Complications (3 page)

For a second, she looked as if she was about to pour herself another anyway. Instead, her gaze flicked from him to the carafe and back again, before she finally set it down. “Fine. Have it your way.”

Eric signaled for the waitress to take the wine away and bring Ally a glass of water. “This is the second time in as many days that I’ve seen you overindulge.”

“Haven’t I got a pretty good reason?”

“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t be doing it. First it’s an excuse, then it becomes a habit, and by that point, it’s too hard to stop. And I should know, after what I went through trying to get my mother to quit.”

Ally’s expression softened. “You really miss her, don’t you?”

“More than I can say,” he murmured, the mere thought of her sending a familiar sharp, shiny pain to prick and sting him. “She had her faults, and I’ve lost count of all the time I wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled, but… Aside from Nick, she’s the only person in my entire life I’ve ever truly loved.”

“Not Barbara?”

There was a question he wasn’t expecting. It sent a jolt of surprise jetting through him. “Most definitely not Barbara.”

“Then…well, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you marry her?”

He let out a weak laugh. “Maybe I should order some more wine before I answer that.”

“Look, if you don’t want to tell me, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have asked.”

But she had, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Might as well tell her and satisfy her curiosity. “Three years ago, I hired a team of strategists to help me do long-range planning for my senatorial run. They told me if it came out that I was living with another man, there’s no way I would ever get elected. But they also said the public’s more inclined to forgive a man for a few youthful indiscretions if it appears that he’s put them behind him and settled down into domestic life.”

“Enter Barbara.”

He nodded, then took a long sip of his mineral water before continuing. “She and I were old friends from high school. We hadn’t seen each other in years, until we ran into each other at some charity event. I took her to dinner a few times, and we hit it off again. She wasn’t married or seeing anyone, so I…proposed a bargain.”

He’d had a feeling Ally might be shocked, and her slack-jawed expression didn’t disappoint. “You mean you
bought
yourself a wife?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way. It’s not as if I had to bribe or coerce her. She was more than willing.”

“But…Jesus, Eric! Are you telling me you kicked Nick out to marry some woman you hadn’t seen in over a decade, all for the sake of an election that wouldn’t happen for
years
yet?”

Did it really come off as cold-blooded as she made it sound? “Before you get on your high horse, both Nick and Barbara agreed to the arrangement. In fact, Barbara was perfectly happy to let me go on seeing Nick, as long as she got to enjoy all the other perks of being Mrs. Eric Courtland. She never had any call to complain about the way I treated her.”

“Really? Then why did she divorce you?”

“You’d have to ask her. All I know is, I came home one evening and she was gone. The divorce papers were delivered to my office the next day.” Strange, how the memory smarted now, when at the time he’d felt nothing but a vague emptiness. “We never spoke to each other again, except across a courtroom.”

“I’m sorry,” Ally said. “Doesn’t sound like a great way for a marriage to end, even a sham one.” She grabbed her purse and started sliding out of the booth. “I should be getting back. I’ve still got some work to do tonight.”

Their waitress was busy, so Eric took the check up to the bar and paid it, then followed Ally out to the car. Silence crackled in the air for several long city blocks. Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore. “What’re you working on?”

“Some freelance stuff. I’m trying to make the transition from features to hard news, but it’s a bit tricky when you don’t have a steady gig.”

“But Holly said you’d sold a few articles.”

She gave him a look. “Holly needs to keep her mouth shut.” Then, with a sigh, she added, “It’s enough to keep me in peanut butter and shampoo, but it’s not a career. Not yet, anyway.”

Holly’s neighborhood looked fairly safe, but Eric insisted on escorting Ally to the front door. They stood staring at each other while Eric fought the urge to shift from one foot to the other, his palms growing clammy. Despite the serious turn the evening had taken, he realized with a pang that he didn’t want it to end.

“Listen,” he said, “I’m having a small soirée at the penthouse this Saturday. Just a few of my business acquaintances, but it might prove a good opportunity for you to make some valuable contacts, maybe even land an interview or two. I’d be honored if you could attend as my date.”

