Read I Know Who Holds Tomorrow Online
Authors: Francis Ray
I Know Who Holds Tomorrow (19 page)
Embarrassed by her earlier attack on him, she finally worked up the courage to look him in the face. He smiled down at her. Her fingertips lightly touched his jaw. “I'm sorry about the slap.”
“Wes's teeth would still be rattling.”
She smiled without thinking. “Meaning yours aren't?”
“I'm made of tougher stuff.” Taking her arm, he led her from the room.
“I'm beginning to see that,” Madison said, feeling an easing of her spirits she hadn't felt since Wes's accident.
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Madison woke up Monday morning determined to get her life back on track. Life went on and, for the time being, her life was tied to Manda's.
It wasn't something that she had planned, but the fact remained, Manda was in her care.
It wasn't something that she had planned, but the fact remained, Manda was in her care.
Dressing, she checked on the sleeping baby then went to the kitchen to fix her breakfast. Manda didn't like to be kept waiting. Madison recalled Wes had been the same way. He wanted immediate results.
Instead of the jagged pain she usually felt, there was only a slight ache overlaying the grief of his death. Taking the box of baby cereal out of the cabinet, Madison went to get Manda's cereal bowl. Yesterday she and Zachary had packed Wes's things. Without Zachary's reassuring presence she wouldn't have been able to even think of going through Wes's possessions. There was too much anger, too much hurt and grief.
Whenever she faltered, Zachary was there. He'd talked fondly of Wes, the times they'd spent together as friends. She realized how deeply he'd cared about Wes. In Zachary's easy way, he made her remember not just the last devastating minutes with Wes, but what she and Wes had meant to each other before they had lost their baby. It was strange, but comforting.
“Wes was wrong. There's no getting around that fact,” Zachary said while they were in the middle of packing Wes's numerous suits into boxes. “But for your own peace of mind and happiness, you have to forgive him and move on by remembering the kind of man he was when you married him. No matter what, don't forget you once loved each other.”
She'd cried and used another of Zachary's handkerchiefs. She and Wes
had
loved each other. Their love just hadn't been strong enough to get them past the loss of their child. Now he was gone. And she had to go on.
had
loved each other. Their love just hadn't been strong enough to get them past the loss of their child. Now he was gone. And she had to go on.
As Zachary had said, holding bitterness in her heart could hurt her far more than Wes's betrayal. Regardless of what he had done, his last thought had been for Manda, not himself. At the time, she had viewed it as selfish, now she had begun to see it for what it was: his last desperate act to ensure his child's welfare.
Today she was taking another step toward reentering life. After Manda was fed, they were going to Premier Atelier, Neiman Marcus's beauty salon, to get her hair done. Hearing Manda on the intercom, Madison hurried back to the bedroom. The day was going to be wonderful.
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An hour later Madison wasn't so sure about the day anymore. Holding Manda securely in her arms, she contemplated her next move. She looked from Manda's car seat in the back of the Mercedes to Manda. Tears sparkled on her lashes. Madison kissed the baby's cheek in reassurance and held her closer. “Don't worry, sweetie. I'm not putting you back there again by yourself.”
“Then what are you going to do, lady?” asked the service-station attendant who had rushed out to help when he'd seen a frantic Madison leap out of the car, then jerk open the back door to take a screaming baby from the car seat. The elderly man scratched his balding head. “You'll get a ticket if she's in the front with you. How arc you going to drive with her?”
“Good question.” Madison's lips brushed against Manda's forehead. They were less than two blocks from her house. Neiman Marcus was thirty minutes away. “I'm sure I'll come up with a good answer.”
L
OUIS FORBES THOUGHT OF himself as shrewd, decisive, and smart. It angered him to think he hadn't thought of every angle before he acted. Staring out the window of his third-floor office Monday morning, he surveyed the buildings and homes where the property values ran in the hundreds of thousands per square foot. He liked what he saw, liked being a part of that, liked knowing people with money knew him and sought his favor. He'd come a long way from the tenements of Boston. He'd done well. He planned to do better.
OUIS FORBES THOUGHT OF himself as shrewd, decisive, and smart. It angered him to think he hadn't thought of every angle before he acted. Staring out the window of his third-floor office Monday morning, he surveyed the buildings and homes where the property values ran in the hundreds of thousands per square foot. He liked what he saw, liked being a part of that, liked knowing people with money knew him and sought his favor. He'd come a long way from the tenements of Boston. He'd done well. He planned to do better.
Whipping the cigar out of his mouth, he returned to his desk. He picked up the sheet of paper on which he'd written the latest offer from the television studio in Chicago. Two million dollars plus a penthouse with a maid, car service, a personal masseuse, and membership to the most exclusive spa in the city.
Louis rocked back in his chair. If he pushed, he bet he could get them to throw in a boat she could keep docked at the marina on Lake Michigan. But why should he push for an ungrateful twit? His teeth clamped, mangling the cigar.
