Chapter 10
If there was such a thing as a sex hangover, Marigold was experiencing one. She had overdosed on sex the night before, testing her own limits, until she realized she didn’t have a limit. Given the chance to explore Hagen’s body, she had touched every inch of his smooth golden skin. Some inches were more impressionable than others, but even kissing his ears stimulated him. She found that endearing, mainly because that had to be an emotional reaction rather than sexual. The thought that he had real feelings for her was a sexual turn on.
She walked into the office in the morning, a more than satisfied woman. Having already spotted Hagen’s car outside, she was safe in the knowledge that he had arrived first. She prepared herself to act as she always had when she saw him, hoping she didn’t have any sort of smug happiness lurking on her face.
She didn’t know how he had managed to coax another two orgasms out of her last night, though he was in superb condition. Largely, and she appreciated the word largely far more now, she’d had little to do with this. She had only needed to relax and appreciate every single one of his sensual explorations.
Trying to blink him out of her mind, she said, “Morning, Sandra.”
Sandra raised her head. “Rough weekend?”
“Do I look that bad?” Marigold checked with her hand that her hair was still knotted at her nape.
“I say that to everyone in the hope that someday I’ll hear a morsel of interesting gossip.”
Marigold stopped. “Do you say that to Hagen?”
Sandra made a rueful face. “Not since Mercia died. Even I have some tact. There are a couple of surprises for you on your desk.”
“Good surprises or bad surprises?”
“One of each, I suspect, depending on the way you feel about Hagen.”
Feel about Hagen? Marigold didn’t answer but she hurried into Tiggy’s office with a degree of apprehension. She noted the first surprise straight away—a new cell phone tied with a pink ribbon, accompanied by slip of notepaper. Angling into her chair, she read: The company phone as promised, darling. Alex put in all the numbers he thinks you will need for the job including mine and his. Enjoy. Demi. Kisses.
She found the next surprise when she opened a thick white envelope containing an invitation to the company’s annual dinner, a formal event for the affiliates, on Wednesday night. For this she would need to be on her best behavior, which wouldn’t be a stretch at all. One thing her mother had taught her had been how to behave in any social situation.
Long ago she had discovered etiquette didn’t matter as much as her mother supposed, because almost no one else had been schooled the way she had. She knew who should sit with whom and where each person should be seated. She knew the correct placement of every eating implement invented and how to use each one. Proper table settings had been drummed into her head. Even when she wasn’t in the security of her own home, she rearranged knives and forks in restaurants before she could eat if they had been incorrectly placed.
Sometimes she thought she should have taken a job as an etiquette adviser.
She even knew how to converse with a bore. Aside from her date with Morgan, the latter skill had never been needed.
“What do you think?” Sandra stood in the doorway.
“About the surprises? Nice phone. Very nice phone.”
“What about the invitation? It came from Hagen.”
“Also”—Marigold cleared her throat—“very nice.”
“It’s a big step for him,” Sandra said in a serious voice. “Since Mercia passed away, he has gone to these functions without a partner. You must have done well enough at his dinner to have passed his test. He couldn’t take any old body. He needs someone who can help him represent the firm.”
“That’s flattering to know that he thinks I can. So, I’ll have to schmooze a few bigwigs, will I?”
Sandra offered a stretched smile. “Mercia used to hate the business dinners. You don’t have her temperament. You can do it,” she said, nodding. “That’s not to say Mercia couldn’t.” She glanced away.
Marigold didn’t want to know what perfect Mercia did or didn’t like to do because going to any sort of dinner and finding someone new to talk to was a novelty for her and one she was likely to enjoy very much. “Should I answer this formally?”
Sandra shook her head. “I’ll let Hagen know that you would be delighted to join him.”
Putting aside her constant problem about having nothing suitable to wear, Marigold grabbed up her new phone and hurried off to the warehouse. Today she would begin the staging of the school duplex. The bathrooms and kitchens had been installed last week and the carpets should be down this morning. Billy and Joe would be loading the truck but she still needed to find vases and table settings.
By the time the truck left, she had organized everything she needed. She followed in her car. First, she helped the men unload and then she directed them as to placement, ducking the carpet men, and making sure not to trip over discarded remnants. She didn’t have time to think about Hagen.
