Evie merely nodded, but he saw the confused look that crossed Gwen’s face. Good. Let her wonder.
He retrieved his briefcase even though there was no work in it and retreated to his office even though he had absolutely nothing to do in there.
Dinner was a quiet, uncomfortable affair. As far as bad dinners went, it was almost as bad as the first one she’d sat through with Evie and Will—minus the BlackBerry and Evie’s rough table manners. At least that first night, Will had a reason to be quiet and uncommunicative.
Something was bothering Will and she didn’t have a clue as to what. Everything had been fine—better than fine—when he left for work that morning. Evie came to her wondering what was wrong, and the best she’d been able to come up with was a possible “bad day at the office.” Evie wasn’t convinced. Will stayed locked in his office until Evie finally pulled him out for dinner. Since then, he’d said approximately ten words to Gwen and only when she asked a question to him directly. His answers were terse at best and monosyllabic at worst. Will did do better with Evie’s attempts at conversation, but it had been so strained, Evie had lapsed into complete silence ten minutes ago.
Time to practice small talk. “I spoke with Mr. Heatherton today.”
Evie pushed her peas around on her plate. Will merely grunted. Okay, this was going to be harder than she thought.
“He wanted a progress report on Evie. I told him he would be very pleased with all she’s accomplished. Not only with me, but with her other tutors as well. Her French is really improving.”
That earned her a weak smile from Evie. Will still said nothing. Evie, good student that she was, picked up the conversational ball.
“I like French. I’m still struggling with geometry, though.”
Will cleared his throat. “I know you’re working hard, Evie. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
Goody. Twelve whole words. It was a start.
“Mr. Heatherton would like to join us for dinner on Wednesday. I’ve already informed Mrs. Gray.” With a wink at Evie, she added, “I didn’t think we had much of a choice.”
“Marcus is always welcome here,” Will snapped.
Gwen choked. “Of course he is, Will. I wasn’t implying otherwise.”
Evie tried again. God love the girl, she really had learned well. “I’m happy Uncle Marcus will be here. I owe him an apology from last time. I hope he’ll be impressed.”
Gwen paused to give Will a chance to respond, but as the silence stretched, she gave up. “I’m sure he will be, Evie.”
So that topic was exhausted. Great. Gwen searched for another. “I made you an appointment for Friday afternoon to get your hair done. Patrick wants to do an updo with sparkles to go with your dress for the Ball.”
Finally something managed to spark Evie’s enthusiasm. “I can’t believe it’s almost here. Do you think I’m ready, Gwen? I mean, we’ve done a lot, but the mingling thing…”
“Don’t panic. Just remember to be yourself and you’ll do fine. You’re as ready as I can make you, honey. You’re going to be the belle of the ball. I promise.” She reached across the table to squeeze Evie’s hand in support.
“You’re right, Gwen.” Will spoke sharply, startling them both. Evie dropped her fork in surprise. “Evie is ready for the Med Ball, and I can’t think of anything else you need to teach her.” Something ugly tinged Will’s words, making Gwen’s stomach tie itself in a knot. “You’ve certainly done your job and then some. Therefore, I don’t think your ‘services’—” he practically sneered the word at her “—are required further. I know you’re anxious to get back to your regular life and business, so we won’t keep you here any longer.”
His words hit her like a slap across the face. She opened her mouth, but no words would come out.
“Will!” Evie gasped, her eyes round in shock.
“Wh-wh-what?” she finally managed to stutter.
“Oh, don’t worry, Gwen. You’ve done an excellent job with Evie, and I’m sure she won’t mind being a walking recommendation for your business. I’m afraid, though, you won’t be using my sister or riding my company’s reputation in order to serve yourself any longer. Go write Tish her thank-you note.”
Oh God. Oh God. No! Adrenaline surged through her veins, but she felt paralyzed as the full meaning of Will’s cold words settled.
