Pleasure Seekers (36 page)

F
or the second time in a month Bartholomew Houghton transferred the responsibility of running DHG to Hakim Wheeler. “I’m not certain how long I’ll be gone,” he told the urban planner.

“Are you going to be in the States, Mr. H.?”

“Yes. I doubt you’ll need me, but if you do, send me a text message or e-mail my BlackBerry.”

Hakim’s dark eyes were serious when he stared at his boss. Bart had returned from his trip abroad tanned and relaxed, but there was an underlying tension that was evident whenever he thought he wasn’t being observed. And Hakim had worked closely enough with the man to have learned something about him. There were rumors floating around the Big Apple that Bart was involved with a young black woman, and it hadn’t taken the IQ of a nuclear physicist to identify that woman as Faye Ogden.

At first Hakim was somewhat put out because he’d wanted to get to know Faye better, but if Bartholomew Houghton was more to her liking then who was he to judge her? There was something about Faye he liked from the onset because she seemed different from the other
women he met who seemed more interested in the gross earnings in the box of his W–2 than his character.

“Don’t let Mrs. Urquhart get to you,” Bart warned as he walked out of his office.

“I won’t,” Hakim said, chuckling under his breath.

Geraldine Urquhart wasn’t at her usual position behind the massive desk when Bart entered the elevator that would take him to the first floor. For the first time in a very long time he felt the weight of his guilt for ignoring Deidre’s wish not to be kept alive by artificial devices. At eight years of age she’d remembered the tubes and machines that worked around the clock to keep her mother alive, and swore she didn’t want the same if something were to happen to her. Little did she know when she’d made that request that it would be a respirator and a feeding tube that would regulate her breathing and keep her alive although she’d been declared brain dead.

Giuseppe, leaning against the bumper to the Maybach, straightened and opened the rear door when he stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Bart managed a tight smile. “Thank you.” He ducked his head, got into the rear of the car and closed his eyes. It would take about two hours to reach the private facility that had been home to Deidre Dunn-Houghton for the past nine years—nine long years during which he’d been too much of a coward to let go of his past.

And he had to let go of the past if he hoped to have a future with Faye. The night before, she’d mentioned
adopting a child, and at first he thought she’d changed her mind about having his children. But when she talked about adopting an older child he told her he would think about it, and she warned him not to take too long because the entire process could possibly take more than a year. What his soon-to-be-wife would learn was that as Mrs. Bartholomew Houghton she wouldn’t have to wait in line like those taking numbers in a deli. If you had enough money you could get people to do whatever you wanted them to do. That was something his father-in-law had taught him: everyone has a price.

For the past three weeks Faye had sat up in bed reading every night until sleep and exhaustion claimed her. But tonight was different. She wasn’t going to spend another night in the penthouse.

She’d lost count of the number of times she’d picked up the telephone to call Bart but changed her mind. Now she knew how Alana felt when she’d waited for Calvin to her call from Europe. It was now day number twenty-four and she still hadn’t heard from Bart.

She couldn’t understand how Bart professed to love her but hadn’t bothered to call her. After the first two days she thought perhaps something had happened to him but quickly dismissed that notion when she overheard Giuseppe telling Mrs. Llewellyn that Mr. Houghton would be away for some time.

Well, she fumed, whenever he came back he wouldn’t find her waiting. She’d grown up hearing her aunt Faye
say, ‘It’s a sorry-ass rat that only has one hole.’ Thankfully she had someplace to go—home.

Gathering her purse, she headed for the elevator. The door opened on the first level and Giuseppe stood in front of her. “Are you going somewhere, Miss Ogden?”

She blinked once as he stepped into the elevator. “Yes. I’m going home.”

“Do you wish that I drive you?”

“That won’t be necessary. I can get a taxi.”

“I cannot permit you to take a taxi when I can drive you.”

Faye looked at Giuseppe for the first time, really looked at him, because most times she saw only the back of his head. She estimated he was somewhere in his forties. He was handsome and his body language was wholly European in nature. He wore no wedding band, so she assumed he was single. She wanted to ask the man what he did when he wasn’t driving for Bart, but didn’t want to cross the line. After all, he was her fiancé’s employee, and when she married Bart he would also be in her employ.

“Okay, Giuseppe. You can drive me.”

They took the elevator to the underground garage, where the chauffeur maneuvered the car out of its assigned space and into the warm autumn night.

Faye felt strange walking into her apartment. Since she’d had her mail forwarded to Bart’s address, she only came by to wipe away the dust that collected on the tables and countertops. Unlike Alana, she hadn’t planned on selling her co-op. She would, like Ilene, sublet it.

