Kitabı oku: «Park Avenue Secrets»

Park Avenue

Secrets

Marriage, Manhattan Style

Barbara Dunlop

Pregnant on the Upper East Side?

Emilie Rose

The Billionaire in Penthouse B

Anna DePalo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Marriage, Manhattan Style

Barbara Dunlop

Dear Reader,

In 2006, I took my first trip to New York City. I’d expected the crowds, the skyscrapers, the traffic and the noise. What I hadn’t expected was the sheer beauty and magnificence of Manhattan. We toured the Met, climbed to the top of the Empire State Building and strolled through Central Park. The restaurants and clubs were amazing, and everywhere we went, we found the best of the best. By the end of the trip, I realised if a person was going to be rich, they ought to be so in New York.

Enter Reed Wellington, my über-wealthy hero of Marriage, Manhattan Style. What better place for his penthouse than 721 Park Avenue, amidst the finest the city has to offer? He should be leading an exceedingly enjoyable life. And he is—until he receives a blackmail letter, is named in a Securities Exchange Commission investigation and is threatened with a divorce. He quickly realises it’ll take more than wealth and power to fight his way out of the legal mess and win back his wife, Elizabeth.

I hope you enjoy the story!

Barbara

About the Author

BARBARA DUNLOP writes romantic stories while curled up in a log cabin in Canada’s far north, where bears outnumber people and it snows six months of the year. Fortunately, she has a brawny husband and two teenage children to haul firewood and clear the driveway while she sips cocoa and muses about her upcoming chapters. Barbara loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website at www.barbaradunlop.com.

For the Berry Street and Schoolhouse Girls.

Sorry I missed the reunion!

One

Elizabeth Wellington flicked the liberty head, ten-dollar gold coin high into the air above her king-size bed.

“Heads,” she whispered to herself in the empty bedroom, her gaze following the coin’s twirling trajectory toward the pale, bamboo ceiling mural, “I do it.”

If it was tails, she’d wait until next week. At the proper time. When she was ovulating, and her chances of conceiving were at their best.

“Come on, heads,” she muttered, picturing her husband, Reed, next door in his home office, studying e-mails or reading a financial report, looking fit and sexy and aloof, his mind firmly locked on the business of the day.

The coin nicked the far edge of the down comforter before bouncing onto the tightly woven carpet.

“Damn.” She rounded the four-poster, blinking in vain at the dark burgundy pattern, trying to make out the shiny disk.

After a minute, she kicked off her shoes, dropped to her knees and hiked up her straight, charcoal skirt. Leaning on the heels of her hands, she peered under the bed. Was it heads or tails? And where the heck was the twenty-five thousand dollar collector coin?

“Elizabeth?” came Reed’s voice from the hallway.

Guiltily, she jumped up, dusting off and straightening her hair.

“Yes?” she called back, catching a glimpse of the open, satin-lined, rosewood coin collection box. She scooted to the chest of drawers and shut the lid.

The bedroom door opened, and she struck what she hoped was a casual pose.

“Have you seen my PDA?” he asked.

“Uh, no.” She moved away from the dresser and spotted the coin. It was tipped up against the nightstand, winking under the glow from the Tiffany lamp.

Reed glanced around the room. “I could have sworn I put it in my pocket before I left the office.”

“Did you call it?” she asked, easing toward the coin, planning to camouflage it with her bare foot before his roving gaze landed on it.

She sure didn’t want to have to explain this one.

“Can you dial it for me?” he asked.

“Sure.” She lifted the bedside phone and punched in his cell number, putting herself between Reed and the coin, careful not to disturb its resting place and ruin the toss.

A tone trilled from somewhere in the penthouse.

“Thanks,” he told her, turning for the door.

A few seconds later, he called “Got it” from the living room.

Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief.

She eased her foot away and checked out the coin’s position. It was supported by the wood molding, just a hair off vertical. She upped the light on the three-way bulb and leaned her head down. If the nightstand hadn’t got in the way, and the momentum had kept it going, it would have been … Yes! Heads.

She snatched up the coin. The decision was made. She was taking her best friend’s advice over that of a trained medical professional.

On the surface, her decision flew in the face of common sense. But her friend Hanna knew more about her life than Dr. Wendell.

Oh, the good doctor knew all about Elizabeth’s physical health. He knew her hormone levels and her menstrual cycle. He’d even seen an ultrasound of her ovaries. But he didn’t know about her marriage. He didn’t know that she’d been fighting since her first anniversary to get back to the honesty and intimacy she and Reed had shared in the beginning.

In the five years since she’d married Reed Wellington III, Elizabeth had learned that the corporation came first, the New York business community second, the extended Wellington family third, with their own marriage somewhere further down the list.

She knew a baby would smooth things out. They’d both wanted one for years. A baby would give them a focal point, something to share, a way for her to fit more neatly into his world, and a reason for him to spend more time in hers. She’d been counting on a baby for a long time. But it was getting harder to convince herself that a baby alone was the answer.

A baby needed a warm and loving home. Children needed to experience intimacy, emotion and authenticity. The further she and Reed drifted apart, the closer Elizabeth came to admitting that even their dream of starting a family wouldn’t set things right.

She carefully placed the coin back in the rosewood box, closing the lid and smoothing her fingertips over the whorls and scrolls that decorated the top. Reed had given her the liberty head coin and the rosewood box their first Christmas together. Then he’d added new coins every year. But, as the value of the collection grew, the strength of their marriage declined.

Ironic, really. Back when she had only one coin, they’d joked together, shared secrets, made mistakes and laughed together. More often than not ending up on the bed or the couch or the carpet if no soft furniture was immediately handy.