Tossing the ruined cigar in the chrome wastebasket, his anger escalated. Threaten him, would she? After all he had done for her. Laying the paper aside, he picked up the newspaper article on Wes and Madison that had run in the Saturday newspaper. This time he allowed the slightest upward tilt of his mouth.
Helen Bass had proved even more effective than he had imagined. He knew she'd run to Edward Mayes with her story. She and the reporter were lovers, and she often fed him tidbits of information. The story was
well written, but didn't have enough of the sentimental slant he had wanted. Too factual. Mayes had even given statistics on the number of freeway fatalities associated with vehicle stops.
well written, but didn't have enough of the sentimental slant he had wanted. Too factual. Mayes had even given statistics on the number of freeway fatalities associated with vehicle stops.
Louis shuddered. Thank goodness he had emergency car service. Let them risk their butts. Which is exactly what Wes should have done. He'd chosen the wrong time to play the Good Samaritan.
Stupid bastard. His death was senseless. He'd had his life before him. He'd been so pleased with himself. So damn sure that he could get Madison to relocate. He'd messed it all up when he stopped to help some woman with a flat tire.
It was so unlike Wes that Louis wanted to rail at fate for doing this to him. Money lost, in Louis's opinion, was never recouped. He had clients, big clients, but a good agent never rested on his laurels. Why had the fool stopped?
Wes didn't get his hands dirty or do menial labor. He'd been born with a silver spoon in his mouth that had turned to platinum by the time he was eighteen due to his father's car dealerships and shrewd investments in tech stock before it went bust. As far as Louis knewâand he made it his business to knowâWes rented a car with twenty-four-hour emergency maintenance service for that very reason. He didn't like being inconvenienced or to be kept waiting. He wasn't the heroic type or the kind to stop and help a strange woman.
Louis looked at the picture of Madison and Wes. The smiles were there, but he'd been in the business enough to know they'd been having problems. Wes had been out of town a great deal, and when men weren't getting it at home, they got it someplace.
“I wonder ⦔ Perhaps he should do a little investigation on Bridget Taylor, the woman Wes had stopped to help. What if she hadn't been a stranger? The sobering thought took root and sprouted. Leaning over, Louis picked up the telephone.
“Dana, get me ⦠Never mind.” He replaced the phone. He'd take care of this himself.
If his suspicions were right, he'd have the leverage he needed to control Madison. He'd lost a big commission with Wes's death. Louis didn't plan to lose any more money. If he was wrong ⦠His gut churned at the thought of what would happen if Madison found out. She'd fire him
without a moment's thought of how hard he had worked to get her and Wes their big contracts. And it wouldn't stop there.
without a moment's thought of how hard he had worked to get her and Wes their big contracts. And it wouldn't stop there.
Agents were like priests. Their clients told them things they wouldn't dare whisper in the dark. If Madison put the word out that he couldn't be trusted, he'd be ruined. He might very well find himself clientless and back with nothing.
No. He'd have to keep this to himself. The stakes were too high. After all, if you started a brushfire, you better make damn sure you weren't caught in the flames.
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Helen came to work Monday morning with a briskness in her step that hadn't been there Friday. She was feeling good. She even condescended to speak to the receptionist and the do-nothing security guard who would probably faint if anyone said boo. Laughing at her own humor, Helen continued to her office near the back of the TV studio.
Inside, the cheerful mood she had carried with her since she'd finished making love with Edward that morning fizzled. Drab and cramped with a tiny window, the ten-by-twelve space was a far stretch from the plush office Madison had on the second floor where all the big guys rested their fat behinds. But her day was coming.
Jerking out the bottom drawer in her desk, she stored her Kate Spade bag, a real one, not a knockoff like some of her girlfriends'. Helen had never liked having second-best. That's why it angered the hell out of her that Madison Reed had her own show. Maybe now the higher-ups would start paying some attention to her.
Pulling back the chair, she sat behind her desk. Edward had done a great job with the story, covered all the angles, including saying Helen had the exclusive with Madison's agent. That should garner her points at the studio. It still rankled that the piece had to be so sappy, but Edward had convinced her that she had to play her cards close to the chest. Be supportive out in the open, while she waited her chance.
After her career took off, she could help him move into TV. With his looks and body, he'd be dynamite. They'd make Wes and Madison look sick. Yeah, she and Edward could be the sweethearts of America. They could have it all.
Lost in thought, Helen barely had time to register the knock on the
door before it opened. Her mouth opened to tell the idiot they were supposed to wait for the person to say,
Come in
. The words died in her throat when she saw Gordon. He wasn't smiling.
door before it opened. Her mouth opened to tell the idiot they were supposed to wait for the person to say,
Come in
. The words died in her throat when she saw Gordon. He wasn't smiling.
“Good morning, Gordon.”
He closed the door behind him. “I hope you still think that when we're finished talking.”
The big breakfast she'd eaten with such gusto suddenly turned on her. “What's the matter?”
