Chapter 3

 

 

James greeted an acquaintance with a nod as he stood by the bar of the hotel ballroom, sipping his scotch. Around him was the typical bustle, the norm at events like this, with guests looking for their tables, complaining about seating, and making sure to display their wealth as prominently as possible. On nights like these, the air was filled with the aroma of overpriced food mingling with countless varieties of expensive aftershave, perfume, and at least three metric tons of hairspray, which the society ladies used to make their coiffures stiff as concrete. James cynically mused that fundraisers like this one, and the associated hairspray consumption, were likely responsible for the hole in the ozone layer—which was the issue addressed at a similar gala a few months ago. James downed the rest of his scotch.

Thanks to his job in an international corporation based in New York, and of course also thanks to his last name, he was invited to far too many events like this, and he felt obliged to accept every time. So he donned his tuxedo several times a season to spend interminable hours at a round table, eating mostly insufferably fancy food, listening to boring speeches, and watching an even more boring program.

He didn’t expect today to be any different.

To be honest, he didn’t even know if today’s invitation was thanks to his job or his money—nor did he know what the issue being highlighted tonight was.

He set his empty glass down on the bar, nodded at the bartender, and made his way toward his table, thinking about all the other ways he could have spent his Saturday night. There was a new season of Dancing with the Stars on, which he could have watched from his cozy couch while munching on pepperoni pizza. Or he could have read the quarterly reports while listening to jazz and having a glass of red wine. Yes, he would have liked that. Instead, he was plowing through a throng of guests, smiling politely in all directions. And when he finally reached the round table he’d been assigned to, he was shocked to see the woman already sitting there, sipping from a glass of champagne.

She seemed just as appalled to see him. She blinked in surprise, lowered her glass, and took a long, deep breath. She actually paled a little at the sight of him. “James.”

He gulped and nodded lightly. “Anna.”

“Haven’t seen you in a long time,” she replied tensely, offering him a weak smile, which he returned with just as little enthusiasm.

“Right,” he mumbled.

He saw her swallow. “How are you doing, James?”

“Okay. How about you?”

“Oh … well.” The blonde cocked her head to one side, her face guarded. “I’d be doing much better if I didn’t have to spend my evening here.”

He nodded his agreement and gave her a curt but genuine smile. “I feel the same way.” He cleared his throat and pointed at the empty chairs around the table. “It looks like I was placed at your table. Do you mind—”

“No, no,” she interrupted him quickly. She appeared to be nervous, which you wouldn’t expect from a woman in her position. James knew from experience that Anna could be tough as nails when she negotiated.

“You really don’t mind? I’m okay with looking for a different seat,” he offered cautiously.

She pointed at the empty chair next to her. Her voice was a little too high as she said. “Sit here so I don’t have to make small talk with some hedge fund manager the whole evening.”

He was silent as he did as she’d asked. She nervously folded her napkin and smoothed it out again before finally draping it across her lap. Then she interlaced her fingers and sat stiff as a poker beside him.

James felt horribly awkward as he scooted his chair a smidgen away from her, so as not to sit too close, and inwardly cursed the way the chairs had been placed around the table. Not to mention that they were terribly uncomfortable, he noted, scanning the room for a waiter with mounting despair. He knew he wouldn’t get through the evening without a lot more alcohol. Whoever was responsible for the seating plan should be shot, he decided, his palms getting sweaty.

“So …” Anna’s voice came haltingly. “How have you been faring at Maxwell Company? I heard you were promoted to CEO.”

“Mm-hm,” he murmured reluctantly, throwing his former colleague a quick sidelong glance. “That’s true. I can’t complain. And you’re still with Hanson & Sons?”

“Yes.” She let out a nervous laugh. “I am. I was promoted to chief executive six months ago.”

“Congratulations,” James said quietly, all the while wondering what to do with his hands.

He hadn’t seen Anna in over two years—not since he’d left his former employer to join the company he was with today.

They’d worked well together, managing joint projects, and had become friends. He and Anna had been able to talk about things he would never have addressed with Barbara.

But after everything that had happened, it was simply impossible to go back to that kind of amicable association.

“Do you have any idea what this event is actually about?” Anna interrupted his brooding, shifting in her chair as if she didn’t know how to interact with him either.

James heaved a sigh and admitted, “I don’t have the slightest idea.”

“I think I may have read something about a program for illiterate people, but I’m not positive.”