The first time they’d made love, it was on the padded bench of a gazebo in the massive backyard of his family’s Connecticut estate. The dark, clear sky was dotted with stars. They were alone together, and Reed’s kisses had turned passionate, his hands roaming the edges of the deep back of her cocktail dress. She’d felt her skin tingle, her nipples tighten and throbbing desire pool in the pit of her stomach.

The time for waiting had passed. They both knew it, and he’d pulled her down on the bench. After long minutes, maybe hours of kisses and caresses, he’d dispatched her panties. Then he buried himself deep inside her. Two weeks later, he’d proposed, and she had enthusiastically talked herself into happily ever after.

Her friends and family in New Hampshire had warned her against marrying a billionaire. His old family money put him in a completely different social class. And they’d told her that her and Reed’s expectations of marriage might be completely different. But Elizabeth had been certain their deep love would conquer all obstacles.

Now, five years later, and a whole lot less certain, she moved to the glass balcony doors of her opulent bedroom. Below her penthouse on the twelfth floor of 721 Park Avenue, traffic hummed, and the lights of the cityscape rolled off toward the horizon on this mild, October night. She tugged the heavy curtains closed.

Although she’d recognized the wisdom in Hanna’s advice, Elizabeth had felt better putting the decision in the hands of fate. The toss was heads, so the choice was made. She was fighting for her marriage in a different way, starting this minute.

She marched back to the cherrywood chest. The pewter handle was cool under her fingertips as she slid the top drawer open. She thumbed her way through dainty nightgowns and peignoirs, making her way to the bottom of the stack.

And there it was.

Her stomach fluttered as she slid out the red silk negligee she’d worn on her wedding night.

She unzipped the back of her skirt, shimmying out, tossing her jacket, blouse and underwear on a chair, suddenly anxious to get to Reed. She slipped into the negligee, feeling decadently beautiful for the first time in months. Then she crossed to the en suite, fluffing her auburn hair.

Her eyelashes were dark and thick against her green eyes, her pupils slightly dilated. She freshened her lipstick, stroked some blush over her cheeks, then stepped back to check out the effect in the full-length mirror. Her feet were bare, toenails polished a gleaming copper, and the red silk fell mere inches down her thighs, ending in a band of sheer lace. The neckline dipped low, with more lace that barely camouflaged her breasts.

As a final touch, she dabbed some perfume on her neck and dropped one of the spaghetti straps off her shoulder. Then she stretched to her full five foot five and placed a hand over her fluttering abdomen. Her three-carat diamond winked back at her in the mirror.

Reed was her husband, she reminded herself. She had every right to seduce him. Besides, Hanna would be proud.

She headed across the bedroom, switching off the lamp and padding down the hallway.

“Reed?” she cooed softly, emerging into the doorway of his office, snaking her arm up the cool doorjamb and striking a pose.

Two men looked up from where they were reading a letter.

At the sight of his wife’s sexy outfit, Reed’s jaw fell open, the words insider trading vanishing from his mind. The Securities and Exchange Commission’s letter slipped from his fingers to the desktop while, beside him, his vice president, Collin Killian, sucked in a shocked breath.

It took Collin a full three seconds to think to turn away. Reed supposed he couldn’t blame the man. It took Elizabeth five seconds to squeak out a gasp and flee down the hall.

“Uh …” Collin began, peering cautiously over his shoulder at the now empty doorway.

Reed swore as he rose to his feet and heard the bedroom door slam shut.

Collin reached for his briefcase. “Catch you later.”

“You stay put,” Reed commanded, striding across the room.

“But—”

“I just found out I’m being investigated by the SEC. You and I need to talk.”

“But your wife—”

“I’ll talk to her first.” What was Elizabeth thinking? He rounded the corner into the hall.

Collin called behind him, “I don’t think talking is what she has in mind.”

Reed didn’t bother answering.

Elizabeth had no business doing anything but talking. He wasn’t the one monitoring her basal body temperature, but he was pretty sure they were days ahead of schedule. He missed spontaneous lovemaking as much as she must, but he also wanted to be a father. And he knew damn well she wanted to be a mother. Programmed lovemaking was frustrating. But it was a sacrifice worth making.

He put his hand on the doorknob, forcing himself to pause, steeling his hormones for the sight he knew waited inside. His wife was a knockout, a sexy, sensual, stunning knockout, but he had to be strong for both of them.

He turned the knob and carefully opened the door.

“Elizabeth?”

“Go away.” Her voice was muffled as she wrapped a terry robe protectively around herself. A stream of light from the en suite backlit her as he shut the door and moved into the room.

“What’s going on?” he asked softly.

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

He longed to draw her into his arms, maybe slip his hands into the soft terry cloth and pull her tight against his body. It would take so little to nudge the robe open, reveal the negligee beneath, and to gaze on her luscious body. Collin would figure out that he should leave.

“Is it the right time?” Reed asked instead, knowing it wasn’t possible that she was ovulating, but still hoping against hope.

She slowly shook her head.

He allowed himself to move a step closer. “Then what are you doing?”

“I thought …” She paused. “I wanted …” Her green eyes blinked up at him. “I didn’t know Collin was here.”

Reed almost twitched a smile. “No kidding.”

Her hand went to her forehead. “He must think—”

“At the moment, he thinks I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

She fixed him with a probing gaze. “But you’re not.”

“Not tonight.”

Her gaze slid away.

“Elizabeth?”

She looked back. “I thought … We aren’t …”

He was pretty sure he knew where she was going. It was tempting, damn tempting. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to make passionate love on their big, four-poster bed and pretend none of their problems existed.

He was willing to put off talking about the SEC investigation. But he wasn’t willing to compromise on their family. If they made love now, Elizabeth wouldn’t get pregnant again this month, and her tears would break Reed’s heart.

“Can you hold that thought until next week?” he asked.

Hurt and disappointment clouded her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but then she clenched her teeth, compressing her lips and squeezing her eyes shut for a couple of seconds.

