He flips the switch to lock the doors open. “I just wanted to say a proper goodbye to my wife,” he says, then draws me close for a kiss so full of heat and desire I think it’s going to take me the entire descent to recover.
“Mmm,” I say when he breaks the kiss. “I have a phone conference at ten. I could text Marge and tell her I’m not coming in by nine, after all. I’m sure she’ll be fine with putting off reviewing everything on my calendar for this week.” Marge is the receptionist for the entire floor of office suites, but I also recently hired her as my part-time assistant.
“Tempting,” he says, then brushes his lips over my ear. “But I’d hate to throw Marge off her game. I’ll see you tonight,” he says, “and we’ll finish what we started in the shower.”
“I thought we finished just fine,” I tease.
“Trust me, sweetheart.” His teeth tug gently on my earlobe. “That was just an appetizer.”
“Oh.” I hold onto the handrail because I suddenly feel a little limp.
“I’ll see both of you later,” he says as he flips the switch to release the doors.
I laugh and then blow him a kiss as the doors slide closed. And the last thing I see before he disappears completely is a smug smile filled with the promise of things to come.
Honestly, I can hardly wait.
I’m still smiling as the elevator doors slide open in the lobby.
Normally, I’d just take the elevator all the way to the parking garage, but I’d started to feel nauseous during the descent, and I thought maybe a muffin would stave off morning sickness. So I head toward Java B’s, the little coffee shop in the Stark Tower lobby.
Unfortunately, the line is at least a mile long, but since it’s a gorgeous summer morning, I opt to go outside to the cafe’s outdoor kiosk. I head that way, calling out a quick good morning to Joe at the security desk as I head toward the revolving door. “Welcome back, Mrs. Stark,” he says.
“Thanks, Joe.” I’m about to ask if he’d like me to grab him a coffee, but I end up choking on the words. Because right there on the other side of the glass I see the familiar dark hair, trim figure, and sharp cheekbones of a woman who so closely resembles Audrey Hepburn that she often turns heads on the street.
Giselle Reynard.
Immediately, my stomach lurches, and I’m suddenly glad I haven’t eaten that muffin.
What the hell is she doing here? And not just in Los Angeles, but at Stark Tower?
Damien had sent her very firmly away before he and I were even married. The bitch had not only told the press that Damien had paid a million dollars for a nude portrait of me, but she’d also floated bullshit stories to the media, including the ridiculous rumor that Damien, Jamie, and I were having a three-way. She’d been in the middle of a divorce, desperate and hurting for money, but as far as I’m concerned, what she did was unforgivable.
Damien had bought out her art galleries and agreed not to sue her for defamation if she got the hell out of Los Angeles and didn’t look back. The last I heard, she was in Florida.
Apparently, she decided to tempt fate by returning.
I don’t realize that I’ve stopped dead until the mechanical voice of the revolving door chides me to “Please keep moving”.
I take a step forward, then another. I’m actually considering just making the full circle back to the lobby when Giselle looks up, sees me, and flashes a tentative smile.
Well, fuck.
I step out of the safety of the door and into the bustle of a city coming to life. People scurrying into the building. Horns blaring. A news helicopter overhead.
And Giselle, hurrying over to meet me, her smile just a little too bright. “Nikki,” she says. “Congratulations.”
“Excuse me?” My voice is cold. Hard.
She swallows, her smile faltering. “I heard that you’re pregnant,” she says, dashing my hopes that the gossip was localized in Dallas. “Or is that just a rumor?”
I raise a brow. “A rumor? Who would be vile enough to start rumors about me? Especially about something personal.”
Her shoulders sag. “Do you want me to say I’m sorry again? I am. I was a mess back then. I had so many debts, and I was so scared that everything was going to come crashing down around my shoulders.” Her mouth twists ironically. “And then it all did crash, and I survived. And I realized that now I have to live with every horrible thing I did during those dark days. So if you hate me, that’s okay. I deserve it.”
I exhale slowly. “I don’t hate you, Giselle. I did,” I admit. “But now you’re not even on my radar.”
My words are biting, and I expect to see the force of them cut through her. Instead, she just nods as if she understands completely. Hell, maybe she does. Maybe she really is contrite.
I don’t know.
Honestly, I don’t much care. All I know is that she went out of her way to hurt not just me but also my relationship with Damien. And not even out of spite or jealousy, but simply to push her own self-interests.
Even if she is in a better place now, that doesn’t mean I’m ready to forgive.
“Why are you here, Giselle?” I demand.
“I have an appointment. With Damien.”
“You set up an appointment with Damien?” I can’t believe he didn’t tell me he was going to meet with Giselle.
“Not with him. Through his assistant.”
I nod, relieved. Rachel was only working weekends when I was dating Damien. Odds are she doesn’t even remember the drama that Giselle caused back then.
She glances at her watch. “I should go. She squeezed me in at eight-thirty. I told her I was only in town for the morning and, well, I don’t want to be late.” The corner of her mouth quirks up. “I have a feeling Damien will be as enthusiastic about seeing me as you are.” Her voice is high and self-deprecating. “And I don’t need to add fuel to an already unpleasant fire by being late. But, seriously,” she adds, her tone shifting toward sincere, “congratulations. I’m happy for both of you. Truly.”
With a final apologetic smile, she scurries inside. I stand there for a minute, trying to recall why I’d come onto the plaza in the first place. Muffin, I remember and take a step toward the kiosk.
