich had quite a reputation for being a ladies’ man. Rachel was inexperienced. Harmon must have taken advantage of that.
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