“It’s over, Gwen. All of it. Pack your things and leave.” Will dropped his napkin on the table and stalked out of the room.
Her chest felt tight, and she forced herself to take deep breaths. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, and she closed them, but the image of Will’s angry face still loomed in her mind’s eye.
“Gwen, no. You don’t have to leave. Please don’t leave.”
She opened her eyes to see fat tears rolling down Evie’s cheeks. “It’s okay, honey. Don’t cry.” If only she could follow her own advice. She felt a tear or two of her own escaping.
Will had overheard her conversation with Evie. His remark about Tish and the thank-you note at least gave her that much information. She tried to remember exactly what she’d said. A weight settled in her chest, making breathing difficult again. Evie’s protestations were regulated to background noise as she replayed the afternoon on the balcony. She tried to put the worst possible spin on her words and realized exactly where Will was coming from.
Mrs. Gray stuck her head out of the kitchen to investigate and looked around in confusion at the sudden change in the dining room. She looked first at Will’s empty chair, then wrapped Evie in a matronly hug. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
I feel like I’m dying. She took a deep breath to steady herself and swiped at her cheeks. “Just finishing up my business here. Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Gray. I have to go pack now.”
“No!” Evie shouted.
Gwen stood and shook her head gently at Evie, trying to forestall another outburst.
“I hate him!” Evie ran from the room and down the hall. “Do you hear me, Will Harrison?” she shouted. “I hate you! I hate you!”
The slam of her bedroom door echoed through the apartment like a gunshot.
“I’m sorry to see you leave, Miss Gwen. You’ve been so good for Miss Evie.”
“Thank you. And thank you for all you’ve done for me.”
“My pleasure, Miss Gwen.”
She didn’t have much to pack. A couple of drawers, a few things on hangers, her toiletries. Her laptop slid easily into its bag, and her teaching sets fit back into their cases without a problem. She blessed the monotony of the movements as her brain was churning too much to allow her to concentrate.
The pain in her chest, though, nearly crippled her. Regardless of what Will thought he knew about her ulterior motives for working for him, he’d completely dismissed their fledging relationship like yesterday’s gossip.
That was killing her. She’d either been played by a player who was simply taking advantage of a situation, or Will didn’t care half as much about her as she did about him. Either way, she’d played the fool. Again.
And she’d be paying for it dearly.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dear Miss Behavior,
I was with a group of people from one of my clubs at school and they were talking trash about another girl I know (she’s not in that club, btw). That girl found out about some of the things they said, and now she’s really upset with me. I’ve known this girl since elementary school, and we’re friends. I didn’t mean for her feelings to get hurt. How do I apologize for something like this and get her to forgive me?
Signed, Big Mouth.
Gwen sighed. That’s the million dollar question this week. Wish I could help you, honey, but you’re on your own.
She’d called Sarah Monday night to tell her Letitia could come home now and promptly burst into tears. The rapid change of events left Sarah sputtering in shock, and she’d arrived half an hour later with Letitia in a carrier and vanilla fudge brownie Häagen-Dazs in hand.
&nbs
p; Sarah’s support helped a little, but not enough to soothe the ache that had settled in her chest. Tuesday morning, Letitia’s yowling for her breakfast forced Gwen out from under the duvet with the unwelcome reminder that life goes on.
Throwing herself into her work passed the time but provided little satisfaction. Several possible new clients contacted her, but Will’s hateful words—“you won’t be using my sister or riding my company’s reputation in order to serve yourself any longer”—echoed in her head and stung her pride. These clients had indeed come her way citing her work with Will and Evie—as reported by Tish—as their source.
She was possibly the most popular etiquette consultant in the state at the moment, yet she was completely miserable. She was also well aware that if Tish got wind of many more details, her popularity would go in the toilet faster than she could blink.
By Wednesday afternoon, her depression started to give way to anger. Will jumped to a conclusion without even giving her a chance to explain. She’d been caught so off-guard by his anger, she hadn’t been able to defend herself.