It took ten minutes to go through her closet to decide
on something to wear to work the next day. Twenty minutes later she crawled into bed, after a quick shower, and fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

“F
aye. There’s someone here to see you.”

Her head came up and she stared at Gina standing in the doorway to her office. “Who is it?” Gina stepped aside and Bart stood in the space where she’d been.

Faye closed her eyes and when she opened them he was still there, which meant he wasn’t an apparition. When she’d returned from Europe wearing an engagement ring, everyone wanted to know who he was. But she refused to tell them that she was engaged to Bartholomew Houghton because once she married, it would be impossible to keep their union a secret.

Rising slowly to her feet, she walked from behind her desk. If it hadn’t been for his silver hair and eyes she wouldn’t have recognized the man with whom she’d fallen in love. He had lost weight—he could ill afford to lose. And there was no doubt he’d grieved and was still grieving.

She closed the distance between them and looped her arms under his shoulders, holding him fast. “When did you get back?” She felt his heart beating wildly in his chest.

His arms went around her waist. “Last night.”

“You came back and I wasn’t there to be with you. I went home.”

Pressing his mouth to her forehead, Bart smiled. “I thought home was the Olympic Towers.”

“It is, Bart, but only if you’re there.”

Faye heard someone clear his throat and she pulled back. John Reynolds stood outside her office.

“John, I’d like to introduce my fiancé, Bartholomew Houghton. Bart, this is John Reynolds.”

Faye thought John was going to faint on the spot. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat and his hand was shaking when he offered it to Bart. “I’m honored to meet you, Mr. Houghton.”

Bart gave him a cold stare, extending his hand. “Mr. Reynolds. I wonder if I can ask a favor of you.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Is it possible to give Faye the rest of the day off?”

“Of c-course,” John stammered nervously. “She can take all the time she needs.”

Leaning down, Bart brushed a kiss over Faye’s mouth. “Get your things, baby.”

She returned to her desk to put away several files before retrieving her handbag. She and Bart had barely walked out of BP&O when the office grapevine hummed with the news that Faye Ogden’s fiancé was none other than billionaire Bartholomew Houghton.

Gina Esposito pumped her fist and shouted, “Yeah!”

Faye lay in bed with Bart, her face pressed against his shoulder. She listened, not interrupting once, when he told her that it had taken twenty-two days for Deirdre’s heart
to stop beating. He had stayed at her bedside around the clock, leaving only to shower and change his clothes. He hadn’t remembered eating because there were days when he hadn’t been able to keep food down or swallow more than a few morsels. He had her cremated, then he’d flown her remains to Oahu and scattered her ashes in the Pacific.

The tears filling Faye’s eyes overflowed. “I promised you that I’d be there for you, but when I didn’t hear from you I thought…”

“Stop it, Faye,” Bart chided softly. “I should’ve called you, but I couldn’t because if I’d heard your voice I wouldn’t have stayed. And I stayed because I needed closure.” He let out a heavy sigh. “It’s done. It’s over and now I can move forward. I want to marry you and have a house filled with children. I don’t care where they come from as long as you’re their mama.”

“You know I’m going to spoil them.”

“Not if I spoil them first.”

She sat up. “How is that going to work when I threaten them with ‘Wait until your father gets home’?”

Reaching out, Bart pulled Faye down to the pillow. “That’s something you’re going to have to figure out.”

“I’ve been thinking,” she said after a comfortable silence.

“What about, baby?”

“It’s time I give BP&O notice that I’m leaving. Then I need to move all my personal things out of my apartment and have them moved here. Then I want to hire a real estate agent to interview folks who might want to sublet my condo. I’m also going to have to hire a wedding
planner for our wedding. But before I do all that I’m going to have to take over the cooking duties from Mrs. Llewellyn and fatten up my man. What you need is some down-home country cooking to put some meat back on your bones.”

Tightening his hold on her body, Bart shifted her until she lay under him. “I love your plans.”

“You do?”

“Don’t you know by now that I love everything about you?”

Faye felt the movement of Bart’s breathing keeping rhythm with her own. “Yes,” she whispered.

It was the last word she uttered because Bart showed her wordlessly how much he had come to love her. And when she rose to meet him in a moment of uncontrolled passion, she, too, told him without words how much she in turn, loved him.

F
aye and Bart spent Christmas Day with the Ogdens. Later that night they flew to Fort Lauderdale where they boarded the
Kay-Ann,
planning to spend two days at sea before docking in Gustavia Harbor on the tiny island of Saint Barts.

