I hit the disconnect icon.
As my car filled with the music from the radio, my surroundings came into view. I was near the offices of Craven and Knowles. My mind started turning, playing Stewart’s words over in my head. He said he’d recently reviewed the contract. That was the opening I needed. If he’d reviewed it, I could review it.
Jumping two lanes of traffic and ignoring the horns, I pulled into the parking garage and found a space. It was nearing 5:00 PM. No doubt the secretary wouldn’t be pleased to see me so close to closing time. Too damn bad. I’m Mrs. Stewart Harrington.
I took off my sunglasses and looked in the rearview mirror. I never went out without makeup. My eyes looked red, as did my lips; yet, my cheeks were pale. Reaching for my purse, I found some mascara, eyeliner, and lipstick. My damp hair was tied in a knot at the back of my neck. Pulling a few loose strands from the sides, I let them dangle beside my cheeks. Sliding my sunglasses back into place, I decided it would have to do. I’d driven to the law firm for a reason, even without thinking about it. For the first time in over ten years, I wanted to see the damn contract.
“Mrs. Harrington? I-I’m sorry. Did you have an appointment?”
“No, Trish. I did not.”
She shifted uncomfortably. I knew she didn’t want to spend her precious nail-polishing time on me. Honestly, I didn’t know how this woman had kept her job as long as she had. She was probably giving blow jobs under desks. It was the only possible answer. Her skills as a receptionist certainly lacked: maybe she excelled at fellatio?
“D-Did you want to see someone?”
“Trish, I want to see something. I need to speak to Mr. Craven’s assistant. I believe she’ll be able to help me.”
She looked toward her computer. “I’ll be happy to schedule—”
I put my hand on her desk. “I’m here now. Now would be a marvelous time to schedule. Don’t you agree?”
“Y-Yes. Let me call her. I know Mr. Craven has been out. If she’s available—”
My skin crawled. “Trish, I suspect that even if Mr. Craven’s assistant is busy, she can find time for me. I’m not leaving until I see what I came to see.”
Trish stood. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll get Maggie.”
“Thank you.” I nodded as I followed her to the center conference room: the fishbowl with the blinds. It was the same one I’d been in many times. Within seconds she’d hit the switch, changing the windows to opaque.
“Mrs. Harrington, may I get you something? A coffee perhaps? One with cream and two sugars.”
“Thank you.”
I wasn’t a coffee drinker, but her request made me smile. It was one of my first lessons in being Mrs. Harrington. At that time, I’d seen so much potential. Funny, I shouldn’t have. Perhaps there was a time I’d been as positive as my sister. Leaning back against the plush leather chair I huffed. No, that had never been the case.
My purse buzzed and I pulled out my phone. There were three text messages. The first was from Brody:
“I’M WORRIED ABOUT YOU. WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU OK?”
I grinned as I replied:
“IN YOUR OFFICE. IN THE FISHBOWL.”
The second was from Stewart.
“NOT ANSWERING YOUR PHONE? VERY MATURE. COME HOME NOW!”
My grin quickly disappeared. He may have the power to make me participate in his sick-assed fantasies, but never during our marriage had he had the ability to control my comings and goings.
“I DIDN’T TURN OFF MY RINGER. I MUST NOT HAVE HEARD IT. I WILL BE HOME… LATER.”
The final message was from my sister Valerie.
“I JUST GOT A CALL FROM STEWART. WERE YOU PLANNING ON COMING TO SEE ME? I’D LOVE TO HANG OUT, BUT I’M ON CALL TONIGHT. TOMORROW?”
I sighed. I’d find something else to do. All I knew was that I didn’t plan to be home until Stewart was amply medicated and sound asleep.
“LET ME CHECK. TOMORROW MIGHT WORK.”
As I finished my last text the door opened. The young paralegal, probably about my age, in her late twenties, entered. I didn’t recognize her, but then again, young women working for Parker Craven came and went with some regularity.
“Mrs. Harrington,” she said with a tight smile. “What can I do for you?”
