Her Perfect Revenge (6 page)

"So why haven't you mentioned—this Christina—before now?"

"Because I…" Why? What was the reason? "I didn't think you'd approve. She's not from your social circle."

William smirked. "I may be a bastard, but I'm not a snob. What does she do?"

"She's a photojournalist at Streetwise Magazine."

"What? A reporter? You're involved with a bloody reporter?" William was outraged as his eyes bulged out in shock.

Oh no; Bill had put his foot in it. He hadn't seen that one coming. Stupid move. Of course, his dad hated reporters or at least the ones that weren't on his payroll. Bill had to do some damage control and do it fast. "She's not a reporter. She just takes pictures of club happenings and musicians and events and… stuff like that." Smooth, Bill, smooth. Don't blow it now. "Streetwise is just a free music newspaper. You know, rock and roll and fashion and… stuff."

Seconds ticked by as father and son stared at each other.

William broke the silence first. "So, you've already asked her to marry you and she's accepted?"

"I love her; she loves me. What else is there?" Bill was starting to feel anxious. Had his father bought it? Watching William sitting there with his arms folded across his chest, Bill couldn't tell.

William watched his son squirm. No. He wasn't buying any of this. His son was lying and he knew it. He hadn't built a billion dollar empire by being an idiot, even if his son seemed to think so. He eyed Bill suspiciously. "You're telling me all of this now, when I've thrown you out. Coincidental, don't you think?"

Bill innocently shrugged his shoulders. "I would have told you today but…" He let the sentence hang in the air.

William stood up and Bill betrayed himself by instinctively taking a step back. Damn it. His father could still get to him. Here he was—thirty years old—and he still felt ten in front of his old man.

William's shrewd eyes didn't miss anything. "I want to meet this Christina. Bring her over for dinner tonight."

Bill had no intention of actually producing the real 'Christina Matteo'. He was just going to create an imaginary 'Christina Matteo' as an excuse until he could think of a better way to change his father's stubborn, bull-headed mind. "I can't," he spouted.

"Why not? Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Christina's out of town for the next couple of weeks; on assignment for the magazine."

"I thought you said it was a local newspaper. What does she have to go out of town for?"

Bill had better get his story together. He was making mistakes and his father was just too sharp not to catch them.

"She's… photographing some band on the road; recording their tour. I think they're called…" Bill's eyes scanned the office. "Paperweight. A new up and coming group. Very hot right now." His dad wouldn't know 'Paperweight' from the 'Stones'.

William stared at Bill. "Well then, I guess I'll meet Christina when she gets back."

"I think you forgot something? You threw me out, remember? So you're not a part of my life anymore. In fact, when I leave here, I'm going straight home to pack my bags."

"Why don't we put all that unpleasantness on hold for awhile? At least, until I've met Christina?"

Bill smiled. It was exactly what he wanted to hear. Two weeks. He had two weeks to come up with something better. And he would. "All right, we'll wait for Christina to come home and I'll introduce you."

And with that, Bill turned and walked out of the office and towards the elevator. Charlotte had already left for the day.

Bill had won round one. He was still in his father's good graces—well not really—but at least his credit cards weren't going to be cancelled and he still had a magnificent multi-million dollar roof over his head. But more importantly, he could still get his hands on some cash—some desperately needed cash. People were depending on him—and he wasn't going to let them down, no matter what he had to say or do.

No matter what.

As Bill walked through the downstairs lobby, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

"It's me. I just came back from seeing the old bastard and he's threatening to cut me off." Bill paused as he listened to the other end. "I know, I know, don't get excited. I'll keep getting you the money somehow. I won't let you down, I promise."

A worried and pensive Bill shut his phone and strode to the exit doors.

* * *

William sat behind his ornate desk and calmly reached for his phone. He dialed.

"Get me everything on a Christina Matteo, a photojournalist at some rag called Streetwise Magazine; and get it to me now," he barked.

He replaced the receiver and stared hard at the closed door through which Bill had exited moments before.