By lunch break, the right furniture had been placed in the right rooms in each side of the duplex and the curtains had been hung. “I think I’ll be okay from here,” she said to Billy. “I won’t need to shift anything heavy around. If I need you back, I’ll call. I now have a company phone.” She waved the latest in a brand of gleaming new technology while she smiled with satisfaction.
The men acknowledged the beauty of her newest acquisition with a grin and finished off the dregs in their cups. “Let Kell know if you want anything else delivered,” Billy said, rising to his feet. “He can put the smaller things in his pickup.” He swiped up the mess from the table and took the wrapping paper, orange peel, and shards of lettuce with him to dispose of.
Watching him, Marigold appreciated the work ethic of everyone employed by AA & Co. She’d thought she would be glad to leave and go back to her old way of life but after almost a month working outside her home, she had found a real life, one that contained other people and cooperation and daily conversations. How novel, as Hagen might say. And there, far too easily, he had slipped into her thoughts.
Forcing herself not to think about him or last night, she concentrated on the job at hand, which was that of a shelf stacker, though she used more interesting items than cereal boxes. Working on the first house, she finished the bedrooms. In this ex-industrial area, modern generic would suit best, though she retained touches of the school building ethos with the chalkboard panel in the kitchen, an old desk in one of the smaller bedrooms, and a large black-and-white print of the original school in the fifties blown up into an art piece.
She had chosen mid brown for the carpeting and the same shade for the floor tiles in the kitchens and bathrooms. Both these areas in both these houses had been tiled with block white and grouted in a darker shade to match the floors. So far, safe for all tastes. All walls had been painted slightly off white. With the neutral background, she could showcase various colors, giving buyers without their own set opinions options for decorating. White blinds had been hung on every window.
By the time she left at five, she had provided a young child’s colorful bedroom, a teenager’s moody bedroom, and a glamorous main bedroom. The kitchen, featuring glossy oak cabinets with polished granite countertops, opened into the dining and sitting room, furnished to match with light oak tables and fabrics in subdued blues ranging to cream. The other duplex she would finish with Mercia white and bright colors, but she would do that tomorrow.
Her phone rang while she was hauling herself out of her car in the Allbrook’s lot. She glanced at the screen and her heart sang. “Hagen,” she said in a husky voice.
“Finished?”
“I’m in the car park now.”
“Meet me at my house in an hour.” And he rang off.
* * * *
Hagen had never been hopelessly besotted before. He had no doubt everyone would glance at him with amazement if he mentioned that Marigold had turned his life around. Marigold. Perceptive, careful Marigold—a woman without a touch of wildness, a practical woman whose every considered word was a delight to him. Being with her forced him to think about the years of emptiness he had suffered until he had her in his life again.
Marigold was no privileged princess. She was a real woman who spoke her thoughts, but never in a harsh way about others. He doubted she would ever put him through criticisms of his family, and he didn’t need to be defensive about who he chose as his friends. She would gather her own as wisely as she had accepted his sisters, and she would consider deeply before she judged a person’s actions.
He glanced around his new bedroom, wondering how she would judge him if she knew the truth about his dysfunctional marriage. He had behaved ignobly for too long and she would have expected better of him.
The doorbell rang, and he glanced at his watch. Six. He smiled to himself as he bounded down the stairs. She even had a promptness gene. He doubted she would ever keep him watching the time if he had a deadline to meet. She shared his opinion of people who thought their time more important than the time of others. She would make a call of bad manners, and he agreed. Long ago, he had decided her values were the same as his.
When he opened the door, he let a lazy smile form on his face. “Thank God you were out of the office all day.”
“I didn’t miss you, either,” she said, with mock hauteur.
Swooping her into his arms, he almost swung her across the doorstep and into the house. “Unfortunately, we need two separate lives, one for the office and one for home.” He nuzzled his face into her hair while he pushed the door shut with his foot. Her hands settled safely on his chest while his lips found hers.
“Do your comfort women usually run to your call?” she asked politely, when she finally leaned back and smiled into his eyes.
“Only if the call is urgent.” He turned, his arm around her shoulders while he walked her to the stairway. The rail had been stripped of the white paint today. Tomorrow the French polishing would begin. “My bedroom is finished except for the look. It’s ready to be occupied.”