Trish came in the open door and set my cup of coffee on the table. After she left us alone, I replied, “Maggie, I presume?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I would like to see a contract that Mr. Craven prepared for my husband and me before our marriage. I know it’s available: my husband told me he’d recently reviewed it—yesterday, I believe. He recommended that I also review it.” The mention of Stewart seemed to dispel some tension. I remembered my recently washed face and removed my sunglasses. Obviously feigning a smile I went on, “I’m sorry I didn’t call first. As you can see, I’m not truly prepared to be out. It’s just that with his health… well, Stewart wanted me to do this right away. So here I am.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “Yes, I’m so sorry about your husband. I was worried because Mr. Craven is currently with a client, but if Mr. Harrington sent you here…”
“He did. I’d recommend that you call, but with the medication, he’s probably asleep right now. That was why I wanted to do as he asked before he woke again.”
Her light brown eyes glowed. “Of course. Let me get it for you. I haven’t sent the contract back to the filing room yet. It’s on my desk.”
I dramatically massaged my forehead. “Thank you again. I hope this doesn’t put you out.”
She shook her head. “Not at all. You stay and review as long as you need. Anything to help Mr. Harrington in his hour of need.”
I managed a smile, with my jaws clenched tightly together. It was the best I could do.
A few minutes later, I was alone with my coffee and the document. Why was he truly reviewing this? Was there something I missed ten years ago? Hell, undoubtedly I missed something. At eighteen I had no idea what all the clauses and addendums meant. It wasn’t until he later explained that I realized I’d signed a legal document with the devil himself.
I began to read:
This agreement is hereby entered into willingly and without coercion between Stewart Allen Harrington, hereinafter referred to as Mr. Harrington, and Victoria Ann Conway, hereinafter referred to as Ms. Conway. Mr. Harrington and Ms. Conway hereby agree on May…
The terms of this binding agreement between Mr. Harrington and Ms. Conway are as follows:
1. Mr. Harrington and Ms. Conway agree that all that occurs under the terms of this contract are confidential and consensual.
The door opened. Expecting Maggie or even Trish, I turned impatiently. Parker Craven’s dark glare bore into mine as he entered, a cloud of heavy cologne hanging around him. The realization of his afternoon whereabouts paralyzed my movement until I straightened my neck and returned his stare.
“Victoria, what are you doing?”
The tips of my lips moved slowly upward. There was no way it reached my eyes. Loathing was all I could feel. The rush of blood that filled my ears and eyes narrowed the scene to a tunnel. No one else existed. I felt his sweaty hands on my skin. I couldn’t allow him to see my hatred. It was my fuel, my energy to carry on.
Refusing to show him my reaction, I opened my eyes wide, and said, “Parker, nice of you to tend to me personally. Your assistant said that you were with a client.”
He looked down at the document. “I asked you a question.”
“Yes, you did. I’m reviewing the contract that Stewart and I signed.”
“Why?”
I lifted my brows innocently. “Because he told me to. After all, he said he’d reviewed it with you and I should do the same. Didn’t he tell you?”
“He told you that? When?”
My teeth ached from clenching. “Why, it was this afternoon.”
He inhaled deeply. “This afternoon. He told you that this afternoon?”
“Am I stutterin
g?”
He glared in my direction. Before he could respond, I softened my tone. “Oh, Parker, sometimes he doesn’t know exactly what he’s saying. I’m very concerned about the decisions he’s making. Why, just this afternoon, I was with him at home and he told me that you’d been to the apartment. I’m sorry I missed you.”
Parker Craven reached for the document. “I don’t know what you think you’re—”
I slapped my palm on the pages. The clap echoed throughout the small room as my eyes bore into him. “Mr. Craven, I believe that you and your firm have been hired by my husband and me. If you want that arrangement to continue in the foreseeable future, you will not attempt to stop me from seeing documents that pertain to me: this or any other.”
“I can’t allow this without Stewart’s permission.”
My grin widened. “Do you not believe that he sent me?”
“That he sent you this afternoon? No.”
I leaned back, still holding the document. “Why? Why would you doubt me?”
“Mrs. Harrington? Oh, Parker.” Brody said, opening the door and interrupting the palpable confrontation. Looking from Parker, to me, and back, Brody continued, “Maggie mentioned that Mrs. Harrington came by and needed assistance. I thought you were with another client.” Brody motioned toward the door. “If you need to get back to your other client, I’d be happy to help Mrs. Harrington.”