Christina was ensconced in a tiny cubicle in a corner of the Streetwise Magazine office, downloading a series of photographs she’d taken that morning but her mind was not on her task. It had been three days since the accident and Christina had heard nothing from Bill Havenwood's insurance company. She was worried, very worried.

She'd spoken to Stanley Moore, the attorney for the Magazine and he'd confirmed all of her most horrible fears. She was definitely liable for all of the damages on Havenwood's Ferrari and she'd be lucky—damn lucky—if he didn't sue her for personal injury too—or for mental anguish—or for— Christina blocked the rest of Stanley's speech out of her mind. She just didn't want to think about it. In one sunny afternoon, her life had become a Greek tragedy and it was all Havenwood's fault.

That scumbag was just bad luck.

Suddenly Sue, one of the magazine’s editors, put her head over her cubicle wall. "Christina, there's a Mr. Havenwood here to see you," she announced, before disappearing again.

Havenwood??!!

Shocked, Christina's hands started shaking and her breathing increased. Okay, here it was. The moment of truth when she'd find out how much the damages on that maggot's Ferrari were going to be. Or maybe he was here to tell her he was going to sue her for one million dollars in personal damages—or maybe two million—or ten? Oh, why did he have to be here at all? Why couldn't he just let his insurance company contact her?

Forcing her legs to move, she resolutely walked out into the reception area. But as she entered, she stopped dead in her tracks. There—waiting for her was Mr. Havenwood all right—Mr. William Havenwood Sr., Bill's father, impeccably dressed in his Brooks Brothers navy suit and gray ponytail. Christina immediately recognized him from the pictures she'd taken of him outside his house days ago. But what could he want with her?

He came forward and extended his hand. "You're Christina, aren't you?"

"Y… yes." Christina was wary as she shook his hand. She briefly looked over his shoulder to Jenny who was sitting at the reception desk. Jenny shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm so glad to meet you," he smiled at her.

"You are?"

"Of course. My son's told me everything."

"He has?"

"You sound surprised."

"Well I… guess he would tell you." Christina was baffled. Why should William be so interested in the accident? Unless the Ferrari was his? "Look, I'm sorry about what happened…"

William halted her speech. "Say no more, Christina. I know I should have been told right away but I suppose my son wanted to surprise me. And he did, the little devil."

Christina looked again over William's shoulder to Jenny who was completely engrossed in the conversation. Jenny again raised her shoulders in ignorance.

"Mr. Havenwood…"

"William, please." William smiled at her and Christina was thrown off balance. Why was he being so nice to her if she owed him or his son all that money?

"William," Christina smiled back at him. "Why are you here?"

"I want to invite you to the house for dinner, tonight, if you're free."

"Dinner?" Christina squeaked in disbelief.

"Yes, so we can all sit down together and discuss… the situation."

"Dinner?" Christina's voice was getting higher.

"Don't you think that would be the best course of action?"

"Well… I suppose…"

"Can you make it tonight?"

"Well… I…"

"Good." William was clearly in control. He pulled out a business card and started scribbling on the back of it. "Here's the address to my home and we'll say eight?" He handed the card to a perplexed Christina.

"I'm sorry, I don't have a car and…"

"Then I'll send my driver to pick you up; and I'll look forward to tonight." With that, William smiled again at Christina and then acknowledged Jenny briefly with a nod before striding out of the building.

Christina suddenly remembered he didn't know her address so that his driver could pick her up. She ran after him and opened the front door just as William was about to get into his limo.

"Wait." He paused to look at her as his chauffeur held the car door for him. "Mr. Havenwood, you don't know where I live."

William looked at her for a hard second before mysteriously replying. "But I do." He then got into the long black car, as did the chauffeur and drove away.

* * *

Inside the limousine, William grinned to himself. So, his son thought he could outwit him, did he? Think again.

William had had a background check done on Christina Matteo and had learned everything. She had been the other party in Bill's car accident from a few days ago and before then had never met his son. They were strangers to each other and William could tell by her puzzled behavior just now that she had no idea what Bill was up to.