“That’s a possibility.” James cleared his throat. He was pretty sure he’d never felt this uncomfortable before in his life.

“Hmm … oh, well … I just hope the food is good. All I had was a croissant this morning,” Anna prattled on in a weak attempt at small talk.

James was still looking for a waiter, nearly ready to march back to the bar and get himself a drink, when a figure appeared next to him, took his rather desperate order, and vanished again in the crowd.

“It would seem you’re dying of thirst, James,” Anna said, sounding amused now.

His bow tie felt much too tight, but loosening it now would be too obvious. “I’m just worried I won’t be able to survive another evening like this without a great amount of alcohol.”

“Ah.” Her voice grew softer. “So it’s not my fault that you’re attempting to get drunk?”

His head swiveled in her direction.

A lump was growing in his throat at the memory of what had happened more than two years ago, the part Anna had played in it, and how badly he had hurt Barbara.

God, he’d been such a damn idiot!

“No, it’s not your fault,” he heard himself say, knowing the need to reassure his former colleague about this was simply because he felt guilty—about her, but mostly about his ex-wife.

Pity appeared on the pretty blonde’s friendly face. “I heard you got divorced, James,” she whispered shyly. “I’m terribly sorry.”

“Thank you,” he murmured gloomily. “It’s nice of you to say that.”

Anna took a nervous breath. “If I’d—”

“Anna,” he interrupted with a shake of his head, “that was more than two years ago. We’re all fine,” he lied, not wanting her to know his life was a total wreck. “Barbara and I are divorced, but we get along just fine, and the boys are very happy.”

For the first time since he’d sat down, the corners of Anna’s mouth curved upward. “How old are Hamilton and Scott now?”

He was finally able to utter a genuine laugh. “Hamilton will be ten soon, loves to draw and paint, and swims like a fish. A month ago, he won the city championships in his age group.”

“Wow! He’s almost ten? Time really flies! I still remember when you brought him into the office when he was just a little toddler.” Anna laughed gleefully.

“His toddling days are long gone.”

“And baby Scott?”

James almost guffawed at that. “Baby Scott is seven. He wants to be the next David Beckham and drives us all crazy. He’s a real rascal.” James leaned back contentedly. “He has a bigger mouth than Eddie Murphy, and mischief is always on his mind.”

“You don’t exactly sound inconsolable.”

James shook his head. “They’re both perfect.”

Anna sighed deeply. “I can’t wrap my head around the fact that Scott’s seven.”

“We’ll celebrate his eighth birthday in a few months.”

“Dear lord.” She picked up her glass of champagne. “Hard to believe.”

As she brought the glass to her lips, something glinted on her finger. His gaze caught.

When she noticed, she blushed and smiled almost bashfully.

“You got married?”

“Yes, I did.” She set down the glass again. “Gabe and I got back together about a year ago, and we got married two months ago.”

“I’m happy for you,” James said calmly, and he found that he meant it. He knew how badly his former colleague had suffered after her separation from her long-time boyfriend three years ago.

When the waiter set down a tumbler of scotch before him, James picked it up and lifted it in Anna’s direction. “Here’s to your happy marriage.”

She clinked glasses with him and murmured, “Thank you.”

While James raised the glass to his lips, he added hoarsely, his voice dripping with cynicism, “And, afterwards, we can toast to my divorce.”

“That isn’t funny, James,” Anna whispered chidingly.

“I know.” He downed the scotch in one gulp and looked up—directly into Barbara’s horrified face.

She was standing in front of their table in a strapless evening gown with a heart-shaped corsage pinned to her chest. She was holding a small purse, and James saw all the color drain from her face. For one long moment, he was so captivated with the sight of her in her beautiful dress—a bewitching color somewhere between champagne and dusky pink—that he was unable to react in any meaningful way. His ex-wife, whose hair was done up in an elegant side knot, opened her green eyes wide, let them flicker back and forth between James and Anna, made a choked sound, and turned on her heel.

James jumped from his chair, the woman sitting next to him forgotten, and followed Barbara through a set of double doors and out into the deserted hotel hallway.

His heart raced as he caught up to her, and his stomach flipped when he grabbed her by the slim elbow, stopping her hasty escape. “Barbara …”

She pulled herself free with a jerk and would have stumbled if he hadn’t grabbed her again by the arm. He let go of it right away, though, when he saw the fire in her glare.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed at him. The words were devastating. “Don’t ever touch me again, James Campbell!”

