Chapter Twenty-Two
Joan lived in an upscale neighborhood in Chelsea where it cost over $6,500 a month for a two-bedroom apartment with a view of the Hudson River. I was never sure why that view was worth so much. Maybe it was a lovely river further downstream. Her apartment building was nice and had every amenity imaginable, from a workout center to concierge service, but for the money she paid she should have had catered meals every night and maid service. That said, the neighborhood was charming, straight out of a classic Cary Grant movie, and the nearby Chelsea Market had some of the best places to eat. However, under the current circumstances, I would keep any public outings to a minimum. Which was why I was more than grateful Joan was letting me crash with her. Besides, it never hurt to stick with a native when traversing the Big Apple.
Joan watched me unpack from the bedroom door. She loomed like a formidable yet arresting figure. Tall and straight, with medium-length hair cut to precision that had grayed early but worked with her pale skin and dark lipstick. She always wore a dark business suit and stilettos that she could use as a weapon if needed. I’d wondered if she had used them on Lucas yesterday. I could picture his neck under her sharp heel—while she was still wearing it, mind you.
“I think we should go shopping before our dinner meeting with Lucas,” she spewed his name.
I pulled out Peter’s Whose Pete’s Sake? shirt. It was kind of our thing. I bought him cheesy shirts for myself to wear to bed. I smiled at the shirt while addressing Joan. “Shopping? For what?”
She stepped closer while giving me a shrewd once over. “Here’s the thing, Del. The bohemian goddess thing you have going on, with your flowing skirts and shirts that are ready to fall right off you, no doubt makes your husband and most men want to worship the very ground you walk on. But tonight, kid, we need a no-nonsense look.”
I tilted my head, not sure if I should be offended or curious. “Why? I’ve met with Lucas before in similar attire.”
“But you weren’t renegotiating your contract those times.”
I shook my head, not sure I heard her right. “Why would we do that?”
Her violet eyes electrified. “The question is, why wouldn’t we? Everything changed yesterday. You are no longer lurking in the shadows. Believe me, Lucas plans to use that to his full advantage. And what have I always told you?”
“Never pass on the opportunity to give someone a piece of your mind.”
“The other thing.” She grinned.
“Never drink tequila on an empty stomach.”
“No. But don’t do that.” She held up her hands. “What are these for?”
I stared at her sleek hands with nails that looked more like razors dripped in deep red blood. “One is to keep the upper hand, the other is to squeeze them where it hurts.”
“Exactly. We are going to squeeze that weasel Lucas until his bloody azure eyes pop.”
“I see he’s making his way up the rodent chain from rat to weasel.” I smirked.
“You keep that smart-aleck attitude; you’re going to need it.”
The T-shirt, along with my heart, dropped. “What more do they want from me?”
She took my hand. “Everything, if we let them, but you know I’d never let that happen to you.”
I squeezed her hand. “Let’s go shopping.”
“My favorite words.”
~*~
“You should see me.” I held on for dear life in Joan’s Porsche trying to have a conversation with my husband while she drove like she was starring in the Italian Job.
“She looks killer,” Joan yelled so Peter would hear.
I looked down at the black business suit with ankle pants and a snug jacket that showed off all my lines. Joan, too, wore a black suit. We were dressed for a mob hit. Which may very well have been her intent.
I shifted in my seat. I didn’t like being so restricted by fashion.
“Send me a picture.”
“I will, but later and in less.”
“Miaow,” Joan purred.
“I can’t wait.” Peter sounded tired.
“How’s everything there?” We hadn’t been able to talk much when I called him earlier.
He let out a meaningful sigh before pausing.
“Peter?” He had me worried.
“It’s been a long day is all, and I miss you.”
“I miss you too, but what are you not telling me?”
“You worry about what you have going on there.”
That wasn’t going to happen no matter how nervous I was about the morning and late shows I would be doing the next few days, not to mention a photo shoot. “I worry about you. You didn’t exactly sign up for this when we got married.”
“I signed up for exactly what I wanted.” His sweet sentiment was laced with agitation.
“Peter, what’s wrong?”
“Baby, it’s just been a day.”
“I can call Sam and Avery to find out what’s really going on.”
His small chuckle made me feel a little better.
