Chapter 11 – Portfolio Diversity
Sloan breezed into the room as if finding me here was the last thing he’d expected to happen—as if he hadn’t sent his driver to pick me up at the airport. My pulse sped up. My back was to him, and without turning, I cautiously lifted my hand to one of the small top drawers of my dresser. Sliding it open, I casually felt beneath my lingerie, locating the canister of pepper spray now hidden there.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he said, dropping lightly onto my bed. He was long and lean, dressed in expensive tan slacks and a pale blue button-down shirt. His light-brown hair was losing its battle against the grey, and I remembered a time when his age had made him seem distinguished to me. “I do love your flair for the dramatic, my dear. Have me served then disappear for a week. Brava!”
His words also reminded me of a time when I’d debated whether my husband might be gay. The prospect had softened me toward him. I’d wanted to help him come out, let him know it was okay. He’d grown up in a time and in a world not so understanding of alternate lifestyles. Then I discovered his penchant for prostitutes. Jessica Black had only been the first of many contact slips I’d found. No, it seemed his only problem was having sex with his wife.
“Elaine called and invited me on a spa retreat,” I said, keeping my voice calm. I continued unpacking, silently waiting for him to make his next move. “But you already know that, don’t you?”
“Spa retreat? Why didn’t you tell me,” he had the nerve to act hurt. “You know I enjoy a good massage as much as the next guy.”
He enjoyed a happy ending. He probably had masseuses all over town ready to jerk him off for a modest fee. The thought made me sick.
“It was more of a friend getaway.” The tension was making my shoulders ache. I wanted him to say whatever he’d come to say or do and leave. “You would’ve been bored.”
“No doubt of that.” Then as if he’d somehow lost interest, he sat up and went to the door. “As I said, some third-rate lawyer sent your papers. A James Pettigrew or something?”
“James Perry.” He knew damn well my lawyer’s name.
“Perry, right.” He paused in the doorway. “I sent them on to Thomas for a good once-over. Can’t have my lady screwing me now, can I.”
It would be the first time in a long time, I thought bitterly, but I wouldn’t take his bait.
Thomas was Sloan’s self-serving lawyer, and if there was anything wrong with the divorce papers, he’d find it. The shocker for both of them would come when they discovered I just wanted out. No alimony, no settlement, just freedom.
“Look them over as much as you need,” I said with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll find they’re completely to your benefit.”
He nodded. “Then, welcome home Melissa.”
I didn’t reply. This was not my home.
Once I had finished unpacking, I walked down the hall to my study. The office was also a library, and when I’d first visited this wing last year, I’d been thrilled with all the books I could read. Little did I know, reading was all I’d end up doing. A desk was placed in one corner, and I saw my small, silver Macbook lying there. I’d left it behind on my trip, not wanting anything that reminded me of Baltimore. As if I could escape that easily.
Tonight, I went to it, lifted the cover and opened the browser. It had only been a day, and already the pain gripped my chest so hard, it hurt to breathe. Quickly I typed in “Derek Alexander” and “private investigator.”
Moments later a page of links popped up with the one I sought right at the top. Alexander & Knight, LLC. I glanced quickly at the door then leaned forward, looking as far down the hallway as I could see. No one was coming.
Holding my breath, I clicked on the link. Instantly, I was taken to a plain but professional-looking business site with an A&K logo over an exterior shot of what must be their offices in Princeton. One of the small links across the top said “About Us,” and again, my heart clenched as I clicked on it.
The screen changed and there he was. A tiny gasp escaped my lips when I saw his face. It was a professionally posed shot—him in a suit, all-business, just the smallest hint of a smile. His blue eyes seemed to glow, and a knot tightened at the base of my throat. He was gorgeous. I reached out to touch the screen lightly with trembling fingers when I realized I wasn’t alone. Quickly I closed the notebook and looked up to see Mrs. Widlow standing in the doorway.
“Mr. Reynolds said he’d be having his supper out,” she said, not seeming to notice my suspicious behavior. “When would you like yours?”
I cleared my throat. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d be happy with just a sandwich in my bedroom.”
“No trouble at all,” the housekeeper said, nodding before she turned to leave.
Once she was definitely away, I slowly opened the computer again. The screen blinked on, and he was still there. I leaned my face on my hand and studied his image a few moments. He was just as sexy in a suit and tie as he’d been in casual attire—maybe more. A hot tear slid down my nose as his last words flooded my memory. He’d take my call anytime.
I wanted to call him right now. Just to hear his voice again. I took a deep breath and navigated his website. I was impressed by how many services they offered. The financial institution security package was listed most prominently, but they also had plans for identity theft and general investigative work.
Patrick’s page listed services including missing persons and domestic issues. I wondered how many of those cases they even took. Neither of them mentioned that line of work, and it seemed the online banking and finance was their primary focus.
I shook my head. As a small business owner, I was all too familiar with diversifying one’s portfolio just in case, for backup. I clicked back over to Derek’s page, and the image of his face again shot pain straight to my chest. I pressed my lips together, swallowing the lump in my throat. Once more I ran the back of my finger down the screen, remembering his kisses, his strong arms holding me. I felt so safe sleeping in them. Tears were multiplying, but I blinked them away. And with a sigh, I slid the mouse forward and clicked on the little red X.
* * *
My mother’s voice held its usual note of concern. Ever since I’d first told her Sloan and I were having serious problems, she’d urged me wait. And every time she did, I almost told her why that was no longer an option.
But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t bear saying what had happened out loud. Especially not to her. The very thought of telling her everything made my stomach roil. If my father were still alive, it would’ve been even worse.
“So you’re moving home,” she said. “I guess you have to do what you think is best.”
“I’ve spent as much time as I can trying to make it work, Mom,” I said quietly, keeping my voice calm. “Nothing’s changing. Things are actually getting worse as time passes.”
“Disappearing for a week without a word certainly can’t be helping with the reconciliation effort.”
My jaw clenched. “I didn’t disappear without a word, I just didn’t tell him where I was going.”
“The results are the same,” she exhaled lightly. “So when do you expect to be here?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, toying with the sandwich on my supper tray. I wasn’t very hungry. “My goal is to find a place and not have to bother you, but it just depends—”
“You’re not bothering me, honey. I just want you to be sure you’re not doing something you’ll regret.”
“I’m not,” I said, pressing my lips together.
My work with Sloan’s family had kept me so busy the first half of the year, I hadn’t been able to visit home. Then after the incident, I hadn’t wanted to visit. I didn’t feel strong enough to see anyone, much less my super-perceptive mother. She would’ve demanded I do what I didn’t really want to.
As it was, I had to be patient with her ignorance. “Just give me one more week,” I said. “I’ll know something definite then.”
“The door’s open if you need it.”
“Thanks so much, Mom.”
We hung up the phone, and I stretched back on my bed. Moving in with Mom was my absolute last resort, but I figured spreading a safety net couldn’t hurt. Sloan had become so unpredictable, and now that he had the divorce papers, I wasn’t sure what he’d do.
Two months ago, fueled by my determination to get out, I’d drummed up business with two local clients—a suburban strip mall needing a back to school campaign, and a downtown bakery wanting to test the cupcake waters. Neither of them were particularly wealthy clients, but they weren’t poor either. I’d sent invoices to them the week before Elaine and I had left for Scottsdale. My hope was they’d come through and I could go straight to my own place in Wilmington.
Either way, I had to start looking for somewhere to live and transitioning my contact information. The only thing holding me back now were the details. Details I’d see about first thing tomorrow.