“It’s not what you think, Barbara!” he explained, standing directly in front of her, blocking her escape.

She didn’t acknowledge that she’d heard him at all. “You have some nerve, showing up here with her of all people—”

“I didn’t show up here with anyone,” he cut her off firmly, staring into her green eyes, which were veiled with something closer to pain than anger. “Anna was seated at the table when I arrived, looking for my seat, Barbara.”

“Do you really mean to tell me it’s a coincidence that we were all seated at the same table? All three of us?” she demanded, suddenly enraged. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“Yes,” he replied gravely. “Why would I have a say in the seating arrangements? I haven’t seen Anna in over two years!”

James took in her pained face and the visible tremor in her chin, and wanted to pull her into a comforting embrace. But he knew she wouldn’t accept any comfort or consolation from him.

Instead, she asked icily, “And why should I believe you?”

The lump in his throat made his voice sound even hoarser. “You should believe me because I’ve never lied to you before, Barbara.”

Her face crumpled, and she looked as if she would burst into tears any moment. “Why did you have to destroy everything?” she asked, her voice shaky and tearful.

“Barbara,” he choked out, taking a step toward her.

“Leave me alone,” she sobbed and hit him on the shoulder before turning around again and stumbling down the empty hallway.

This time, James didn’t try to follow her again.

 

 

 

***

 

 

“Shouldn’t you be in the ballroom listening to my grand speech?”

Barbara gave a start halfway to the concierge desk and whirled around. In front of her was Marcus Lindsay, who was studying her with curiosity, and wearing a tux that, unfortunately, made him look all too similar to the man who’d just managed to tear down the flimsy house of cards that was her composure.

She hoped the evening’s host didn’t notice that she’d spilled about a million tears just a moment ago. After running from James, she’d locked herself in the ladies’ room and given herself a few minutes to calm down before heading back to the lobby to ask the concierge to call her a cab. She just couldn’t spend the evening with James and that woman only a few yards away. The woman who was the reason James had quit one job and found another—when Barbara had demanded it. Whoever had come up with the idea to seat Barbara at the same table as her ex-husband and then place this particular woman next to them ought to be whipped.

She didn’t want to reveal her inner turmoil to her host, however, so she simply gave him a noncommittal smile. “Shouldn’t you be in the ballroom making your grand speech?”

“Touché.” He returned her smile, but his was a lot more courteous. “I am indeed a little late for my speech. But it looks as if you’re already leaving.”

“Yes, unfortunately, I have to.”

Marcus Lindsay frowned. “That’s really a shame, Barbara. I’d hoped I’d get a chance to have a longer chat with you this evening. We’ve never really had the opportunity for sustained conversation. Are you sure you have to leave?”

She nodded apologetically, hoping he wouldn’t see through her excuse. “I’m afraid you’ll have to make do without me tonight. The babysitter just called. One of my sons isn’t feeling well.”

Marcus immediately looked alarmed. “Oh, then you should get home right away, of course.”

She was relieved he believed her, although she knew she was a bad actress. Just to make sure, she nodded vehemently. “As soon as I’ve called a cab …”

“A cab? Tonight?” Marcus shook his head, his dark blond hair shining in the lights of the lobby. “The event will be over before the taxi gets here. No, if you’ll allow me, I’ll drive you home. So you can be with your boy as quickly as possible.”

She watched him signal the hotel valet. “That r-really isn’t necessary!” she stuttered quickly. “It’s … It’s not that urgent. A taxi will be fine, Mr. Lindsay. And you’re due on stage, after all.”

“Marcus,” he corrected her promptly, looking straight into her eyes. “I can’t let you call a taxi and wait an hour.”

“Yes, you can,” she assured him hastily. “I’m fine taking a cab. Really. You should get up on that stage and give your speech. That’s what your guests are waiting for.”

He wrinkled his nose and made a funny face. “Nobody’s waiting for this speech of mine. The majority of my guests are currently working on their blood alcohol level, hoping the boring speeches will be over soon so they can start dinner. Most of the donation checks were written in advance. Tonight is nothing but an occasion for everyone to play Vanity Fair.”

He’d hit the nail square on the head, Barbara thought with a choked laugh.

“Don’t worry about it, my dear,” he insisted. “Nobody will miss me.”

“I really can’t impose on you like this.”

“I’m afraid I’m not leaving you much of a choice,” he countered. He wasn’t just extremely charming, he was also about to leave his own fundraising event for her sake. He was going to drive her home because she’d lied to him about her child being sick.

