Sweeter Than Revenge (22 page)

“Wonderful.”

It was true. Underneath all those fashion don’ts,it turned out, was a very pretty woman. Maria’s spa had worked a miracle on Shelley. The magicians there had plucked her brows, layered her hair, manicured and pedicured her, and introduced her to the world of makeup. Maria had thereafter dragged her to LensCrafters for a long-overdue update on her glasses, and gotten Shelley to trade in the horrible old pair for a new pair with stylish black frames. She’d also cleaned out her closet and given Shelley one of her best red summer dresses—the one with a deep scoop neckline and wide belt—and Shelley was working it.

“Here he is,” Maria hissed. “Be cool. Be cool.”

Shelley sucked in a deep breath.

“Showtime,”Maria said, turning smoothly. “Oh, hi, Kwasi. How are you?”

“Great,” he said vaguely, his gaze riveted on Shelley. “Hi, Shelley.”

“Hi, Kwasi.” Smiling, she sidled closer and touched his arm. “How are you?”

Maria stifled her gleeful grin and urge to clap, not that either of the lovebirds would have noticed if she’d stood on her head and clapped her feet. They simpered at each other the way they’d been doing ever since Shelley’s inner transformation began with the sexy lingerie, and neither looked around as Maria drifted away. She hoped Shelley knew—she made a mental note to mention it first chance she got—that it wasn’t the plucked brows that attracted Kwasi. It was Shelley’s newfound confidence. Yeah. She’d definitely have to mention that to Shelley.

Maria meandered through the hallway toward her office, her thoughts drifting back to David and their upcoming meeting with Anastasia. She hadn’t seen him since they’d retreated to their neutral corners last night, and she didn’t have the faintest idea what would happen when she did.

She just couldn’t believe she’d let the same man break her heart over the same issue—lack of trust—for the secondtime. He’d promised to open up and trust her more, to believe in their relationship, but he hadn’t. Otherwise he’d have told her about his fortune. If he trusted her and had faith in their relationship, he’d never have kept his financial status a secret. In the cold light of day, it was all so clear, and so simple. But that didn’t make it any easier.

The awful truth—that she and David were over, again—hadn’t sunk in yet, but when it did, she knew the pain would be blistering. Until then, she’d try to enjoy the strange detachment she felt. Nothing mattered, really. Not the temporary loss of her fortune, not the second end to her relationship with David. She’d just float in this blissful emptiness forever, or maybe lie down in her bed, pull the covers over her head and never get out.

Yeah. That sounded good.

She’d just turned into her office and settled at her desk when her father appeared in her doorway. “Hello, Sugar.”

Maria stared at him and felt nothing. Not betrayal or fury, not even anger. Just indifference. “Daddy,” she said.

He gingerly crept into the office as though he wasn’t certain the floor would support him. “How’re you doing?”

“Fine,” she said automatically.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Well, I am.” Listening to her own voice, though, which sounded as hollow and wooden as she felt inside, Maria knew she wasn’t fine and probably never would be.

“I’m worried about you, Sugar.”

There was no answer for that, so she didn’t bother trying to think of one. Eating, sleeping and talking had all fallen by the wayside in the past several hours, and she couldn’t see herself caring about such things again anytime soon. Working this morning helped keep her sane, but only just. What she’d do when it was time to go home tonight and think,she had no idea. But she would keep working, inheritance or no, because she’d discovered, much to her surprise, that she loved her job.

It was true. How or when it’d happened, she didn’t know, but she liked putting her nose to the grindstone, working hard and seeing the fruits of her labor. She liked the meetings and the brainstorming, liked going home at the end of the day and knowing she’d earned her hot bath and glass of wine. No matter what else happened—whether she got her money right now or not—she didn’t want to quit working and go back to the pool. She wanted to earn her way, the same as everyone else.

Ellis cleared his throat. “I, ah…know things blew up last night with David—”

Maybe she wasn’t dead inside, after all, because the sound of the name sliced what was left of her heart to bits. “I can’t,” she said, holding her hands up in surrender. “Please don’t—”

Ellis watched her for a long time, his obvious concern making him look older and haggard in the bright fluorescent lighting, and finally heaved a harsh sigh. “Maybe this’ll cheer you up. My lawyers sent over the papers for me to sign to revoke your trust, but I couldn’t do it. Now that I’ve slept on it, I’ve decided I was being too hard on you. So I’m going to let you have it, after all. You’ve earned it.”