“You don’t waste time, do you?”
“Nope. When I have a plan, I execute it as swiftly as I can.” He led up the stairs and ushered her into his bedroom.
She stood in the doorway glancing around. “You’ve had that dreadful headboard attached to the wall. Good idea. It looks very classy from a distance despite the whole disgraceful lot of it showing. Those satyrs around the bottom are having a merry old time.”
“You can’t see that from here.” He frowned.
“I don’t have to,” she said in a severe voice. “I know they’re there. The room smells like new paint.”
“I hope that won’t put you off.”
“It doesn’t bother me a bit. I don’t have to sleep here.”
He moistened his lips. “You don’t have to, no. But if I sleep at your house every night, soon enough someone will mention my car outside in the street. Or do you expect me to walk over?”
“Do you want me to sleep here?” She looked astonished.
“You agreed to be my comfort woman. I wouldn’t be comfortable without you sleeping with me. I have room for your clothes here and your car can be garaged. And I can make sure you eat properly.”
“A self-serving statement if ever I have heard one. I always eat properly. You’re the one who eats out all the time.”
“Will you, or will you not, share this bedroom with me?” He put his hands on his hips.
“I’ll think about it.”
Fortunately, he now knew that meant yes. “About dinner. I had a meal for two prepared. Nothing special. Simply good, healthy food. My daily help is intrigued. I wouldn’t be surprised if she comes early tomorrow to inspect you.”
“You’re taking a lot for granted.”
He turned into her. “I can’t let you out of my life just yet,” he said in a low voice. He examined her face, his chest aching with love, hoping he wasn’t taking anything for granted, hoping she had the same feelings about him as he had about her. Slightly shaky, he hauled in a breath. “Now, about that corporate dinner. We’ve invited people who would be useful to us in a business sense. The main guests are the heads of the superannuation funds. We need to pitch to them in terms of the market and investment.”
“Your expectations of me are far too high,” she said, her expression astonished. “The amount I know about markets and investments is exactly nil.”
“You don’t need to know anything. You’ll be there to make me look good.”
“I’m a handbag at my first corporate dinner,” she said in a doleful voice. “I never thought I would sink so low.”
“I can be yours at an art show.” He took her into his arms and leaned back with a grin. “You can’t be expected to know my job. I want you there to relax people into thinking I’m an okay guy. Okay guys wouldn’t let them down in a business sense.”
“I suppose this is the sort of thing partners do for each other.” She toyed with the hair on the nape of his neck.
“Exactly.” His voice came out satisfied. “And as your partner, I know you will be fussing about what to wear. If you won’t wear anything I have hanging in the room that is now your dressing room, or if nothing there suits you, I’ll have the lot removed. I’ll also give you time off to buy a few formal outfits at the company’s expense, of course.”
“Do you buy Sandra’s clothes?”
“I don’t use Sandra as my escort to important dinners. Though, perhaps I should. She would put quite a few people into their proper places. I expect you to charm them so that our company is remembered.”
She stared at him for a beat too long. “Leave the clothes. I don’t want to be accused of wasting your money. I’ll need to move a few other things here, too, but I don’t want to move in, not completely.”
He whooshed out a breath. His ambit bluff had worked. Even if she stayed over sometimes, he considered that a win. “This is, of course, a sneaky tactic on my part. If you sleep here, you’ll hurry up with the plans for rest of the house.”
She pushed him away and then grabbed him back and kissed him. He had never had pre-dinner sex in his whole life, and he thought she had somehow brought out the irresponsible teenager in him. He was putty in her hands, except in the one place where she made sure he wasn’t.
Finally, after they had eaten, he sat watching the log fire crackling. “This might be our last fire of the year. It wasn’t cold enough tonight to have one, but I wanted the coziness.”
“There’s a designer hidden somewhere in you. You’re visualizing the look rather than the practicality. Speaking of which, do you have something for me to wear in bed tonight?”
He stared at her.
“Right,” she said, blushing. “I don’t know what I could have been thinking.”