Well, let's see what sonny boy would do tonight with the appearance of his 'so-called' fiancée returning early from her 'so-called' out-of-town assignment. How clever would he be then? And how far was he really prepared to go with his little charade? William planned on finding out.

It was time someone taught that demon spawn of his a lesson.

* * *

Christina slowly came back into the office.

"What was that all about?" Jenny asked a shell-shocked Christina.

"I don't know but I feel like I've been bull-dozed with a steamroller like they do on Saturday morning cartoons."

"You look it too." Jenny giggled. "And, of course, you're not going there tonight."

"Why not?"

"Chrissy!" Jenny was shocked. "Let Stanley Moore handle it. Don't get anymore involved with Billy Havenwood than you already are. He's bad news."

"But Jenny, aren't you curious what this is all about?

"No."

"I am. And why did he send his father? Why didn't he come here himself?"

"Exactly. Something's wrong here and I don't like it."

Christina lifted her nose in defiance. "I am going tonight and I am going to find out what those Havenwoods have up their perfectly tailored sleeves. I need to know what they're thinking regarding the accident. It's always better to know what your enemy is planning rather than have no clue and be broadsided."

Besides, what about her revenge plan against Havenwood? Maybe she should think about resuming it? After all, she was being given a golden opportunity here to step into Billy Havenwood's private world—see where he lived, who his family was and maybe even learn his secrets. She couldn't pass this up.

"Then I'm going with you." Jenny went to retrieve her purse.

"No!" Christina shouted the word. "This is my mess and I'm cleaning it up." Besides, she wouldn't be able to put her revenge plan into action if her friend was there. Jenny believed that Christina had given up that idiotic scheme and that's how Christina wanted it to stay.

"But…"

Christina was determined. "No, Jenny." She looked at the concern stamped on her friend's face. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

Jenny shook her head and sighed. "The last time you said that it cost you $50,000. What's it going to cost you tonight?"

Her stomach was doing somersaults—Olympic, gold medal somersaults.

Here she was, in a short, black cocktail dress and pearls, in the back of a stretch limo, being chauffeured by a uniformed gentleman named Summers, on her way—to her execution. She felt like Marie Antoinette, in the lap of luxury and about to have her head chopped off.

Oh why, had she agreed to go? She should have listened to Jenny and let Stanley Moore handle this. She should have said no. She should have—

It was too late for 'should haves' especially since they were now pulling into the mansion's long, circular drive. Christina's eyes scanned the car's plush interior. Wonder if it came with a barf bag because she could use one about now.

The limo came to a full stop in front of the house's front doors. In about five seconds, she would again be face to face with him—Billy Havenwood. And she would actually be sitting down and sharing food with him. Could she do it? Could she act civil and refrain from what she really wanted to do… which was to scratch his eyes out right after having given him a right hook to the jaw? More importantly, if she had to eat with him, could she keep her food down?

Oh no, there it was again. Her stomach performed another gymnastic stunt—a triple backflip followed by a mid-air lunge followed by a nosedive into the black pit of hell. God, she wasn't feeling well at all.

Summers swung open her car door and gallantly offered Christina his hand. Taking it, Christina smiled her thanks and stepped out. The coolness of the fresh night air took her by surprise and she inhaled deeply. Oh, that felt good.

She turned her eyes to the entrance of the mansion. He was waiting for her behind those massive, double doors. What would he say? How would he act? Would he remember her? And what about this invitation to his house? Why was she here at all? Something about this whole thing didn’t feel right.

As Christina ascended the steps to the front doors, they suddenly and magically opened. It's him, it's him, she thought as dread coursed through her system.

But it wasn't him. It was William, elegantly dressed in a tuxedo. "Christina, welcome," he proudly announced.

"Thank you for inviting me, William," Christina smiled tentatively as she entered the lavish home. The foyer floor was an elaborate pattern of black and white marble, and ornate vases and sculptures glittered in every direction. To Christina, it was all a blur.

"You look beautiful tonight," William gushed before looking down at her left hand and frowning. "But where's your ring?"

"Pardon?"

"Your ring? You're not wearing one?"