“You win.” He took a breath. “Besides being under a microscope, things aren’t good with my parents. They aren’t talking to each other at all. To make matters worse, they found out Mimsy withdrew a few thousand dollars from her account and gave it to Giovanni. Now they are moving Mimsy in with them, and you can guess that isn’t going over well with anyone. And that interview with Mimsy—”
“I know. I heard some women talking about it. I’m sorry that anyone would question your integrity. But we know the truth.”
He took a moment to respond. “It was the hardest decision I’ve ever made and . . .”
I waited on bated breath for him to finish. All my fears about him wishing that he’d stayed a priest bubbled up to the surface. Even Joan noticed me squirming and mouthed, “Are you okay?” I couldn’t respond to her.
“. . . it’s a personal one between God and me. I never expected to have to answer to anyone for that choice besides Him and my superiors.” I’d never heard him so melancholy. And was that regret in his tone?
“I am sorry.” I had to choke down the emotion.
“Please stop apologizing to me. This isn’t your fault. I love you. You’re going to be great tomorrow. How many guys get to say their wife is on national TV?” His fake enthusiasm didn’t do anything to quell my worry because this was all my fault. If it wasn’t for me, his family would probably be happy, and no one would have ever questioned Peter’s reputation.
Joan came to a screeching halt in front of the restaurant near Rockefeller Center where my publisher was located. There was a large crowd of photogs already gathered waiting anxiously. My first thought was it couldn’t possibly be for me. The upscale restaurant had plenty of famous patrons from what Joan had said, but when Joan began ranting in four-letter words all my hopes sank.
My attention was split between the cameras pointing in my direction and Peter. I was torn on what to do. Joan took it out of my hands. “Bye Peter, lover will call you later, we have a situation here.”
“Delanie,” he panicked, “is everything okay?”
“My corneas may be irreparably damaged from all the flashing lights, but other than that everything is great,” I lied. “I’ll call you later. Love you.” I dropped my phone in my lap. “What is all this?”
“Lucas is going to pay for this. Guaranteed he tipped them off.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Kid, it’s all about the game, and right now, you are the hottest ticket in this town. So smile pretty and don’t say a word.”
It was so much easier when I was telling Sam what to do with all the attention and interviews she had thrown her way. Again, thanks to me. What had I done to Peter’s family? My family?
Two valet attendants opened our doors casually as if they were no longer impressed by celebrities pulling up in cars that probably cost more than they made in four years. I had to practically launch myself out of the low-riding car. More like Joan had to push me. It was only two days ago that I was cloaked under a veil of anonymity and my biggest worry was how ridiculous I looked in a silk gown. This pantsuit was even less my style. I mean, who was I? The loud voices wielding cameras told me I was Autumn Moone. My heart said otherwise.
Joan walked toward me with an air of confidence as if she were merely walking into work. She linked arms with me and reminded me to smile. I felt so numb I wasn’t sure if I was smiling or not. The only reason I knew I was walking was because my heeled feet were screaming how much they hated me at the moment. The press was shouting all sorts of questions behind a rope line. When will your next book come out? Is it true your husband was a priest when you got married? People are saying this is all an elaborate scheme put on by your publisher! What do you say to that? Are you really the author?
Joan kept us moving forward.
Once we were safely in the low-lit restaurant, I let out the breath I’d been holding.
Joan laughed. “You did good, Del. Not quite as good as the pictures circulating around of you sucking the face off your husband this morning, but you get an A in my book.”
Joan and Fiona were checking social media for me, per usual, though there was a lot more to see. I was still doing my best not to get pulled into what everyone was saying online. It was going to stifle my creativity; not that I was getting a chance to write.
A voice I adored most of the time caught our attention. Chad came running toward us with his arms wide open, laughing, and shaking his head. “We can finally take our love out into the open, girl.” He was to me in seconds, wrapping me up in his strong, well-dressed arms. He was what James would call a metro male, in his tailored cranberry suit and dark hair styled to perfection. His teeth gleamed bright against his cocoa skin. He was a beautiful man. Not Peter beautiful, but to me, no one was as beautiful as my husband.
I tried to take comfort in his embrace, but my thoughts were still on Peter. “Chad, what are you doing here?”
“Protecting you from the big bad wolf, though I know you can handle him on your own.” He released me. “And who needs me when you brought his weakness?”
I gave Joan a sly smile. “Anything you want to say about that?”