* * * *
Yet again, Marigold arrived at work after Hagen. Today she had seen him off after being introduced to his daily help, Imelda, a tiny middle-aged woman from the Philippines. Imelda looked her up and down, and didn’t seem to approve until she discovered Marigold had agreed to try a couple of the gowns in Hagen’s wardrobe. After that, she eyed Marigold speculatively. Perhaps Imelda had met other women who stayed overnight with Hagen and wondered how long Marigold would last.
As she had yesterday, Marigold left the office with the next load of furniture for the second duplex. She left at five after finishing the staging to her satisfaction, rather amazed that she had designed two whole interiors without a glitch. Whether her designs would sell the houses remained to be seen. She didn’t have the same natural flair as Tiggy, but she liked both the duplexes herself and found the spaces she had designed livable.
Since no one ever seemed to check up on her, she would have to take full responsibility if she had failed—if anyone even told her she had failed. That might be Hagen’s job, which would make matters awkward, since she was sleeping with him. The old adage about not bringing the job home clearly had some disadvantages—for him, rather than her. Well, his job, his problem. If all else failed, he could always ask Tiggy to wave her magic wand, and hey presto, a good sale.
In the evening, she planned to pack her bags for a few days’ stay with Hagen. The idea half appalled her and half delighted her. Being with him made her empty life into one of completion. She had never imagined he would forgive her for refusing him all those years ago. He had an ego, like most people.
He had been right about his car in the street outside. For her whole life, she’d had the same neighbors. She doubted anyone would be scandalized by his car being left there overnight, but as soon as he moved on, they would be swift with condolences. All over again she would be poor Marigold. Being lucky Marigold suited her much better. She now fit into the definition of shallow.
She wallowed in the thought of having her meals prepared and someone to clean up after her, and she would manage being treated like a spoiled rich girl as long as she could. Sex once or twice a night wasn’t too hard to bear, either. This morning, she had initiated a bout herself. Watching Hagen wash his gorgeous, big body had turned her into a mouth breather, and she had practically tripped herself up in her speed to join him under the shower.
After the second duplex had been furnished with light painted wood to match the creamy-white kitchen, and after green and melon accents had been added, she had raced home and left within fifteen minutes. Hagen was waiting for her in the kitchen. As she walked apprehensively through from the garage, he grabbed her into his arms and kissed her.
“You didn’t bring much luggage,” he said into her hair.
“Mainly underwear. I sort of wear a uniform to work, in case you hadn’t noticed.” She leaned back and stared into his warm blue eyes.
A satisfied smile curved his lips. “I didn’t. I must have been too busy looking at your breasts.”
She placed her hands flat on his chest. “You’re never going to shock me because I know you don’t do that sort of thing to women.”
“Don’t be too sure,” he said in a drawling, superior voice, deliberately staring at her not particularly lush cleavage. Then he flashed his golden Hagen smile. He passed her a glass of champagne. “This is to celebrate your first official night here. Leave your bag. I’ll take it upstairs later. Do you want to eat in the dining room or the morning room?”
“We could try out the new table in the dining room. I saw some chairs today that might be okay in there, too. They have soft brown leather seats and slightly curved legs. I saw them online, so I haven’t checked for comfort.”
“Would you be willing to sell your dining chairs? You have a set of twelve.”
She pursed her mouth, thinking. “They’re antiques and not very comfortable.”
“What about mixing them with the more modern ones? We would have to because you don’t have enough for this house.”
“I’m sorry, Hagen. I can’t. They’re from the original settlers in my mother’s family, the only thing handed down from them. Her cousins didn’t get much, either, but not a lot was left in the end.”
“It was just a thought. I’ll take a couple of the morning room chairs in there for the time being. Imelda left a curry for tonight. I’ll zap it.”
She ate with him and after dinner, she took her clothes into her dressing room while he tidied up in the kitchen. While she was there, she skimmed through the racks, wondering what to wear tomorrow night. At least four of Hagen’s gowns would qualify as formal. She had her heart set on one. She didn’t know how she could have missed seeing it before. The only other time she had been in this room, she had noted the two black formal gowns that would look very smart and the white that wouldn’t do a lot for her coloring. The previously unseen yellow would warm her almost blue white skin. And she craved that gown with every little craving gene she had in her body. But would an event coordinator wear a heavy lace gown that everyone would know must have cost a small fortune?