When she opened them, her expression had smoothed out, and she seemed under control again. “Is there something going on? Why is Collin—”

“Nothing’s going on,” Reed quickly assured her.

Nothing but what had to be a completely bogus investigation, which Collin would quash as soon as humanly possible.

Reed hadn’t engaged in insider trading, or any other illegal or unethical business practice for that matter. Still, he couldn’t help speculating on the maximum sentence. In the current climate for white-collar crime, he imagined they’d try to throw the book at him.

That’s why they had to make this go away, and fast. It had to go away before the press or anybody else got wind of it. Including Elizabeth. Especially Elizabeth.

Their specialist said infertility was often related to stress, and she was stressed enough about trying to get pregnant, not to mention planning their fifth anniversary party. The last thing she needed was to worry about a potential court case.

“I have to head down to Collin’s apartment for a little while,” he told her.

Her voice went flat, the disbelief evident. “A little while?”

“It’s a routine matter,” said Reed, vowing to wrap the discussion up quickly.

She nodded. “Of course.”

“Why don’t you work on the catering menu while I’m gone?” Three hundred guests were invited to the upcoming party; there had to be a million details that required her attention.

“Sure,” she said, without enthusiasm. “I’ll study the dessert menu for a while.”

The sarcastic remark was unlike Elizabeth, and Reed knew he should ask her what was wrong. But he was afraid to get into it, afraid it might lead him to embrace her, to kiss her, to throw all of his good intentions out the window. There was only so much temptation a man could take.

“I’ll see you in an hour,” he said huskily instead, allowing himself one quick, chaste kiss on her forehead.

His hand brushed her hair, sending tingles of desire all the way up to his shoulder. Her fingers closed over his wrist for the briefest of moments. It was enough to make him question his decision to leave.

But he had to walk out. He’d promised himself he’d do everything in his power to give her a baby. And he would.

Without meeting her eyes, he turned for the door, marched down the hall to where Collin hovered beside the desk, a decidedly uncertain expression on his face.

“Let’s go,” said Reed, slipping into his suit jacket and leading the way to the penthouse door.

Collin didn’t ask any questions. Discretion was one of the things Reed liked best about the man.

“I’ve got the SEC letter,” Collin confirmed as the door closed behind them, and they headed for Gage Lattimer’s penthouse. Collin’s friend, Gage, had also been named in the SEC’s letter as being part of the investigation.

“Envelope, too?” asked Reed. He didn’t want a shred of evidence lying around for Elizabeth to stumble across.

“Everything,” said Collin, stopping in front of the wide oak door. “And I closed your Web browser.”

“Thanks.” Reed nodded, giving a sharp knock.

They waited in silence, listening to a clang and clash from inside. The door was finally opened. But it wasn’t Gage standing in front of them. It was a tall, attractive brunette with a guarded, almost guilty look in her green eyes.

“Is Gage available?” asked Reed, hoping he wasn’t disturbing something. Although the woman was fully dressed.

“I’m terribly sorry—” The woman cleared her throat. “Mr. Lattimer isn’t in at the moment.”

Was that a British accent?

“And you are?” asked Collin.

“Jane Elliott. Mr. Lattimer’s new housekeeper.”

Reed’s gaze caught on the untidy penthouse over her shoulder.

She pulled the door against her back, blocking his view. “May I tell him who called?”

“Reed Wellington.”

Collin handed the woman a business card. “Can you ask him to call me as soon as possible?”

“Of course,” she replied with a nod, then slipped back into the suite and closed the door.

“I hope he’s not paying her much,” Reed mused as they turned for the elevator.

“I’d pay her pretty much anything she asked,” said Collin.

Reed couldn’t help but smile as he punched the call button for the elevator. Then he quickly brought his thoughts back to the problem at hand. “So what in the hell do you think is going on with this?” Reed asked as the doors slid open to an empty car.

“I think maybe you should have paid the blackmail.”

Reed drew back. As a wealthy man, he was often the target of both financial appeals and threats. But a particularly bizarre blackmail demand had arrived two weeks ago.

“Ten million dollars?” he asked Collin. “Are you out of your mind?”

“The two could be related.”

“The blackmail letter said, ‘the world will learn the dirty secret of how the Wellingtons make their money.’ It didn’t say anything about an SEC investigation.” Not that Reed would have paid up in any event. But he might have taken the letter a little more seriously if the threat had been that specific.

“Insider trading is a dirty little secret.”

“It’s also a ridiculous fabrication.”

When Reed first read the blackmail letter, he’d dismissed it as a hoax. There were plenty of lunatics out there. Then he’d wondered if some of their overseas suppliers might be engaged in unethical labor practices. But he’d checked them all out. He could find absolutely nothing to substantiate any “dirty little secret” of the Wellingtons’ wealth.

He had no dirty little secret. It was beyond preposterous to suggest he’d engaged in insider trading. And impossible to prove, since he hadn’t done it. It wasn’t even logical. The vast majority of his and his father’s and, for that matter, their ancestors’ wealth was derived from the performance of their companies. Reed did very little trading on the stock market.

And what little he did do was recreational, just to see if he could beat the odds. Where was the challenge in cheating? He didn’t need the money. And cheating wouldn’t be any fun. So why the hell would he engage in insider trading?

“They’ve got something,” said Collin as the elevator came to a rest on the second floor. “The SEC doesn’t start investigations on spec.”

“So, who do we call?” asked Reed.

As well as being a vice president, Collin was a damn fine lawyer. He inserted his key and opened the apartment door. “The SEC for starters.”

Reed glanced at his watch. Nine-fifteen. “You know anybody we can disturb?”

“Yeah.” Collin tossed his briefcase on the table of the more compact, one-bedroom apartment that was owned by Wellington International. “I know a guy.” He picked up a cordless phone. “You feel like pouring the scotch?”