She shot daggers aimed at Chad with her eyes. A lesser man would have turned and run from her deadly gaze. Chad only stared back, daring her to contradict him. Her answer was to brush past him. “Where’s our table?”
A look passed between Chad and me that said he’d hit the nail on the head. Very interesting.
The restaurant was exclusive, which gave way to a reprieve of onlookers. That and we were seated in a private room upstairs. The room, with brick-lined walls, was illuminated mostly by candles of all shapes and sizes. It could have very well been in someone’s home, except for the obscene amount of alcohol that filled one wall and the bartender that came with it. Now I saw why business was transacted here. Good thing I wasn’t drinking.
When we entered, Lucas stood up and, like Joan, he came off as a fearsome creature. He and Joan had more than one thing in common—he was also a lawyer by trade but took over the family publishing business about ten years ago. His previous occupation served him well as CEO and it had introduced him to Joan, if I wasn’t mistaken. I believe once upon a time they worked for the same law firm.
Lucas was dashing in his own right in a dark suit and red power tie. It went well with his cappuccino hair with hints of gray and his electric blue eyes that landed first on Joan. He directed both longing and frustration toward his opponent for the evening. I’d wondered what had happened since Thanksgiving. The last time I saw them together, the overriding emotion was loathing. Now it was more I loathe you, but I would love you if you’d let me.
Joan squared her shoulders and met his gaze. For a fraction of a second, I swore I saw a hint of vulnerability, as if he had hurt her, but she recovered quickly and sneered at him, causing him to breathe out in disappointment. Whatever their story was, it no doubt had the makings of a delicious tale. But we were not here to play out their love affair. This was business.
“Delanie,” Lucas’s baritone voice filled the room. “It’s good to see you again.” He was playing the nice guy angle up front.
“You as well.” I played along. I didn’t dislike Lucas, but we didn’t exactly see eye to eye. He was all about the business, which was understandable, but if he had it his way, I would be pumping out a new book every quarter and dragging Hunter’s and Laine’s saga out three more books. That wasn’t happening. It was either now or never for them.
“We could have done without your welcoming committee downstairs.” Joan took the first shot.
“You think I called the press?” Lucas acted affronted.
“I know you did.”
Lucas gave her a Cheshire cat grin. He liked to play the game, especially with her. He held out the chair to his right. “Join me, Joan.” There was a double, maybe even triple meaning to that invite.
While Joan debated, Chad placed his hand on the small of my back and led me toward the table. “We’ll be the fun side of the table.” Chad held out a chair for me across from Lucas.
Lucas and Joan were still standing, arguing with their eyes about what should be done. There were only four seats at the round table, so Joan had to take that one. But I could tell she was debating whether or not she should stand for the night.
“Jo, come on.” Lucas’s disarming smile appeared.
Jo? I had never heard anyone call her that. Hmm. I was beginning to think that their relationship had more meat to it than Joan had let on. I knew one of the reasons she took me as a client was because she knew how cunning Lucas could be and she felt a need to protect me from him, but now I wondered if she hadn’t hoped to cross paths with him more.
Joan glowered at him, eventually taking the seat he offered to her, but she refused to let him push her in.
Chad and I smiled at each other as if we had a front row seat to the best show in town.
Once we were all seated, a waiter appeared and filled the crystal goblets in front of us with water and asked if we would like anything from the bar.
Lucas once again acted boldly. “A dry martini with several olives for the lady.” He smirked at Joan. “And I’ll take a scotch, neat.” Lucas winced suddenly while Joan smiled with satisfaction. I had a feeling her stilettos made direct contact with his foot.
The waiter handed us each a small menu printed with gold leafing. Was that really necessary? Who needed to print anything in gold?
Before I could even look at the menu, Lucas was happy to tell us what was good. “They have an excellent sea bream with zucchini or chilled corn soup and peaches. Or,” his attention landed once again on Joan, “we could always order dessert first. Blackberry sorbet, perhaps?”
What was going on? Was he only trying to throw Joan off her game or was he declaring his feelings? Either way, I could go for that blackberry sorbet.
Joan gripped the white linen covered table and swung right back at him. “That’s the problem with you, you always go straight for dessert instead of recognizing how important the three courses before it are.”
Ouch.
Lucas recoiled, any playfulness in his features erased, only a red tint in his high-boned cheeks remained.
The gloves had come off. It was time for the games to begin.