Granted, nothing she said to Evie on the balcony that day hadn’t been true, but she’d been judged and convicted over her seemingly Machiavellian plans without any chance to explain. He’d taken everything out of context. She and Evie had been teasing each other all afternoon. He just came in too late to understand the joke.
Eavesdropping. Something she didn’t realize she needed to explain the evils of to a grown man.
Anyway, how stupid did he think she was? If she had meant her words in the way Will interpreted them, why on earth would she admit that to his sister, of all people?
The anger finally fueled her and she shook off the self-condemnation—if not the self-pity. She wasn’t the only guilty party here. Will’s claim of keeping business and pleasure separate proved itself to be utter garbage. She was mad at him for feeding her that line, and mad at herself for swallowing it.
And she was disgusted with herself for falling in love with him and foolishly believing he might feel the same way about her.
Righteous anger and self-disgust for her foolishness kept her from calling Will and trying to explain. He certainly didn’t know her at all, or else he wouldn’t have believed the worst about her on so little evidence. And she obviously didn’t mean very much to him if he were willing and able to just cut her out of his life without looking back.
So she was stuck in an impasse, unable to bring herself to call Will to explain and risk having him hang up on her, but unable to just move on because she loved him.
Therefore, she was just miserable.
Evie had taken to e-mailing her twice a day, keeping her up-to-date on her French lessons, her geometry struggles, her dress fittings and, most importantly, her budding romance with Peter Asbury. News of Will, however, came rarely, and was always prefaced with some kind of derogatory remark. Evie was still steamed at Will, and if she was treating him in person to the ire he received in her e-mails, life at the Harrison home was chilly indeed. She was doing her best to respond to Evie without dragging her into the middle of the mess with Will.
It wasn’t an easy task, and it only compounded her misery.
Letitia stalked into her office carrying one of the ears formerly attached to her beautiful bunny slippers. She dropped it at Gwen’s feet and meowed.
“A gift for me?”
Letitia batted the ear with a delicate paw, and meowed again, obviously proud of her kill.
At least it wasn’t a real ear. “Thank you. I’m very proud of you for killing the big bad bunny.” With a purr, the cat landed in her lap and snuggled down in a contented warm ball. Gwen scratched her behind the ears. “Good kitty. At least you still love and appreciate me.”
Oh, God. I’m turning into one of those crazy cat ladies. I should just give in to the cliché and adopt ten feline friends for Letitia to keep me company in my lonely old age. She allowed herself to wallow in the misery and went for more ice cream. Who cares if it’s only ten in the morning? She had nothing better to do than get fat.
With that, she burst into tears. Again.
Will looked over the documents Marcus had faxed to him, and the rock in his stomach gained more weight.
He wasn’t Gwen’s first attempt at sleeping her way to success. Fueled by the gossip swirling around—and Evie’s complaints about Gwen’s departure—Marcus had obviously done a bit of digging into Gwen’s past. And he’d found something: David Seymore, Gwen’s former boss and lover. On the phone, Marcus made it sound like Gwen had been the biggest scandal since Watergate, but in looking over the facts, it didn’t seem to be more than a blip on the city’s radar. If anything, Gwen had been the scapegoat for the gross misbehavior and poor planning of her boss. The size, scope or cause of the scandal didn’t bother him, but the news Gwen had pulled this stunt before made him more than a little ill. Her first attempt had ended in disaster, but that hadn’t stopped her from making the most of the situation when it rose again. She’d almost pulled it off this time—hell, for all intents and purposes, she had pulled it off. Even with the gossip, Gwen seemed to have landed on her feet and gained some nice business publicity for her trouble.
He heard the front door slam. Evie was back from her dinner with Peter’s family. She passed by the living room without acknowledging him and down the hall to her bedroom.