She had no idea.
* * * *
While she showered before changing the next night, Hagen refreshed his shave. “What are you wearing tonight?” he asked, twisting his mouth for a razor stroke along his chin. She loved the way that even the hair on the back of his hands gleamed golden.
“One of your black gowns. That would be more in keeping if I need to stay in the background.” She stepped out of the shower, grabbing for the towel. Water dripped from her head.
He eyed her. “What gave you the idea you need to stay in the background? You’re my partner for the night.”
“I’m representing the firm.”
He nodded, evading her gaze in the mirror. “Then, black is a wise choice. We’re a flamboyant newly rich family. We ought to be modest about our wealth. Anything less than black would be flashy.”
“I, however, am not an Allbrook.” Raising her chin, she shot him a challenging glance. “If I want to wear, oh hell, a bright yellow dress, I can.”
He stared at his own face in the mirror and wiped the soap from his chin. “I’ll stick to black and white.”
She wrapped her wet hair in a towel. “Well, should I wear the yellow or not?”
“I bought it for you to wear but if you don’t like my taste, I’ll return it.”
“You bought it?”
He shrugged, half smiling. “Not personally. I described your coloring and the shop’s stylist chose it for you.”
She moved across the warmed marble tiles to reach his side. “Thank you,” she said, her voice husky. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never owned anything as beautiful.”
He turned, glanced into her eyes, and cupped one hand beneath her chin so that he could place a careful kiss on her lips. “That’s enough of that. We need to arrive there early. I can’t have you distracting me.” With a wide smile, he left the bathroom to her.
* * * *
Hagen finished dressing in his black suit and knotted his black tie, wondering if he had been out of line buying Marigold’s gown. More than likely, she would prefer to choose one herself, but then she would insist on paying. He knew her wage as well as he knew his own, and the two didn’t compare. Although she would have looked equally stunning in one of the blacks, he had the idea she ought to stand out from the crowd. If she didn’t want to, she’d had the choice.
As he was leaving the bedroom to wait downstairs, she came out of the bathroom, wearing his toweling robe. He made a mental note to buy one for her, too, and he stood breathing in her glamour. “You look good.”
“I’m wearing lots of makeup.”
“Maybe, but you’re a beautiful woman.”
She smiled. “Let’s hope I don’t let you down.”
“You couldn’t.” In the artificial light, her eyes looked like molten gold framed in ebony, mysterious and exciting. Her skin had a pearly sheen. She had straightened her hair and a waterfall of red-gold hung to her shoulders. He had to glance away for a moment to take back control of his feelings for her. In his eyes, no one could be more beautiful or more desirable, but overwhelming her with his needs at this stage would be unwise. First, he wanted to hear she liked more about him than the way he could urge a response to his desire. “I’ll wait for you in the living room.”
She had always appealed to him physically because of her beautiful toned body, but after he’d gotten to know her, and realized she wasn’t a smart arse, he appreciated that she stood out from the crowd because no one ever intimidated her. She had a rare confidence in herself, a maturity that other girls lacked, an independence that he also admired. He should never have let her leave him without a word. He had allowed her to dump him because of his own ego, his refusal to chase her.
If he had tried, despite living in the university college and not at home, he could have had regular news of her from his sisters, with whom he connected in passing. While they were studying, the twins had lived together in one of Far’s rentals not too distant for him to visit from time to time. Instead, he had thrown himself into the life of an eligible single—drinking too much, concentrating too little on his studies, and generally being irresponsible. He’d never had a steady girlfriend until Mercia, who hadn’t let herself be shaken off. And so he eventually married her, hoping for a marriage like the one his parents had, a union of energetic people with similar goals.
Deciding not to pour a pre-dinner drink, he wandered restlessly around the house, from the pristine kitchen, through the half-renovated dining room, and into the sitting room. He gazed through the French doors at the garden, nothing on his mind but his mistakes. With the chance to begin again, he hoped he wouldn’t make another.