“I can’t. I already told you, I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Why don’t you leave that to me?”

She shook her head slowly. “Look, Eric, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. Maybe I
want
to.”

“But why? You’ve never paid me this much attention before.”

That much was true. And why not? He hadn’t opened up to anyone like this in years, not since…well, since Nick. It felt good, having someone to confide in again. “In that case, it’s high time I made up for my past neglect.”

She covered her mouth, in an obvious attempt to stifle a giggle. An artless, girlish gesture that Eric found utterly charming. “Something tells me I’ll end up regretting this, but…okay.”

“I’ll send the limo for you at seven-thirty.”

“Don’t be silly. I can take the subway.”

He flashed his widest, most evil grin. Wait till she saw what he had in store for her. “Not in what you’ll be wearing.”

* * *

Ally found out exactly what Eric meant when a uniformed courier arrived at her door on Saturday morning, bearing a huge red-beribboned box from one of the most exclusive women’s boutiques on Fifth Avenue. Inside, nestled in a cotton-candy cloud of pink tissue paper, lay a knee-length Vera Wang cocktail gown, dripping with strands of hand-sewn beads, in a faux-1920s flapper style. At first glance, it appeared to be classic black, but when Ally held it up to the light she saw it was really a deep, dark midnight blue. There was another, smaller box swimming in all the paper, containing a brand-new pair of matching Manolos, shiny, elegant patent leather with four-inch stiletto heels.

Holly stood in the kitchen doorway, watching Ally unpack her unexpected treasure trove. “Looks like Cinderella scored some extra-fancy duds for the ball.”

Ally glanced at her roommate, then back at the dress and shoes still piled in their box on the coffee table. “I can’t accept this. The dress is an original, for God’s sake. It must’ve cost Eric thousands.”

“He can afford it. His wife never left the house wearing anything cheaper than Chanel.”

“Except I’m not his wife.”

Holly nodded at the box. “Still, it’d be a shame if you sent it all back without trying it on first, wouldn’t it?”

So much for willpower. Took Ally a grand total of five seconds to snatch up the dress and shoes and march into the bathroom to see how the outfit looked in the full-length mirror. The silk sheath whispered over her skin like a feather’s kiss, an absolute perfect fit—in fact, almost
too
perfect. It clung to her every curve, leaving no bra strap or panty line to the imagination.

Before she lost her nerve, she took everything off, then slipped the dress back on again. This time it fit like a coat of wet paint, the beads gently swaying with her every move, rustling like leaves in a spring breeze. The shoes were her size too, their height lengthening her petite legs and lifting her ass so it looked like a round, delectable apple. She marveled at Eric’s uncanny talent for guessing her sizes, until she recalled that she was roughly the same height and weight as Barbara, and he must’ve seen the
7
emblazoned on the insides of her ruined pumps when she’d taken them off the other night. Still, she had to hand it to him, both for his daring and his exquisite taste. She’d never worn an outfit that made her look—or feel—so blatantly sexy.

Holly whistled approvingly when Ally came out to show her the ensemble. “Guess you won’t be wearing pantyhose tonight.”

“I can’t go out like this, Hol. I feel like I’m walking around naked!”

“That’s the idea.” Her roommate grinned. “You’ll have every man in the room groveling at your feet within thirty seconds—and probably a few of the women too.”

“Looking like a high-priced hooker’s not going to help me snag any interviews.”

“You don’t look like a hooker. You look fucking
gorgeous
. Why do you think Eric sent you the dress in the first place? Trust me—you show up wearing that, and you won’t have any problem getting people to talk to you.”

Ally smoothed down the front of the dress, shivering as the silk tickled her skin, raising gooseflesh all over. “You really think so?”

“If I’m wrong, I’ll take the couch for the next month.”

As promised, Eric’s limo arrived at the stroke of seven-thirty. Ally slid into the spacious leather-upholstered backseat, unsure whether she should feel more like a fairy princess about to be whisked off to some magical land, or the proverbial lamb waiting for a hammer between the eyes.