He watched her expectantly, but Maria just blinked. She’d just become a millionaire. All her financial woes were over and, as long as she was savvy and a little conservative, they were over forever. Financial freedom was now hers, and this was the sort of moment in which a person should jump and holler and feel something.

She felt only the same emptiness and a detached curiosity about how soon he’d go back to his desk and leave her alone to her shell of a life.

“I don’t want the money,” she said finally.

Once the words were said, she wondered where they’d come from, not that she cared. She didn’t want to retract them. This was the right decision. She knew it.

“Don’t want it?” Ellis spluttered, aghast. “But what—”

“Keep it,” she said in that same mechanical tone. “I don’t care. Maybe I’ll draw on the interest, and maybe I won’t. I don’t know right now and I just don’t care.”

“But—”

“I can live on my salary here.”

Ellis was evidently too stunned to speak, and also too stunned to get up and go as she wished he would. Since she didn’t have the energy to continue this conversation any further, she got slowly to her feet. As she passed by, she told him the rest of her developing news the second it flashed into her mind.

“I’m moving out, too, Daddy. It’s time for me to stand on my own two feet, don’t you think?”

She was finally ready to leave her father’s nest; there was no reason why she couldn’t. What expenses would she have? Just a car payment, insurance, rent and utilities. Plenty of people did just fine on less money than she made here at the firm, and she could do it, too. What was to stop her? She didn’t need all the clothes and the shoes, didn’t need an endless supply of new purses and jewelry. Want,yes. Need,no. What value had any of those things ever brought to her life? What happiness?

None.

The thing she needed—David’s trust—she’d never had and apparently never would have. So why bother with the rest?

Ellis jumped up and grabbed her wrist, holding her back as though to keep her from leaping off a rocky cliff. “Maria,” he cried with more than a twinge of desperation in his voice, “you can’t just give up your money! Money’s important!”

Gently but firmly, she pulled her arm away, and she and her father stared at each other in absolute silence. Finally she spoke.

“Nothing’s important,” she said, walking out of her office and leaving off the final two words of the sentence.

Except David.

Chapter 19

Alittle while later David sat at the head of the table in the conference room enduring the most miserable meeting of his life. To his right sat Anastasia and Uri; to his left, Maria. If someone stopped by the room to present the Unhappiest Personaward, it would no doubt be a four-way tie. Maria and Anastasia glared at each other with identical, pouty-mouthed, arms-crossed venom. Uri’s usually expressionless face had acquired a stony overlay. As for David, he’d rarely felt worse.

He was in hell.

After spending the most beautiful afternoon of his life in bed with Maria, being regifted with her love, and assuring her that he was capable of a more mature and trusting relationship, he’d promptly blown said relationship right out of the water.

Again.

He hadn’t even told her how much he loved her—or that he’d alwaysloved her—even though his heart was so full of the emotion it threatened to choke him. After all these years and all he’d gone through to work his way back to Maria, he was still a coward where she was concerned.

Unbelievable.

He couldn’t account for his ongoing stupidity where this one woman was concerned. He was normally such a smart person. He’d worked his way through college and grad school, secured a couple Ivy League degrees and made a cool twenty million before the age of forty. Why he couldn’t get his act together and think straight when it came to Maria Johnson was destined to be a mystery for the ages, right up there with how the ancient Egyptians and their slaves managed to build the pyramids without modern tools.

Why hadn’t he just told her about his money when he’d had the chance?

The irony was unbelievable. All the times he’d fantasized about throwing the money in her face, taunting her with it, telling her he would’ve given her diamonds for every finger and toe if only she’d believed in his ability to provide for her. Yesterday the magic moment finally came, and he’d had all afternoon to tell her he had money, and he just couldn’t do it.

Much as he hated to admit it, he’d still had doubts, even after they’d made love, and he’d been afraid. He’d wanted time with her before he told her everything. Wanted to solidify their relationship, to make sure that it was really himshe wanted and not his money. Especially now, when her own financial future was in such doubt. Once before, Maria had chosen the richest man. Now hewas the richest man—the onlyman—but he didn’t want the money to be a deciding factor for her. He didn’t want the money to be a factor at all. Either she wanted him as a reasonably successful publicist, or she didn’t want him at all. It was as simple as that, or so he’d thought.

Why couldn’t he let go of the idea that money might play some role between them? Was it because his mother had left his father for a man with more money? Was that it? Or was it simply that he couldn’t believe a woman as amazing as Maria could want a poor boy like him? That was how he thought, wasn’t it? His bank account might be rich, but inside he was still little David Hunt with the holes in his socks, roaches in his kitchen and Mama who ran off to be with the guy with money. In his head, love and money were screwed up and hopelessly intertwined, and he needed to get over it.