As the grandfather clock in the hall chimed the quarter hour, the creak in the staircase warned him Marigold was ready. He turned and realized that he had chosen exactly the right stylist for her. The heavy lace gown covered her from the neck to the calves and the elbows, and clung to her every feminine curve. She had done a Jessica Rabbit style with her hair, one side tucked behind her ear and the other seductively clinging to her cheek. She turned for his inspection. The back dipped low and showed the pristine white of her skin that, against the gold of the gown, looked delicate and somehow pure.
“Very nice.” He tried to sound impartial but she was smart enough to read his dazed expression.
“Thank you. It may be gauche to say this, but this is my very first grown-up gown and the very first time in my life I have felt beautiful.”
“It’s not, however, the very first time you have looked beautiful. You always do.” He shrugged, awkward in his praise.
“You look very handsome yourself, but then you always do. Always have.”
He noted she wore her pearl earrings, and he approved the simplicity. “We chose our parents wisely.”
“Is this bag suitable?” She held a quilted clutch in black to match her shoes.
“I don’t know why women have to have bags.”
“Because we don’t have pockets. I need tissues in case I cry and lipstick in case I eat.”
He laughed. “Let’s go. If you don’t eat, the venue will answer to me.”
“Tough guy.” She hitched a hand under his arm and walked beside him to his car.
When they arrived at the venue, they weren’t the first on the red carpet, which gave him an opportunity to introduce her to the lingering businessmen he knew by name, but first he pulled her up in front of his parents in the foyer.
His mother took her hands and kissed her on the cheek. “You look very intelligent,” his mother said to Marigold. “I’ve been told we are not supposed to tell women they look beautiful because we’re affirming that looks are all that count.”
Marigold stopped a sudden spurt of laughter. “The smart color of this dress wasn’t even my idea. Hagen found a stylist.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug.
“Hagen?” His mother tilted her eyebrows, her face expressing overdone shock.
He found he needed to glance at his shoes. “She hasn’t been in the workforce long enough to have an outfit for every occasion. She ought to get a modicum of use out of that one.” He kept his voice and his face cool.
“They don’t wear those outstanding dresses as often as you might imagine,” his father said, seriously. “But, Marigold.” He turned to her. “You look very beautiful.” He clasped her shoulders and drew her to him in a bear hug.
Marigold leaned back and stared directly into his eyes. “Thanks, Alex. And to be PC, so do you. Demi looks intelligent.”
His mother preened, but she always looked smart. They separated, his parents introducing moguls to financiers and vice versa while Hagen concentrated on moving Marigold around the room for maximum exposure to the people he knew.
He spotted Calli and Kell near the entrance, and indicated to Marigold that they would move in that direction. In the middle of the crowd, he got sidelined. Scarlett Haines reached across Marigold and grabbed his arm, leaning forward to press her cheek to his. Apparently, she didn’t intend to waste her lipstick so early in the night, and for that he was grateful, but she was effectively standing in front of Marigold and blocking her. “Hagen, darling, meet Mike McManus, my dashing escort for the night.”
Hagen turned slightly to the right so that he could use his right arm to grab Marigold’s nearest arm from behind. Somehow, he encouraged her to move behind him to his right side. “Delighted,” he said to Mike and shaking the hand of a chap in his fifties who stood a head shorter than him.
“His delightful wife thought she could trust him to me tonight.” Scarlett gave Hagen the sort of look that said she was warning the other man that he was nothing but a handy date and by no means a person with whom she would pursue an illicit relationship.
“Marigold, you know Scarlett, and Mike is one of our investors.” Hagen read that on Mike’s name badge.
Marigold offered her hand to Mike and a smile to Scarlett. “How nice to be with a man whose wife trusts him,” she said politely. “I don’t know how rare that is, but it’s nice to hear all the same.”
Trust Marigold not to say anything conventional. Hagen grinned at her.
“Good evening, Marigold. Marigold works in Hagen’s office,” Scarlett said to Mike. “She does all sorts of marvelous things with furniture. And yes, plenty of trusting wives have found out too late about an erring husband playing around and not necessarily with strangers. Sometimes they play around with the wives of best friends.”
Hagen’s face froze with horror. “Enjoy the dinner.” He tried a blank smile. With whatever expression he finally managed, he placed a guiding hand on the back of Marigold’s waist and moved her on.
Scarlett’s indiscretion would be dealt with later.