“On it.”

Collin’s call was brief.

When he finished, he accepted a crystal tumbler of single malt and sat back in an armchair. “They’ll send us a full dossier in the morning, but it’s something to do with Ellias Technologies.”

Reed recognized the company name. “That was Gage’s deal. He thought they were going to go big, so we both bought in.” But he couldn’t believe Gage Lattimer, his friend and neighbor, would have recommended a stock based on insider information. But he went over the scenario, thinking out loud as he stepped through the deal.

“It did shoot up fast. Particularly when that navigations system—”

A lightbulb went on inside Reed’s head.

“What?” Collin prompted.

“Kendrick.”

“The senator?”

Reed nodded. “Damn it. How much you want to bet he was on the approval committee?”

The trepidation in Collin’s voice was obvious. “Not the one that awarded the navigations contract.”

“Yeah.” Reed took a swallow of his scotch. “That one.”

Collin cursed under his breath.

Reed echoed the sentiment. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but if Kendrick was on the approval committee, it would sure look like he had.

“I buy shares in Ellias,” Reed speculated out loud. “Kendrick—who the whole world knows is an avid supporter of my Envirocore.com—approves a lucrative contract for Ellias. Ellias stock soars. I make a few hundred thousand. And suddenly the SEC is involved.”

“You missed a step,” said Collin.

“The blackmailer,” Reed agreed. If the blackmailer was the one who alerted the SEC, then Reed hadn’t taken him nearly seriously enough.

The blackmailer obviously had information on Reed’s stock portfolio. He also knew Reed was the owner of Envirocore. And he knew that Kendrick was on the Senate navigation system contract approval committee. What’s more, he knew how to put it all together to hurt Reed.

This was no lightweight.

Collin gazed at the storm-tossed seascape on his far wall. “Nobody in his right mind is going to think you broke the law for a few hundred thousand.”

“Are you kidding? Everybody’s ready to knock old money off their pedestal.”

“Can you prove you’re innocent?”

Reed scoffed. “Prove that a phone call, a meeting or an e-mail didn’t take place? I don’t see how I can do that.”

“Did you call the police on the blackmail letter?”

“I filed it with the rest of the crank stuff.” Mistake. Obviously.

“You want to call them tonight?”

Reed nodded. “We might as well get this party started.”

Two

The black-tie hospital fund-raiser at the Bergere Grande Hotel was in full swing on Saturday night. Guests had been served a gourmet dinner in the Crystal Room, and now they were moving through the marble-pillared foyer to the East Ballroom for cocktails and dancing.

Elizabeth had spotted Collin approaching, so she’d quickly set a course for the ladies’ room. She knew she’d have to look the man in the eye at some point, but she was putting off the moment as long as possible. She didn’t want to think about how much the red negligee had revealed.

She emerged from checking her hair and freshening her lipstick and accepted a flute of champagne from a smartly dressed waiter. Then she concentrated on a series of silent auction items on her way to the main ballroom. She wanted to give Collin and Reed plenty of time to finish their conversation.

Hanna sidled up to her. “So, how’d it go last night?”

Elizabeth bought a little time by putting her head down over an auction item. It was a ruby and diamond choker, and the top bid was ten thousand dollars. She added a thousand and signed her name.

“Nice,” said Hanna, nodding to the jewels that were secured in a glass case. “If you win, can I borrow it sometime?”

“Sure.”

Hanna latched on to Elizabeth’s arm and drew her away from the crowd. “So, did you do it?”

Elizabeth admitted as much with a nod.

“What happened?”

“I crashed and burned.”

Hanna’s sculpted brows knit together. “I don’t understand. Was he asleep or something?”

“I got dressed up in a red, slinky negligee.” Elizabeth omitted the part about the coin toss, not wanting Hanna to know she’d had second thoughts. “Then I surprised him in his office.”

“And?” Hanna prompted, cocking her expertly coiffed blond hair to one side.

“And Collin was there, too.”

Hanna’s fingertips went to her mouth to cover her grin.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” Elizabeth warned in a dire undertone. “I was mortified.”

“Were you … exposed?”

Elizabeth sniffed, attempting to regain her dignity. “There was no frontal nudity.”

“He saw your butt?” Hanna looked somewhat thrilled at the prospect.

“He did not see my butt. It was a negligee. It was sexy, but it covered everything that counts.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“I tried to vamp up my husband, and he left for a meeting with Collin.” Elizabeth’s gaze slid across the room to where the two men were talking. There were things more embarrassing than having Collin see her in her red negligee.

“Oh,” said Hanna, obviously understanding the broader point.

“Yes. Oh. Apparently I’m not nearly as irresistible as I’d hoped.”

Hanna’s red mouth pursed in puzzlement. “What exactly did he say?”

Elizabeth’s tone turned sharp, even though she knew none of this was Hanna’s fault. “Do we have to dissect it?”

“Of course we have to dissect it. How else are we going to learn from it?”

“Fine.” Elizabeth took a breath. Hanna wanted the gory details? “He said ‘I have to go meet with Collin. I’ll be back in an hour. You should work on the anniversary party catering menu.’” She was beginning to hate that catering menu. “He also said ‘Hold that thought.’”

“Ouch,” Hanna whispered in sympathy.

Elizabeth peered into the main ballroom. “Let’s go find the bar.”

“Yeah,” Hanna agreed with a rush of breath. “There are times in a woman’s life when she absolutely needs a drink.”

They started toward the main ballroom. Elizabeth wanted to hurry and disappear, but she was forced to move carefully in her sleek, silver evening gown.

“Vannick-Smythe at three o’clock,” Hanna warned in an undertone.

Elizabeth’s gaze flicked to her gossipy neighbor Vivian and made eye contact. “Uh-oh. She spotted us.”