"Well, I… " Christina was baffled. What did it matter what jewelry she'd worn? Was there some cocktail dress bling bling etiquette she didn't know about? "I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean."

"Doesn't matter; we'll ask my son when he gets here."

"Bill's not here?"

"No; running late, as usual… and undependable, as usual but that's no surprise to you, is it?"

"No," a stunned Christina squeaked. Did he know that she knew Bill from way back? Knew all about his lazy, irresponsible ways? Was this more than a meeting to talk about the accident?

William took her arm and led her into a huge living room filled with French provincial furniture, gold-gilded mirrors and more priceless antiques. This room was called the salon and it reeked of taste and wealth.

"Would you like a martini, my dear?" he asked, as he walked to a drinks trolley where a prepared martini shaker sat.

"Yes, thank you." Christina looked around at her opulent surroundings. This was all so strange—so very strange.

William turned to her. "Please Christina, sit." He indicated the elegant settee couch in front of her. "I want you to consider this… your home." He turned back to pouring out the drinks and he smirked to himself as if enjoying a private joke.

Christina sat gingerly on the love seat and admired the exquisite paisley-print fabric. This was nothing like her charity shop, orange couch. And her entire dumpy apartment could fit in this one room alone.

William handed her the martini. "Being a photojournalist must be very exciting." He sat down on the couch opposite to hers.

Christina was surprised. "How do you know what I do?"

"My son told me."

"He did?"

"Of course, why wouldn't he?"

Christina thought about it for a moment. "Well, I guess he would. I mean you'd have to know if you're worried about the money."

William laughed out loud. "Well, you don't pull any punches. Direct and honest. I like that." He took a sip of his own drink. "When you're as rich as I am, Christina, you're always worried about 'the money'.

"Let me reassure you, William that I'm a hard-working, responsible person who always pays her debts. I'm not a deadbeat."

"Unlike my son," William mumbled under his breath. He looked up and smiled at her. "So tell me then. What do you think of pre-nuptial agreements?"

Stunned, Christina paused a moment. What did pre-nups have to do with accident claims? "I… think they're a good idea, if you're the one with the money."

"And if you're the one with no money?"

"Then they're a good idea after you've seen a good lawyer."

William laughed again. He was certainly enjoying himself. "Beautiful and smart." He looked beyond Christina's shoulder as he watched Bill enter the room. "I can see why my son wants to—marry you."

Christina, who'd been in the middle of sipping her drink, suddenly choked on hearing his words and spluttered alcohol all over her dress. She lapsed into a coughing fit.

What the hell had he just said?

"Oh my." Smirking, William launched to his feet and handed Christina a napkin. "Are you all right, dear?"

Christina nodded. "Fine. Th…thanks." She tried to clear her throat.

Angry, William glared at Bill who was approaching them. "It's about time you showed up. Lost your watch?"

"You said dinner was at 8:30 and I'm on time so…" His words faded as he spotted Christina on the couch. His face, suddenly, turned white—deathly white—and he froze in shock.

Christina returned the stare. Billy Havenwood! She was finally meeting him again. The flip-flops in her stomach returned. Or was that the martini hitting the spot? No, it was him. Her breathing instantly picked up speed to match her racing heart. But wait! She wasn't going to be intimidated by this creep ever again. She'd made that promise to herself and she was keeping it. Slowly, she forced herself to stand up, prepared for an attack.

Her eyes never left his face.

Nor his, hers.

Christina raised her chin. "Hello there," she dared him.

The room went silent as all three of its occupants stared at each other—Bill with shock—Christina with wariness—and William with humor.

Bill, suddenly, let out the breath he'd been holding in a single whoosh mixed in with, "What the…" He stopped as he noticed his father watching the proceedings like a vulture about to swoop in on a corpse. He quickly regained his wits and smiled at Christina. "Christina, this is a surprise. What are you doing here?" God, what did the old man know, he thought to himself? Had he found out about the lie? Were the big guns trained on Bill now?

"Your father invited me. I thought you knew." Christina was taken aback. What was going on? And what was that niggling thought in the back of her brain that was trying to push its way through the thick, London fog her mind had become when 'he' had walked into the room?