Shuffling papers on the table in front of him, he risked a glance at Maria, who, luckily, continued to glare at Anastasia and didn’t notice what was no doubt a pitiful, desperate stare. Maria’s puffy, dark-ringed eyes told him he’d made her cry—again—and caused her a sleepless night. This, after he’d promised he wouldn’t hurt her again, that he’d open up and trust her. Tell her how he felt. And how many times yesterday could he have told her about the money, or that he loved her…a hundred? A thousand? Why was he such a coward on these issues? Disgusted with himself, he shook his head and felt his jaw tighten with tension. If Maria never looked at or spoke to him again, it’d be no less than he deserved.

Except that he had no intention of losing Maria and letting this relationship go down in flames again. They’d work this out. He swore it. If it took thirty years and cost him his entire fortune, he’d make things up to her and show her exactly how much he didlove her. For the rest of their lives he’d never give her another reason to doubt it.

For now, alas, they had to deal with Anastasia’s crisis du jour.

“Maria,” David said, and Maria stiffened but didn’t look at him, “was there anything you wanted to say to Anastasia?”

Anastasia puffed up, one brow raised, looking like a haughty purple frog.

Maria, on the other hand, looked like she’d swallowed a frog. Still, she managed a contrite smile and a few gracious words. “I’m sorry I spoke to you like that, Anastasia,” she said. “I won’t do it again—”

“See that you don’t,” Anastasia said.

“But please don’t speak to David—”

David’s heart thundered to hear Maria defend him, even now.

“—or me like that again. I think we can bothbe more respectful.”

Scowling, Anastasia looked to Uri. He nodded encouragingly, then tipped his head in Maria’s direction. Anastasia turned back to Maria, and a long, pregnant moment passed and the future of the world seemed to hang in the balance. Finally Anastasia smiled.

“Darling,” she cried, holding her arms wide across the table to Maria.

Maria seemed not to know what to do. Smiling, she paused for a millisecond, but since there was no way she could reach Anastasia from the other side of the table and Anastasia obviously wasn’t about to trouble herself to move, Maria had no choice. She hurried all the way around the long table, submitted to Anastasia’s prolonged bear hug and kiss, and then began the long trek back to her own seat. David and Uri exchanged relieved grins.

“Now, darlings,” Anastasia boomed as she settled back into her chair, “what shall we do to get my foot out of my mouth? Ideas? Anyone? Anyone?”

Feeling more confident now that all that unpleasantness was behind them and he knew Anastasia recognized the magnitude of her problem, David scooted forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the table. “I’ve got good news. Letterman’s producer called a few minutes ago. They want you on Monday’s show. You’ll be out of this hole in no time.”

Everyone squealed and clapped for a minute, but then he shushed them down. “We’ve still got our work cut out for us.”

“What d’ya mean?” Anastasia asked.

“Well, you’ve probably heard this before, but when a popular public figure makes a bad impression, she needs to make ten good impressions to get back to neutral. And then ten moregood impressions to get back to where she was in the first place.”

“For pity’s sake, David, spare me the mumbo-jumbo and tell me what I need to do to sell the bloody book.” Anastasia turned to Uri and pointed at the drink cart in the corner, which David had had installed especially for her. “Be a love and get me a Scotch, would you? Three fingers should do it.”

Uri, ever obedient, jumped to his feet and scurried off to grab a tumbler and study the various sparkling crystal bottles and decanters. David couldn’t resist a glance at his watch: eight forty-three. In the morning. Uri uncorked a bottle filled with a rich amber liquid, started to poor and, catching David’s eye, raised the bottle and one eyebrow in question.

“Er…no thanks, Uri,” David said. “I usually wait until nine or so before I start my morning drinking.”

The sarcasm was lost on Uri, who shrugged and resumed pouring. Maria doodled idly on her pad.

David cleared his throat. “As I was saying…the first thing you need to do is apologize. You can post a statement on your site.”

“Of course.” Anastasia took her glass from Uri, tossed back half the Scotch and smacked her lips appreciatively.

“We can keep it fairly generic,” David continued. “Tell your fans you’re sorry if you offended anyone, we all have bad days, yada, yada, yada, and then you can explain what made you make the comment.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Anastasia sipped again.

“It would help if you had a good excuse,” David told her. “Some problem or…addiction—” he put a subtle emphasis on the word “—that might help people understand your behavior.”