Hanna bent her head. “Pretend we’re deep in conversation.”

“Right.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t bring her dogs,” said Hanna, referring to Vivian Vannick-Smythe’s yappy white Shih Tzus. Constantly by her side, the two dogs went uncannily well with the woman’s overdyed hair.

“I guess she couldn’t get them on the guest list,” Elizabeth speculated.

Hanna sputtered out a laugh. “Oops. Here she comes.” Then she raised her voice to conversation level. “And what did you think of yesterday’s political coup in Barasmundi?”

Elizabeth quickly jumped into the game. “I don’t think a woman can hold on to power in West Africa.” She resisted the urge to glance at Vivian, as the woman came to a halt beside them. “But if Maracitu can pull off the elections, it’ll help stabilize the north, maybe inspire the tribal leaders to participate in democratic rule.”

Hanna was a network news anchor, and an all-around political junkie. Elizabeth assumed her ploy was to make the conversation as inaccessible as possible for Vivian.

Luckily, Elizabeth was interested in world politics herself. It was one of the reasons she and Hanna had become such good friends.

Hanna put in, “I don’t see how the government can move ahead on the constitutional vote if—”

“Well, I certainly didn’t expect to see you here.” Vivian Vannick-Smythe’s drawl overrode Hanna’s words.

Elizabeth glanced up to see Vivian’s penetrating gaze fixed on her. The hostile tone took her by surprise. “Hello, Vivian.”

Vivian sniffed. “At minimum, one would think you’d let the speculation die down.”

“What speculation?” Had somebody heard she was trying to get pregnant? Or had Collin gossiped about her failed seduction attempt?

“Why, the SEC investigation, my dear,” said Vivian, a flash of triumph in her eyes and a cruel smile fighting its way to life on her face. “I don’t know what that husband of yours got up to. And, of course, it’s none of my business, but when the SEC starts investigating—”

“Vivian Vandoosen, isn’t it?” Hanna elbowed her way between the two women and stuck out her hand, giving Elizabeth’s mind time to scramble for a foothold on logic.

Vivian’s glare all but scalded Hanna. “Vannick-Smythe,” she corrected in an imperious voice.

“Of course,” said Hanna. “It must have slipped my mind. You understand how it is. I meet so many important people in my job, others sometimes get lost in the shuffle.”

Any other time, Elizabeth would have laughed at the insulted expression on Vivian’s face.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse us,” said Hanna, linking her elbow through Elizabeth’s, all but dragging her away from the stunned Vivian.

“What’s she talking about?” Elizabeth hissed under her breath as they passed the fountain, heading toward the patio doors.

“I assumed you knew,” said Hanna, making a beeline for the ballroom. “The story won’t break until tomorrow.”

Elizabeth stopped abruptly. “There’s a story?”

Hanna looked uncomfortable. “Bert Ralston is working on it right now.”

Elizabeth felt her eyes go wide at the mention of the network’s top investigative reporter. “It’s that big?”

Hanna nodded apologetically. “Your husband and Gage Lattimer are under investigation for insider trading in Ellias Technologies stock.”

Elizabeth was speechless.

“Let’s find a drink,” said Hanna.

“How … I don’t …” Insider trading? Reed would never do something dishonest.

“How do you not know?” asked Hanna, stopping in front of a bar and the uniformed bartender who stood behind a row of sparkling glasses and a garnish tray. “Two vodka martinis.”

“He didn’t tell me.”

Hanna nodded while the man mixed the drinks. “Really.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

Hanna scooped up the drinks and held one out to Elizabeth as they walked away. “Can’t help you there.”

Elizabeth closed her fingers over the fine stem of the glass. Her husband was a subject of a criminal investigation, and he hadn’t bothered to mention it?

Last night he’d told her nothing was going on. That it was a routine matter. Though clearly Collin knew what was up.

Reed’s employees knew more than his wife did. The network news knew more than she did. Even Vivian Vannick-Smythe knew more than she did.

How could Reed have put her in this position?

“Is my marriage already over?” asked Elizabeth, dread welling up inside her.

“I think,” said Hanna, obviously choosing her words with care, “you’re going to have to ask Reed that question.”

Elizabeth took a gulp of the strong drink, determination replacing distress. “That’s not the only question I’m going to ask him.”

Elizabeth’s green eyes glittered like emeralds as she turned on Reed in their penthouse foyer. “How do you not tell me you’re under investigation by the SEC?”

Ah, there it was. She’d been uncharacteristically silent in the limo, so he’d known something was up. At least now he could mount a defense.

He flipped on an overhead light, latching the dead bolt behind them. “It’s not a serious problem.”

Her voice went up an octave. “Not a serious problem? They’re handing out twenty-year jail sentences for white-collar crimes these days.”

“I didn’t do it,” he pointed out.

She just smiled mulishly up at him.

“You’ve got me tried, convicted and jailed.” Now, wasn’t that a vote of confidence?

“I haven’t convicted you. I’m frightened for you.”

“You sound angry.”

“I’m both.”

“You don’t need to be.”

“Oh, well. Thanks. That makes it all better.”

“You think sarcasm’s the answer?” He was perfectly willing to talk about this. But he wanted to have a reasonable, rational discussion. Mostly, he wanted to dispel her fears that he might be sentenced to jail.

“I think communication is the answer,” she responded tartly. “You know, the part where you talk to me about what’s going on in your life. Your hopes, your fears, your aspirations, your pending criminal charges.”

“How would telling you have helped?” Reed truly wanted to know.

“We could have shared the load.”

“You have your own load.”

“We’re husband and wife, Reed.”

“And husbands don’t unburden themselves by worrying their wives.”

“Sure they do. All the time.”