“No, please,” she pleaded, her conscience guilty. “Please stay here and enjoy your event.”

“Barbara—”

“I’m afraid I wasn’t completely honest,” she confessed, giving him a sheepish look.

He blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Barbara nodded, took a deep breath, and murmured, “Neither of my boys is sick. I know it’s impolite to use something so serious as an excuse, but I’m afraid I just can’t stay here tonight.”

He studied her with a thoughtful expression. Instead of asking why she couldn’t stay, he simply nodded with sympathy. “Fair enough. I understand that.”

She offered him another apologetic smile as she exhaled, clutching her small purse for dear life. “I’m really sorry, Mr. … Marcus. I know it was important to you that a member of the Ashcroft family be present tonight.”

“Actually, the only thing that was important to me was that you attended my fundraiser,” he admitted frankly, taking the keys to his car from the valet, who had just come back inside. “But we can have this chat while I’m driving you home, Barbara.”

She began to protest once more, but he quickly excused himself, went over to his assistant, who’d been waiting a few yards off, exchanged a few words with her, and then returned to Barbara’s side. “Alright, everything’s taken care of. Now I can drive you home.”

She felt a little apprehensive as she looked into his eyes. “I couldn’t ask you to do that, Marcus.”

“You haven’t.” He held out his arm in a formal manner, so she had little choice but to place her hand on it and allow him to escort her out to his waiting car.

“I feel really guilty keeping you away from your gala,” she complained softly once they were both seated in the sleek car.

“Please, don’t worry about it,” he said as he started the engine. “The project is dear to my heart, but the event is not. You’ve actually done me a favor. I suffer from stage fright.”

This confession managed to take Barbara’s mind off the image of her ex-husband sitting with his former colleague, if only for a moment. Perplexed, she studied Marcus’s profile, which was thrown into sharp relief in the dim light inside the car.

“You get stage fright?”

“I get terrible stage fright,” Marcus admitted.

She thought it was very endearing that a man of his standing, who always appeared eloquent and worldly, would confess openly that he suffered from severe stage fright. Barbara relaxed into her seat with a smile and a quiet sound of surprise.

“Somehow, I find it reassuring to know you’re only human after all,” she admitted.

“Only human?” She could hear the puzzlement in his voice. “What would make you think I was anything else?”

“Oh … well.” Barbara interlaced her fingers. “You’re a successful publisher who heads his own media corporation.”

“And that made you think I’m not human?” Fortunately, he didn’t sound offended.

“You’re misunderstanding me on purpose,” Barbara murmured in a resigned fashion. “People in positions like yours tend to appear somewhat superhuman sometimes. Nobody would expect a man like you to get stage fright.”

His chuckle caused Barbara to raise her eyebrows.

“Why are you laughing?”

His face was amused when he gave her a sidelong glance before focusing on the road again. “Don’t you see the irony of those words coming from your mouth?”

“Irony? No … What do you mean?”

Marcus Lindsay nodded emphatically. “You’re part of the Ashcroft family, Barbara. When I think of all the things your father accomplished over the past few decades, or how successfully your older brother followed in his footsteps … Well, I don’t think you can talk about other people being successful. Not to forget your ex-husband, who’s a damn Campbell.”

At the mention of James, Barbara’s mood took a plunge.

But Marcus seemed to notice that something was off. “Not a good topic?” he murmured reluctantly.

“Not really, no.” Barbara licked her dry lips and explained the route to her home in a quiet voice.

After a minute or so of silence, Marcus spoke again. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

In spite of everything else, Barbara felt herself blush. “Thank you,” she whispered shyly. “That’s very nice of you.”

“It’s really a shame I’m driving you home. We should have gone out, and I could have shown you off.”

His compliment was flattering and silly at the same time. Barbara lowered her head and suppressed a smile. “I’m afraid it wasn’t the right day. Just imagine what your guests would say if they found out you stood them up to go out with me.”

“I don’t worry about that. I already have most of their checks, after all.”

Barbara giggled merrily. “So that’s how it’s done. I’ll keep that in mind for the next fundraiser I work on.”

“You and I could go get dinner sometime,” her escort replied impishly. “You know, so I can give you more indispensable advice.”

“Indispensable advice about fundraising?”

“Sure,” he replied. “I’d like to go out with you anyway, but you probably need a little incentive to go on a date with a poor sod like me.”

She hugged herself, feeling at ease now. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer.”