Anastasia froze in the act of putting the empty glass down, her arm suspended over the table, and David could almost see the light bulb go off over her head. “Addiction,”she said, a shrewd half smile turning up one corner of her mouth.

“Yes,” David said.

He waited. Anastasia studied her empty glass, then looked to Uri for his reaction. They stared at each other for a minute or two, doing that weird subliminal thing, and then Uri winked at her. Maria watched the proceedings, her face impassive.

“Well, I—” Anastasia slowly lowered the glass to the table, then reached that same hand up to fluff today’s wig, the Halle Berry model in a flaming electric red that would no doubt bring traffic to a screeching halt up to six blocks away. “I’ve always liked my alcohol.”

“Is that so…?” asked David.

“Yes, and I…sometimes get carried away.”

David let this revolutionary admission float in the air for a moment while they all tried it on for size. Hearing no objections, he flapped his hand encouragingly.

“Go on,” he said.

“Especially when—” she screwed up her face and he could almost hear the wheels turning “—I’m under pressure of any kind, like work—”

“Work?”he said, narrowing his eyes.

“Did I say work?” She laughed, filtering her fingers through her faux hair. “I meant to say family,of course.”

“Of course.”

“But,” Anastasia said, a new sharpness in her voice, “I don’t get so carried away I need to check into the Betty bloody Ford Center for thirty days, or anything like that.” She paused. “Do I?”

“No,” David said firmly. “That shouldn’t be necessary.”

“Good,” Anastasia said with an audible sigh of relief.

She sank back against her chair while David jotted a couple of notes on his pad. He’d just flipped to a new page when Anastasia spoke again.

“Maria,” she snapped, slapping a palm on the table, and they all jumped. “You haven’t said two words all morning, pet. Stop making cow eyes at David, will you, and focus on me. I’mthe client here. I’mthe one whose life is in the crapper.”

David’s heart leaped with A New Hope and his gaze flew to Maria who, sure enough, had splotches of thrilling color in the apples of her cheeks. Other than that, though, she looked completely unruffled as she rose to her feet. “I’m just going to run to the kitchen for some coffee. Can I get anyone anything?”

They all stared, openmouthed, at her.

“I’ll be right back,” she said smoothly, and left.

The second the French door clicked shut behind her, Anastasia turned to David. “Well, you’ve really blown things up, haven’t you?”

David tried to look surprised. “Pardon me?”

“With Maria. You’ve messed up. Upset her. Don’t deny it. She’s been ignoring you one minute and doing the sad face—” Anastasia made a despairing face with exaggerated pouting mouth and droopy eyes, so tragic she looked like a mime “—the next. What’ve you done to her?”

Irritated now, David shoved his chair away from the table and went to the sideboard for some water. “I don’t discuss my personal life with clients.”

Anastasia snorted. “Obviously you should. If you’d discussed matters with me, you wouldn’t be in this royal mess.”

“I am not—”

“Think of me as your fairy godmother, sweet. One wave of my magic wand and I’ll have you back in her good graces by lunchtime.”

“I don’t need your help,” David snapped, clanking the water pitcher back down on its tray. “I’m a grown man. I can get her back my damn self.”

“And look what a wonderful job you’ve done so far,” she said silkily. “Your defective Y chromosome and testosterone have steered you right off into a ditch, haven’t they?”

David glared at her, and she stared smugly back. Finally, David gave up. Who was he fooling? His instincts sucked when it came to Maria. Left to his own devices, he’d no doubt screw things up so badly that Maria wouldn’t speak to him for anotherfour years.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ve got a little plan, and you can help me get her somewhere, okay? Maybe kidnap her for me.”

“Does the plan involve jewelry? Expensivejewelry?”

“Of course.”

Anastasia squealed with delight, and Uri, grinning, held up his hand for her high-five.

“Count us in, darling.”

Maria left the office at six-thirty, after an interminable afternoon of trying to rehabilitate Anastasia’s public image. They’d made calls, drafted statements and press releases, and generally done everything they could think of in an attempt to make Anastasia look like anything other than the ranting diva that she was. Actually, they’d made calls until about four-thirty, when David got a call on his cell phone and abruptly left the office. She’d watched him go, feeling a bewildering blend of disappointment and relief. They’d be at it again tomorrow, though, because rehabilitating Anastasia was like treating alcoholism: constant vigilance was key. Lord only knew if any of their efforts would work.

Maria had just trudged across the parking garage to her Prius, with only the promise of a long, hot soak in the spa and a Big-Gulp-sized glass of Pinot Noir to spur her along, when her cell phone rang. Cursing, she flipped it open and leaned against the car.