He wasn’t surprised. In addition to having the Harrison temper, it seemed Evie also carried a grudge with ease. She’d quit speaking to him unless absolutely necessary after Gwen’s departure. Now, after three days of silence, Will actually missed Evie’s usual nonstop chatter. Dinners were cold, silent affairs and Evie refused to be in the same room with him at any other time.
Tired of the impasse, he followed her to her room and caught the door before she could slam it in his face.
“How much longer is the silent treatment going to last?”
“Until you quit being a butthead.” Evie flopped dramatically on her bed and turned her back to him.
Okay, that wasn’t much better than the deep freeze. “Gwen was using both of us. Better to end it now.”
Evie flipped over and sat up, eyes blazing. “Don’t say that about her. It’s not true.”
“Trust me, it is. Do you think she’s the first woman who’s tried to ingratiate herself into my life? She won’t be the last, either. You should be taking notes. The users and the gold diggers will be coming out of the woodwork after you soon enough. I’m just sorry I didn’t see it sooner. Before you got too attached.” And before I got attached.
“You’re not only a butthead, you’re a stupid butthead.”
“That’s enough, Evangeline.”
“Don’t ‘Evangeline’ me. You’re not my father.”
He could cheerfully strangle her. “But I am your brother and your guardian and you live under my roof.”
“I should have gone to boarding school,” Evie grumped.
“It’s not too late, you know. I’ll get the brochures from Marcus.”
Evie gasped, then her mouth compressed to a mutinous line. “I hate you!”
“Excellent. It’ll give you something to talk about with your therapist when you’re older.”
“I don’t know why Gwen liked you so much. You’re such a—”
“Butthead. Yes, I know.” How had he managed to get pulled into this debacle of a discussion? Had he actually said the “under my roof” line? God. Teenagers obviously caused brain damage to adults. He took a deep breath and tried to regain control of the situation. “I’m trying to tell you that Gwen—as wonderful as you think she is—was playing us for her own gain. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear she was the source for all of that gossip in Lifestyles.”
“And I’m telling you she wasn’t. Wasn’t using us or providing Tish with information.”
As much as he didn’t like the idea, maybe telling Evie what he’d just learned would help her see the truth. “Evie, this wasn’t the first time she’s done something li
ke this.”
Evie’s eyes narrowed at him. “Do you mean what happened in D.C. with her boss?”
“You know about that?” What had Gwen been teaching his sister?
“Of course I do. It’s not something she’s proud of, but she says it’s important to learn from your mistakes.”
“Mistakes? This wasn’t a ‘mistake,’ Evie. This is a prime example—”
An overdramatic sigh interrupted him. “You know, I heard her tell Sarah how getting involved with you would be a really bad idea. I guess she was right.” With that, she turned her back to him.
Well, that was a waste of my breath. “Marcus will be here in half an hour. Change clothes and put a smile on your face before he gets here.”
Evie merely huffed.
“And I promise you, if you call me a butthead or play that silent game at dinner, you’ll really wish you had gone to boarding school. Here, allow me,” he added, as he slammed her door.
He needed a drink.
Fighting with Evie, as frustrating as it was, at least beat brooding over Gwen. It was even slightly more productive. Gwen made a fool out of him and hurt Evie in the process. He wasn’t sure which crime was worse.
If Tish and her column were to be believed, he’d broken his fair share of hearts. Karma must be trying to even the score. Making him feel like a fool was just a bonus. Fighting with Evie over it had to be part of his penance.
All he could do was hope Evie behaved herself at dinner. He did not want to hash this out in front of Marcus.
With a sigh of disgust over the shambles one small brunette had made of his life, he went to change for dinner.
CHAPTER TWELVE
IN ORDER to quit self-medicating with ice cream before she couldn’t fit in her clothes anymore, Gwen switched to Retail Therapy. With Sarah’s discount, she treated herself to a set of obnoxiously high thread count sheets—the kind she’d grown accustomed to in the last few weeks living at Will’s. Tonight, she’d sleep in luxury.
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