“Well, this husband doesn’t. You have enough to think about right now—”

“You mean like the catering menu?”

“Among other things. There was no point in both of us worrying, and I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Well, I’m plenty upset now.”

“You should stop.” He was going to take care of it. It was only a matter of time before this was wrapped up and life got back on track.

“You’re joking, right?”

“It’s nothing.” He stepped toward her. “It’ll blow over in no time.”

She tipped up her chin to look at him. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“I meant to make them suspicious.”

“Nothing,” he repeated with conviction.

“So, the SEC is conducting random investigations on innocent and unsuspecting citizens?”

Reed drew a heavy sigh. He really didn’t have the energy to go into it tonight. It was late and, even though tomorrow was Sunday, he had a conference call first thing in the morning. He wanted to sleep. He wanted her to sleep, too.

She cocked her head to one side. “Ellias Technologies?”

“I bought some shares,” he reluctantly allowed. “So did Gage. Their value rose dramatically, and it tripped an alarm bell somewhere. Collin will take care of it. Now, let’s go to bed.”

“That’s all the information I get?”

“That’s all the information you need.”

“I want more.”

“Why does this have to be a thing?” Why couldn’t she trust him to take care of it? It was his problem, not hers. Her fretting wouldn’t help the situation one bit.

“Reed,” she warned, all but tapping her foot.

“Fine.” He stripped off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. “It turns out that Senator Kendrick was on a committee that awarded Ellias Technologies a lucrative government contract.”

Her green eyes narrowed. “And they think the senator gave you a heads up.”

“Exactly,” said Reed. “Are you happy now?”

“No. I am not happy now.”

He raised his palms in a gesture of defeat. “And that’s why I didn’t tell you. I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to worry.” Was that so hard for her to understand?

Her lips pursed in that mulish expression that he recognized so well. “I don’t need you protecting me.”

He moved closer, moderating his voice. “The doctor said you should stay calm.”

“How can I stay calm when my husband is lying to me?”

He hadn’t lied to her. He’d omitted a small amount of unnecessary information so that she wouldn’t get stressed out for no reason. “You’re being ridiculous,” he pointed out.

She pulled back. “Is that what you think?”

He could see her warming up for a whole new argument. Well, he wasn’t buying into that at one in the morning.

“What I think is that Collin is on the case,” he stated with conviction. “By next week, it’ll be a footnote in my life. And you have much more important things to think about right now.”

“Like the catering menu?” she repeated.

“Exactly. And your basal body temperature.” He attempted to lighten the mood. “And that little red negligee.”

“I do have a brain, you know, Reed.”

It was his turn to draw back. Where the hell had that come from? “Have I ever suggested you don’t?”

“I can help you solve problems.”

“I pay professionals to help me solve problems.” That way, he and Elizabeth could lead a calm, uncluttered life.

“That’s your answer?”

“That’s my answer.”

Elizabeth waited for him to say more, but he was happy to end on that note.

Reed was the last to arrive at the lunch meeting in the Wellington International boardroom. Gage, Collin, media mogul Trent Tanford and private investigator Selina Marin were already sitting around the polished table when he walked in.

“Did you get hold of Kendrick?” Gage asked without preamble.

Reed shook his head, shutting the door behind him before taking his place at the head of the oblong table. Fresh-brewed coffee had been placed on the sideboard, and a bank of windows overlooked the fall colors of the park many stories below. “His secretary says he’s in meetings in Washington all week.”

“He doesn’t have a cell phone?” asked Collin.

“He can’t be disturbed,” Reed quoted, letting his expression tell the room the excuse rang hollow to him. He’d never had a problem getting hold of Kendrick before. In fact, it was usually Kendrick who called him.

“We need his denial,” said Trent. “At least, we need him to publicly deny having given you insider information. And I’d prefer to have it on videotape.”

“You’ll have it,” said Reed, hoping it would be soon. It was in everyone’s best interest—including the senator’s—to have him on the record in this. In the absence of identifying the blackmailer, Kendrick’s backing was their best chance of stopping the investigation in its tracks.

“Did you get anywhere with the police?” Reed asked Selina.

“I had a chat with Detective Arnold McGray.” She slid a thick sheaf of paper across the table to Reed. “They’ve been surprisingly cooperative. Here’s the list of blackmail victims in the building.”

“The cops are at a dead end,” Collin put in. “They’re hoping the extra manpower will help.”

“Person power,” Selina put in.

“Sorry,” said Collin with an edge of sarcasm. “I keep forgetting you’re a girl.”

“Shall I start wearing pink ruffles?”

Reed contemplated Selina’s no-nonsense black blazer, white turtleneck, short cropped hair and minimal makeup. With those dark brows and that straight slant to her mouth, she’d look ridiculous in pink.

Reed sighed and picked up the letter, reading the names of Julia Prentice, who before her marriage to Max Rolland was blackmailed regarding her out-of-wedlock pregnancy, Trent Tanford for his relationship with murder victim Marie Endicott, and Prince Sebastian who’d also received a threatening letter.

In the prince’s case, the letter writer didn’t ask for any money, and it was eventually proven to be his ex-girlfriend. So, the Prince Sebastian incident didn’t seem to be related.

“Any connection between mine and the other two?” Reed asked Selina.

“Three different threats,” she answered. “Three unrelated incidents. Three untraceable Grand Cayman bank accounts.” Then she paused. “Same bank.”

Reed allowed himself a small smile. So, the three were likely related. That gave them a whole lot more information to go on.

“I’ll start looking for connections between the cases,” said Selina.

“Any guess as to why mine was ten million and the others were only one?” asked Reed.

Selina gave a wry twist of her lips. “Neither of the others paid up. Maybe expenses were mounting.”

“You bet your ass we didn’t pay up,” muttered Trent.

“You should be flattered,” Gage directed his comment to Reed. “The guy obviously thinks you’re solvent.”