"No, I had no idea," Bill smiled sweetly as he turned to William. "You didn't tell me… dad."

"Didn't I?" William innocently looked back at his son—as innocently as he could ever remember being—which was never.

"No. I would have remembered," Bill gritted his teeth behind a phony smile.

"No matter." William sipped his drink. "I thought we could all have dinner together and discuss… things. Why? Is there a problem?" He challenged his son.

"No, no problem." Bill grinned back, trying to appear cool and unruffled.

Christina wasn't really paying attention. She was trying to remember something William had said when the rat bastard had walked in and she'd lost her focus. Something about her? Or was it about Bill? Or about her and Bill? Something about—suddenly, Christina gasped loudly. It was about her and Bill—and their marriage? Her stunned eyes swiveled to William.

"What did you…?" She never finished the sentence because at that instant, Bill rushed forward and pulled her tense body to his, planting a big, passionate kiss on her lips. Taken by surprise, Christina just let it happen. Two seconds later, Bill pulled back from her bewildered face.

"Darling, I need to speak to you in private." Smiling at his father, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her towards the French doors, which led outside into the gardens of the estate. If they were being chased by a pack of tigers, they couldn't have moved any faster.

Christina was so flabbergasted by what was happening that she didn't even think to snatch her wrist out of his hand. In fact, her mind was completely focused on valiantly trying not to spill the contents of her martini glass.

Too late. The alcoholic concoction left a trail of spots across the expensive carpet as her drink sloshed from side to side of its crystal rim.

In a millisecond, they were outside and Bill marched her further away from the house and out of view of William.

William watched them leave and then burst out laughing. He lifted his glass high in the air in a mocking toast. "Thank you, dear boy. I needed that." He continued to laugh as he made his way to the drinks trolley for a refill.

* * *

Christina was marched across the vast expanse of green lawn like a parent marching a three-year-old away from the candy aisle. And she, still holding onto that damn martini for dear life, was too confused to do anything about it. Her brain felt like it had been put in a blender.

They reached the edges of the large, Romanesque swimming pool and Bill finally released her wrist. He was breathing heavily and beads of sweat were starting to form on his brow. He frantically searched Christina's eyes.

"Look, whatever my father told you, I can explain."

Christina stared into those gorgeous, devious, evil, green eyes of his—and she was transported back in time to that crushing day at Cloverdale High. She was frozen.

Bill, too, was frozen as he stared back at this beautiful creature that now had the power to explode his privileged world apart. He waited for some response from her, anything that would tell him to proceed with his explanations and damage control.

They each held their breaths as the moment stretched to infinity.

Suddenly, Christina's brain synapses began to fire up again. Had William actually said something about her marriage—to his son? And had Bill actually called her 'darling'? And—oh my God—had he actually 'kissed' her with those vile, disgusting, drunken, 'who knows-where-they've-been' lips of his? She stared at Bill in total shock.

Bill was still waiting for Christina to say something. His eyes searched her face and he became frantic at her silence, "Christina?"

And on hearing her sweet name coming out of his filthy mouth, Christina instinctively did the only thing she could think of—

She threw the rest of her martini into his damn, handsome face.

* * *

And there Bill stood—in the middle of his beautiful gardens, beside the glittering, moonlit swimming pool—with alcohol dripping down his face.

Actually with gin and dry vermouth dripping down his face, if you wanted to get specific. And Bill wanted to get specific. He desperately wanted to get specific. In fact, in that instant, he desperately wanted nothing more than to put his tongue out and taste that delicious, enticing, alcoholic concoction—my God—it was all over his face. He could smell it—he could almost taste it.

He hadn't been this close to it since—well—since—

Bill stared hard at Christina who was warily watching him but his mind was on the alcohol instead. Should he put his tongue out and taste it? Just one lick? Who would know? Who would—? He had one millisecond to make a life-altering decision and he knew it. His tongue was so close—so close to it! He only had to—

And that's when it happened. Bill instinctively did the only thing he could think of— he jumped into the swimming pool.