It was winter, the height of the tourist season, and Bart decided to use the yacht as their hotel. He’d regained most of the weight he’d lost and had unofficially shared the responsibility of running DHG with Hakim Wheeler. Most days Hakim could be found in an office created for him on the fourth floor of the town house.

As promised, Faye had given her notice and was genuinely surprised when the employees at BP&O hosted a gathering at a restaurant that served to double as an engagement party. The employees had given her gift cards for her favorite stores: Bloomingdale’s, Barneys and Takashimaya. John Reynolds appeared sincere when he spoke of losing one of the best ad executives in the agency’s half-century history.

She’d gotten a young couple, both doctors, to sublet her apartment, and begun working with a wedding planner for her Valentine’s Day nuptials.

She had also stopped taking the Pill, and she and Bart had begun trying for a baby. Each day she didn’t see her period he noted it in his day planner with a smiley face.

Bart waited on deck for Faye. The card accompanying Enid’s invitation indicated casual tropical attire and in lieu of gifts donations were to be sent to Habitat for Humanity in the name of Marcus and Enid Richards-Hampton. He had to admire Enid for her tenacity, because she’d become the consummate fund-raiser.

Faye emerged, resplendent in a ruffled chiffon poet blouse in a shocking fuchsia with a flowing inky-black chiffon skirt and matching silk-covered high-heeled sandals. Her hair, now long enough to touch the tops of her ears and graze the nape of her neck, was styled to frame her flawless face. He walked forward to meet her.

“You look so incredibly beautiful.”

Faye pressed her cheek to Bart’s clean-shaven one. “You’re biased.”

“No shit,” he confirmed.

She patted his shoulder. “Once we have children you’re going to have to watch your language.”

“No shit,” he repeated.

“Bartholomew!”

“Okay, baby.” He reached for her hand. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

They left the yacht and walked a short distance where a driver waited to take them to Shell Beach, where Enid and Marcus were waiting to exchange vows.

The sun had dipped lower in the horizon by the time
they joined the other guests who’d gathered for the beachfront ceremony. It was the second time in three months that Faye had stood with Bart on a beach in the Caribbean as a wedding guest.

She and Ilene saw each other at the same time. Grinning, she beckoned to her. Lifting the hem of her dress, Ilene came over to greet her.

“I wondered whether you’d be here,” Ilene said, pressing her cheek to Faye’s as she gave her an air kiss.

“You look wonderful, Ilene.” Her hair was braided in a single plait and festooned with tiny orchids.

Ilene held her at arm’s length. “You’re the one who’s glowing. Are you sure you’re not pregnant?” she asked
sotto voce.

“I’m not sure,” she whispered. And she wasn’t. She’d stopped taking the Pill in October, had a menstrual flow in mid-November, but so far nothing in December. She’d decided to wait until after the beginning of the year before taking a pregnancy test. The possibility that she was carrying Bart’s baby was frightening, but she had nine months to get used to it.

Ilene spied Faye’s ring. “Hot damn, you got engaged!” Several people turned in their direction with her outburst. She ignored the curious stares. “Let me get back to my partner before the ceremony begins. We’ll talk later, girlfriend.”

Faye watched Ilene’s departing figure as she stood next to a petite woman with a full figure and curly hair that reminded her of Alana. Enid had invited Alana to her
wedding but her former exotic jewel had declined because of her advancing pregnancy.

A hush fell over the assembly as the sun sank lower on the horizon at the same time as a lone trumpeter played the distinctive chords of the wedding march.

Bart moved over to Faye, threading his fingers through hers as a barefoot Marcus Hampton in a white shirt and slacks made his way down to the beach. Minutes later, Enid, in a filmy pale pink gown, strolled down to the beach to join her fiancé and a local minister who waited to perform the ceremony.

A warm breeze filled with the scent of flowers wafted in the air as movie stars, politicians, CEOs, European royalty and two of P.S., Inc.’s three original exotic jewels watched and listened to Riva Enid Richards pledge her troth to her business partner and now her husband.

Bartholomew Houghton lowered his head to kiss Faye Ogden at the same time Laurence Marcus Hampton leaned over to his wife.

“Six weeks,” Faye whispered. In another six weeks she and Bart would become husband and wife.

Bart deepened the kiss, molding her length to his. “It can’t come soon enough.”

They broke the kiss long enough to join the others in applauding and congratulating the new couple. Neither could have imagined when they’d walked into the Soho loft in May that their lives would inexorably change—for the better.