“Flattered isn’t exactly how I’m feeling.” He didn’t need this crap in his life. His life was plenty complicated enough.

“What about Marie Endicott’s murder?” Collin brought up the topic they’d avoided so far.

“I don’t like speculating about that,” said Trent.

Neither did Reed. But ignoring the possibility that the murder was tied up in the blackmail scheme wouldn’t change the facts, and it wouldn’t reduce the danger.

“The police aren’t ready to call it a murder,” said Selina. “But that missing security tape makes my hair stand on end. And I think we have to operate on the assumption that they’re connected.”

“That’s a pretty big assumption,” said Collin.

“Yeah? Well, I’m preparing for the worst-case scenario.” Then she turned to Trent. “I wonder. Did the blackmailer commit murder to set you up? Or did he target you after learning of the murder?”

“My guess would be that he’s opportunistic,” said Trent. “After the murder, he set me up.”

“Generally,” said Selina, “there are two reasons for a murder. Passion or greed.”

“The blackmailer is definitely greedy,” said Reed. “And if he operated on passion, we’d probably have another dead body, not more blackmail letters. He’s got to be ticked off at us.”

“Fair point,” Collin put in.

“But we don’t know anything for sure,” said Trent.

Trent was right. And Reed wasn’t in a position to take any chances. Three people in his building had been blackmailed and one was dead.

He slid the list back to Selina. “Hire as many people as you need. And put somebody on Elizabeth.” Then he paused and drew a breath. “But tell him to keep his distance. Nobody talks to my wife about the blackmail.” He glanced around the room to drive home his point.

Everybody nodded, and he rose to his feet.

He was keeping Elizabeth safe, but it was also his job to keep her calm. When this was over, they had a family to start. And, God help him, it was going to be over soon.

Three

“Your marriage is far from over,” said Hanna as she and Elizabeth made their way past groups of diners to a corner table in their favorite deli off Times Square.

Out of habit, Elizabeth had ordered a thick corned beef on rye, but she was pretty sure her clenched stomach wouldn’t allow her to eat.

“He won’t talk to me about anything important,” she told Hanna. “He won’t make love with me. And when I ask for more information, he gets angry. How can I stay married to a man who won’t let me into his life?”

Hanna took a sip of her diet cola. “Stop trying.”

The answer set Elizabeth back in her chair. “Stop trying to be married?” That wasn’t the answer she’d expected.

“Stop trying to muscle your way into his life.” Hanna took a bite of her sandwich.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” They were married. Elizabeth was supposed to be in Reed’s life.

Hanna peeled a paper napkin from the metal dispenser and dabbed the corners of her mouth. “I say this as your best friend, and as someone who loves you dearly—”

“This can’t be good,” Elizabeth mumbled.

“You’ve grown a little, well, dull lately.”

Dull? What the heck kind of a thing was that for a good friend to say?

“You are way too invested in Reed and Reed’s life.”

“He’s my husband.”

Hanna shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. I know you want a baby. And that’s admirable. And I know you love Reed. And that’s admirable, too. But, Elizabeth, Lizzy, you have got to get a life.”

“I have a life.”

Hanna gave her a dubious look.

Okay, so maybe working out at the spa, buying designer clothes and planning parties wasn’t the most productive life. But Reed did a lot of corporate entertaining. It was important for her to look the part.

“If you had your own life,” Hanna continued, “you wouldn’t obsess so much about Reed’s.”

“I don’t care what kind of a full, exciting and enriching life I’m leading, I’m still going to care that my husband is under criminal investigation.”

“He told you he’d take care of it.”

“Of course he told me that. He doesn’t want me to worry. He’s psychotic that way.”

“I think it’s sweet.”

“Sweet? Whose side are you on?”

“Lizzy, you’ve lost all perspective. It’s not about sides. It’s about your happiness. Thing is, Reed’s life centers around his job, his business associates, his family and friends, and his marriage.”

“Not so much his marriage,” Elizabeth muttered.

“Maybe. But that’s not my point. My point is that your life also centers around his job, his business associates, his family and friends, and your marriage. See the problem?”

“That’s not true.” It couldn’t be true. Elizabeth wasn’t some 1950s throwback without a thought of her own.

“Who are your friends? Your old friends? The ones that have nothing to do with Reed?”

Elizabeth searched her brain, conjuring then discounting those people she’d grown up with or met at college.

“My old friends don’t live in Manhattan,” she finally answered.

After her marriage, it had quickly become difficult to spend time with her old friends. They seemed to think Elizabeth’s life was one long party, that money solved everything, that rich people should never have a single problem. And, if they did, they should shut up about it and go shopping.

“And all of his do,” said Hanna with an expression of triumph.

Elizabeth eyed her corned beef and decided she could use some comfort food after all. “Your point?”

“All of your current friends are really Reed’s friends.” “Except for you.”

“You met me through Trent. You remember Trent? Reed’s friend.”

“This is starting to feel like an intervention.”

“That’s because it is an intervention,” said Hanna.

“Well, I don’t need one.”

Hanna let out a breath. “Oh, my darling …”

Elizabeth lifted the succulent sandwich. “I don’t know why I should take your advice anyway. You were the one who insisted I seduce him last week. And that sure went to hell in a handbasket.”

“That’s because you did it wrong.”

“I did it perfectly. I rocked in that red negligee. Reed was the problem. He was about to be arrested. How can a man concentrate on passion when he’s about to be arrested?” Point well made, Elizabeth took a bite of her sandwich.

“You need a job,” said Hanna.

Elizabeth swallowed. “Trust me on this. The one thing I don’t need is more money.”

Hanna waved her pickle. “It’s not the paycheck. It’s the getting out of the penthouse, exchanging opinions and ideas with other adults, hanging out with people who have absolutely nothing to do with your husband or with getting pregnant.”