Gordon braced his hands on the cluttered desk and leaned toward her. “I want to talk with you about the piece your friend Mayes did on Madison.”
Helen swallowed her fear. “You came to congratulate him?”
“Hardly.” He straightened to his full height. “I'm only going to say this once. Madison and the baby are off-limits as topics for you or Mayes. We support each other at this station. Not tear people down or create problems for them.”
Helen was up before she thought better of it. “Her temporary custody of that baby is public information. Madison is a public figure. It's news.”
“For some. Not for this station or for those who work here.”
Irate, Helen barely kept herself from kicking the desk. “This can give me more exposure and help ratings for my show.”
“Or end it completely.” His eyes narrowed. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes.” She almost choked on the word.
“Good. I have never liked repeating myself.” He walked to the door. “Have a good day.”
Helen snatched up the Waterford paperweight on her desk. She raised her arm to throw it, but some instinct for self-preservation kicked in. Her fingers uncurled and she dropped the glass oblique onto her desk before sinking into her chair, rage almost choking her.
The entire station treated Madison like a little princess. There probably wasn't a person there who wouldn't jump to her defense, while they barely spoke to Helen. But she didn't need them. And she'd show Gordon he couldn't treat her like a nobody. She'd think of some way to fix him and Madison. She would be more careful this time and keep her name out of it, but they both were going to pay, and pay well.
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Cordon didn't like reprimanding his subordinates, but if he had to, he made sure they knew he didn't want a repeat of the infraction that had caused his displeasure. Particularly if the cause was jealousy. Trying to get ahead in the competitive world of television was one thing; stepping on the back of a colleague or anyone else to get there was inexcusable.
Going back to his office, he took the stairs instead of the elevator. He usually did it to keep himself in shape. Today, he had to admit, he did it for an entirely different reason. He needed to work off some of the pentup energy from sexual frustration, and to prove to himself that he could. Both reasons were tied to Camille Jacobs.
Annoyed with himself
and
Camille, Gordon sat behind his desk and started through the week's schedule. He managed to work only because he had trained himself to multitask. You had to if you wanted to be in management.
and
Camille, Gordon sat behind his desk and started through the week's schedule. He managed to work only because he had trained himself to multitask. You had to if you wanted to be in management.
He'd worked hard for his position and he liked what he did. He didn't intend to let his personal life interfere in any way with his job. He'd always been able to compartmentalize his life. The only time he hadn't was when his wife had been in the last stages of her cancer, and then, after her death while trying to reassure his children.
Gordon glanced at the picture in the polished wooden frame on his desk. Adrian and Adair with a sign between them that said, ALTHOUGH WE'RE AWAY YOU'LL ALWAYS BE IN OUR THOUGHTS. Gordon smiled and hoped they were thinking of him when the idea of having their tongues pierced came up. Shaking his head, he laid Tuesday's schedule aside and picked up Wednesday's. He had it together.
He kept that thought for the next five minutes before admitting to himself that he was trying so hard to convince himself because he hadn't been able to compartmentalize Camille.
No woman had gotten to him the way she had. He admitted she was beautiful, but there was something else that drew him to her. And if he didn't miss his guess, she felt the same way. She might choose to ignore her feelings or run from them, but he planned to do neither. Nor would he let her.
But she did have one valid point. How would Madison feel if she knew they were seeing each other? Although it wasn't a fact yet, he had no doubt it would happen. He and Camille would be an item. It simply
remained to be seen how long Camille could dodge the inevitable.
remained to be seen how long Camille could dodge the inevitable.
The corners of his mouth quirked. It had been years since he had tried to lay siege to a woman's affection. He wondered if he was completely out of practice. He'd soon find out. First, he had to make sure their paths crossed again.
He didn't have to think long to figure out that one avenue was her mother. Smiling, Gordon picked up the phone and called Julia Davis. If she was as smart as he thought, and she approved of him seeing her daughter, which he thought she did, he'd have the information he needed without even asking.
Five and a half minutes later Gordon hung up the phone feeling very satisfied. Camille was in Austin at a training meeting, but she would be back Friday for a black-tie fund-raiser affair for the Mary McCloud Bethune House at the Anatole Hotel.
Dinner and dancing
, he mused as he leaned back in his chair. He'd better brush up on his dance steps. Camille was not getting away from him.
Dinner and dancing
, he mused as he leaned back in his chair. He'd better brush up on his dance steps. Camille was not getting away from him.
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Madison arrived home later in the day with a growing respect for mothers with small children. She'd obtained permission from the service station to leave her car there, then called the car service she'd used in the past for guests on her show. Manda had gone to sleep in her car seat on the way to the salon, but had awakened just as Madison was being combed out. The baby had taken one look at the strange surroundings and people and let it be known she didn't like it. They'd left immediately.
There had been no more tears since, but the threat of them gave Madison some anxious moments. However, once in the house, the tension in the baby's body ebbed. Madison was finally starting to relax herself when she heard the phone ring.
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