“A latte, Mrs. Stark?” the barista asks, but I shake my head. Right now, the idea of food sitting heavy in my stomach sounds like the most horrible thing ever.
“Mmm,” I say when he breaks the kiss. “I have a phone conference at ten. I could text Marge and tell her I’m not coming in by nine, after all. I’m sure she’ll be fine with putting off reviewing everything on my calendar for this week.” Marge is the receptionist for the entire floor of office suites, but I also recently hired her as my part-time assistant.
“Tempting,” he says, then brushes his lips over my ear. “But I’d hate to throw Marge off her game. I’ll see you tonight,” he says, “and we’ll finish what we started in the shower.”
“I thought we finished just fine,” I tease.
“Trust me, sweetheart.” His teeth tug gently on my earlobe. “That was just an appetizer.”
“Oh.” I hold onto the handrail because I suddenly feel a little limp.
“I’ll see both of you later,” he says as he flips the switch to release the doors.
I laugh and then blow him a kiss as the doors slide closed. And the last thing I see before he disappears completely is a smug smile filled with the promise of things to come.
Honestly, I can hardly wait.
I’m still smiling as the elevator doors slide open in the lobby.
Normally, I’d just take the elevator all the way to the parking garage, but I’d started to feel nauseous during the descent, and I thought maybe a muffin would stave off morning sickness. So I head toward Java B’s, the little coffee shop in the Stark Tower lobby.
Unfortunately, the line is at least a mile long, but since it’s a gorgeous summer morning, I opt to go outside to the cafe’s outdoor kiosk. I head that way, calling out a quick good morning to Joe at the security desk as I head toward the revolving door. “Welcome back, Mrs. Stark,” he says.
“Thanks, Joe.” I’m about to ask if he’d like me to grab him a coffee, but I end up choking on the words. Because right there on the other side of the glass I see the familiar dark hair, trim figure, and sharp cheekbones of a woman who so closely resembles Audrey Hepburn that she often turns heads on the street.
Giselle Reynard.
Immediately, my stomach lurches, and I’m suddenly glad I haven’t eaten that muffin.
What the hell is she doing here? And not just in Los Angeles, but at Stark Tower?
Damien had sent her very firmly away before he and I were even married. The bitch had not only told the press that Damien had paid a million dollars for a nude portrait of me, but she’d also floated bullshit stories to the media, including the ridiculous rumor that Damien, Jamie, and I were having a three-way. She’d been in the middle of a divorce, desperate and hurting for money, but as far as I’m concerned, what she did was unforgivable.
Damien had bought out her art galleries and agreed not to sue her for defamation if she got the hell out of Los Angeles and didn’t look back. The last I heard, she was in Florida.
Apparently, she decided to tempt fate by returning.
I don’t realize that I’ve stopped dead until the mechanical voice of the revolving door chides me to “Please keep moving”.
I take a step forward, then another. I’m actually considering just making the full circle back to the lobby when Giselle looks up, sees me, and flashes a tentative smile.
Well, fuck.
I step out of the safety of the door and into the bustle of a city coming to life. People scurrying into the building. Horns blaring. A news helicopter overhead.
And Giselle, hurrying over to meet me, her smile just a little too bright. “Nikki,” she says. “Congratulations.”
“Excuse me?” My voice is cold. Hard.
She swallows, her smile faltering. “I heard that you’re pregnant,” she says, dashing my hopes that the gossip was localized in Dallas. “Or is that just a rumor?”
I raise a brow. “A rumor? Who would be vile enough to start rumors about me? Especially about something personal.”
Her shoulders sag. “Do you want me to say I’m sorry again? I am. I was a mess back then. I had so many debts, and I was so scared that everything was going to come crashing down around my shoulders.” Her mouth twists ironically. “And then it all did crash, and I survived. And I realized that now I have to live with every horrible thing I did during those dark days. So if you hate me, that’s okay. I deserve it.”
I exhale slowly. “I don’t hate you, Giselle. I did,” I admit. “But now you’re not even on my radar.”
My words are biting, and I expect to see the force of them cut through her. Instead, she just nods as if she understands completely. Hell, maybe she does. Maybe she really is contrite.
I don’t know.
Honestly, I don’t much care. All I know is that she went out of her way to hurt not just me but also my relationship with Damien. And not even out of spite or jealousy, but simply to push her own self-interests.
Even if she is in a better place now, that doesn’t mean I’m ready to forgive.
“Why are you here, Giselle?” I demand.
“I have an appointment. With Damien.”
“You set up an appointment with Damien?” I can’t believe he didn’t tell me he was going to meet with Giselle.
“Not with him. Through his assistant.”
I nod, relieved. Rachel was only working weekends when I was dating Damien. Odds are she doesn’t even remember the drama that Giselle caused back then.
She glances at her watch. “I should go. She squeezed me in at eight-thirty. I told her I was only in town for the morning and, well, I don’t want to be late.” The corner of her mouth quirks up. “I have a feeling Damien will be as enthusiastic about seeing me as you are.” Her voice is high and self-deprecating. “And I don’t need to add fuel to an already unpleasant fire by being late. But, seriously,” she adds, her tone shifting toward sincere, “congratulations. I’m happy for both of you. Truly.”
With a final apologetic smile, she scurries inside. I stand there for a minute, trying to recall why I’d come onto the plaza in the first place. Muffin, I remember and take a step toward the kiosk.
“A latte, Mrs. Stark?” the barista asks, but I shake my head. Right now, the idea of food sitting heavy in my stomach sounds like the most horrible thing ever.