“And you don’t think that will drag us further apart?”

“It’ll give you something interesting to talk about when you get home.”

Elizabeth was about to protest that they already talked about interesting things, but she stopped herself when she realized how hollow that would ring.

Reed was pretty much a workaholic, and he refused to discuss Wellington International with her. He seemed to think business problems would stress her out as much as SEC investigations. But if she introduced her own business issues, especially if there were problems, she was willing to bet he’d engage in the conversation.

Hmm. Getting a job. Developing an identity. The idea kind of appealed to her. In fact, she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before.

But there was a glitch. A big glitch.

“Who’s going to hire me? I haven’t worked since I graduated from college.” She paused. “With a degree in musical theater.”

“We’re less than five blocks from the theater district,” Hanna offered.

Elizabeth couldn’t picture herself as a script girl or a gofer. It would be silly for the wife of a billionaire to take an entry-level position. Not to mention embarrassing for Reed.

“He doesn’t have to like it,” said Hanna, guessing the direction of Elizabeth’s thoughts.

“Wouldn’t that pretty much defeat the purpose?” She was trying to save her marriage not alienate her husband.

“What do you want?”

Elizabeth suddenly felt tired. “Raspberry cheesecake.”

“And after that?”

“A baby. My marriage. To be happy. I don’t know.”

“Bingo,” said Hanna.

“Bingo what?”

“Get happy. Get yourself happy. Independent of Reed or a baby or anything else. Make your own life work. The rest will have to sort itself out around that.” Hanna paused, her blue eyes going soft along with her voice. “What have you got to lose?”

It was an excellent question. There was little left to lose. If something didn’t change drastically and soon, she wouldn’t have a marriage. She certainly wouldn’t have a baby. She wouldn’t have a life of any kind.

Hanna was right. She had to get out there and get a job.

A job?

Through the open door of the en suite, Reed watched Elizabeth rub scented lotion onto the smooth skin of one of her calves as she got ready for bed.

“You mean you want to sit on a charity board?” he asked. There were any number of worthy organizations that would be happy to have her support.

“Not a seat on a board,” she answered. “I mean a real job.”

Reed was stymied. “Why?”

She shrugged, putting the cap back on the bottle. “It’ll get me out of the house, into the community, help me meet new people.”

“You can get out of the house anytime you want.”

This was New York, and she had an unlimited budget. There was no end to the things she could get out of the house and do, and no end to the people she could meet while doing them.

“Shopping doesn’t give me the same sense of satisfaction.”

He searched her expression, trying to figure out what was really going on. “There’s more to life than shopping.”

“Exactly.” She stood up, replaced the bottle and selected a small jar of cream.

“The Hospital Foundation would be thrilled to have you on board.”

“My degree is in theater.”

“Then the Arts Board. I can make a call to Ralph Sitman. I’m sure one of the committees—”

“Reed, I don’t want you to make a call. I want to type up my résumé and get out there and apply for a job.”

“Your résumé?” he asked with disbelief. She was a Wellington. She didn’t need a résumé.

“Yes.” She turned to the mirror and rubbed the cream onto her forehead.

“You’re planning to schlep around the theater district with a copy of the classifieds under your arm?”

“That’s how it’s generally done.”

His voice went dark. “Not in this family, it isn’t.” If he was lucky, people would think she was eccentric. But some might actually think she needed the money. Like he was some miser who wouldn’t see to her needs.

Elizabeth stepped back into the room, her diaphanous gown backlit until she shut off the en suite light. “Excuse me?”

“It’s undignified,” he told her.

“Earning a living is undignified?”

He tried to stay calm, but he could feel the tension mounting behind his eyes. “You already earn a living.”

“No, you earn a living.”

“And it’s a damn good one.”

She stepped forward and flipped back the comforter on her side of the bed. “Congratulations. Bully for you.”

“Elizabeth,” he pleaded. “What is going on?”

She folded her arms across her chest, unconsciously thrusting her breasts out against the thin fabric. “I need a life, Reed.”

What the hell kind of a statement was that? “You have a life.”

“You have a life.”

“It’s our life.”

“And you’re never in it.”

“I haven’t left New York in months.” And don’t think that wasn’t tough to orchestrate. But he wanted to be on deck for making babies, and he wanted to be around Elizabeth in case she needed anything. It was a tough time for both of them. He recognized that, and he was doing his best to keep things calm and smooth.

“You think this is about your physical presence in the city?”

“What is it about?” He paused. “Please, Elizabeth, for God’s sake, tell me what this is all about.”

She hesitated, her hands dropping back to her sides. “This is about me wanting a job.”

“Doing what?”

“I don’t know. Whatever I can get. Script girl, production assistant, gofer.” She drew a breath and squared her shoulders. “This isn’t negotiable, Reed.”

He flipped back his side of the comforter, losing his grip on his temper, feeling the argument slip out of control.

“Great,” he intoned. “Our friends and associates will show up to an opening at the Met. They’ll all have dates. I’ll be stag, because my wife will be the gofer.”

“No. Elizabeth Wellington will be the gopher.”

“And you don’t think that’ll be just a little humiliating for me?”

Her jaw clenched. “Then I’ll use my maiden name.”

“You’ll use your real name,” he growled.

“Fine.” She flounced into bed, tugging the covers up to her chest.

Reed dropped in next to her, more frustrated with his wife than he was with the SEC. She couldn’t go slumming backstage at the Met. They’d both be the laughingstock of Manhattan.

He knew he was too angry to argue further tonight, but this conversation was far from over.

He switched off the lamp next to his bed and heard the beep of her digital thermometer. His head hit the pillow, and he closed his eyes.

Her light stayed on. She didn’t move. He couldn’t even hear her breathing.