Her mouth went dry as Eric opened the penthouse door and ushered her inside—and not just because he looked devastatingly handsome in his tailored Armani tux. When he’d mentioned a soirée the other night, she’d envisioned a small, intimate gathering, but there had to be at least fifty people here, filling the living room and spilling out on the balcony. She gave the room a quick scan and recognized two or three CEOs, a couple of prominent hedge fund managers and several other major players in the financial world.

Crowds didn’t usually put her so ill at ease, but it had been a long time since she’d faced a throng of this caliber. Eric had obviously noticed her anxiety; he tucked her hand around his arm and gave it a warm squeeze. “You okay?”

“I, um, wasn’t expecting anything like this.”

“Why don’t we get you something to drink before we start mingling?”

“Good idea.” She followed him to the bar before realizing it might be best to keep a clear head tonight. “On second thought, I’d better not.”

Eric handed her a tall glass of something fizzy, garnished with a thin slice of lime. “It’s club soda.”

“Thanks.” A couple of sips helped ease her dry-mouth problem, but unfortunately, Eric’s hand on her shoulder wasn’t having the desired calming effect on her nerves.

“You ready?” he prompted gently.

“I guess I’ll have to be.”

“You’ll do fine.” He held out his arm to her again. “C’mon, let’s go work the room.”

They wandered about for the better part of an hour, dropping in on conversations already in progress. Ally couldn’t help admiring Eric’s ability to pick up on any subject and speak about it knowledgably, though it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Nobody achieved what Eric had without being incredibly sharp and focused.

Eric’s enthusiasm proved infectious, and Ally soon felt like her old, considerably more animated self again, laughing and riposting with the best of them. Holly was dead-on about the dress; it did all the work of attracting an audience, leaving Ally free to bowl them over. By the end of the evening, she’d collected half a dozen business cards, along with several leads for new articles.

She was getting ready to call it a night when Eric sidled up to her and said, “There’s someone I want you to meet before you go.” They picked their way through the dispersing crowd over to the balcony, where a tall, slender man with a well-trimmed beard stood peering out at the breathtaking view of the Hudson. “Ally Taylor, I’d like to introduce Martin Atkinson. He’s that MSNBC producer I told you about.”

She shot Eric a pointed glance as he moved off to usher out some of his departing guests. No wonder he’d been so insistent about her coming tonight. Then, pasting on her tried-and-true networking smile, she shook Atkinson’s proffered hand. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you,” she said sincerely. “I’ve been following your work for a while now.”

“Likewise,” Atkinson replied, with a disarmingly lopsided smile.

Ally blinked. “I haven’t had that much work to follow. Not lately, anyway.”

“Didn’t you write that article on the latest developments in green technology in
Mother Jones
a few months ago?”

“Yes,” she admitted, “but I didn’t think anyone had actually
read
it.”

“Oh, I read everything. You never know when something good will pop right out at you. It was an exceptionally well-written piece.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his card. “I’m heading out of town for a few days, but if you’d like to give my office a call next week, maybe we can schedule some time to talk.”

“About what?”

Atkinson laughed, then leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Eric mentioned that you’re between jobs right now.”

“Oh, did he?” Ally spied Eric halfway across the room, and, once his eyes locked on hers, proceeded to look daggers at him. Then, turning back to Atkinson, she added, “If you’re offering to interview me, I’m flattered, but I might as well tell you, I don’t have any on-camera reporting experience.”

“We’re not necessarily looking for that, although I can tell right now you’d be a natural. I think you’d do fairly well starting off as a staff writer, and we’ll see how it goes from there.”

“Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”

“Eric’s never steered me wrong where financial advice is concerned. I doubt he’s off base in this instance either.” He drained his glass and set it down on a nearby table. “I’ll be looking forward to hearing from you.”

She stayed out on the balcony for another half hour, waiting for the rest of Eric’s guests to leave. Once the room emptied out she strolled back inside, poured herself another club soda and took a seat beside Eric on the couch. “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” he asked, reaching up to loosen his tie.

“Eric, you’re such a liar,” she said. “This party wasn’t already planned, was it? You put it together for my benefit.” His sheepish shrug served as her confirmation. “How’d you get all those people to show up at such short notice?”