Parker narrowed his gaze. “Brody, this is a delicate matter between Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. I believe it would be better if—”
“Thank you, Mr. Phillips. I believe my husband has put his trust in you and I will too. Now, run along, Parker. I’m sure you have catching up to do. I hear you’ve been out of the office.”
I’m not sure if the senior partner had ever been told to run along. But by the crimson seeping from his cheeks to his ears, he wasn’t happy about it at this moment. Without a word, he left the room and Brody gently closed the door.
In a hushed tone, he asked, “What are you doing? What did I walk in on?”
“Brody, can you make a copy of this for me?”
“I suppose.”
“Do that. Then you and I can go through it with a fine-tooth comb.”
I DIDN’T KNOW if I could trust Brody enough to share my revelation about Parker. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure I could stomach saying it aloud. Memories of my first meeting with Parker Craven, thoughts of discussions and dinners, as well as time spent with his wife, playing tennis, attending charity functions, all combined to bring back my nausea from before. I knew in the pit of my stomach that today hadn’t been our first encounter. The ghostly scent of his cologne seeped through years of sexual encounters until all I wanted to do was bury them in a deep, bottomless tomb.
Brody touched my knee, bringing my thoughts out of the pits of hell and back to the ONE Bal Harbour Resort suite. “Hey, we have a copy of the contract. We don’t need to go through the whole thing tonight. Besides, this is sick-assed shit and you’ve had a rough day.” His eyes widened as his hands went up in surrender. “I’m sorry, Vik. I don’t need to know what you went through, or what he made you do, but just being here, sitting next to you… you’re different than you were this afternoon. I feel you pulling away. Don’t give him that power.”
My neck straightened. “I’m not. That’s why I went to the law firm. I’m not giving him the power. If I had, I’d be home right now.”
“Home with him? Why?”
“He called me, after…” I blinked unnecessarily. “…I yelled at him. I can almost tell you the number of times I’ve yelled during our entire marriage. Honestly, there haven’t been many. It’s just that he made me a promise. From the very beginning of this sick-assed thing…” I motioned toward the contract and emphasized Brody’s words. “…he made me a promise and today he broke it.”
“And you’re surprised? A man who made you sign a contract like this… you’re surprised he broke a promise?”
My chin fell to my chest. “Stupid, isn’t it?”
Warmth enveloped me as strong arms pulled me closer. “No, Vik. It’s not stupid and you’re not stupid. You were tricked into marrying the devil. It’s only natural that you’d try to justify his actions and hold on to any shred of moral high ground.”
Inhaling Brody’s fresh clean scent, I allowed myself to melt against his chest. His words, tone, and actions were exactly what any normal woman would want to hear. But then again, I wasn’t normal. How could I be? I’d been told since before I could remember that I was venom. If there were even a small part of me that had feelings for Brody, the best thing I could do for him was to keep my distance. Then again, I needed his help, at least until the nightmare named Stewart Harrington was buried deeper than my memories.
“Stop it,” Brody commanded.
My eyes widened. “Stop what?”
“You’re still doing it. You’re retreating to wherever you go in that beautiful head of yours.”
He was right. It was safer there. I could control the world in there.
“Vik? Look at me.”
Clearing away the fog of broken promises, I peered into the tranquil aquamarine of his gaze.
“That’s it. Now, stop thinking about anyone or anything else: live in the here and now, with me.”
I shook my head. “I can’t. I need to go home. I’m sure Stewart’s asleep by now, but if I’m not there when he wakes, he’ll ask questions.”
“When you spoke, what did you tell him you were going to do?”
“I said I wasn’t going home right away. I told him I was going to go out with Val.”
Brody’s brows peaked expectantly. “Do you ever spend the night at your sister’s?”
I couldn’t stop the smile. “I have, but not often. Stewart doesn’t approve.”
“But… you yelled at him, right?”
I nodded.
“He knows you’re mad?”
“Yes, I made that pretty clear.”
“Why aren’t you with Val?” he asked.
“She has rounds at the hospital tonight. I remember her saying that she’s covering for some other doctors, ones who’ll be covering for her while she’s in Uganda.”
“Uganda?” Brody repeated.
“Yes, that’s her latest project. With the help of the Harrington Society, she’s been and will continue to bring cancer treatment to remote villages. It’s pretty remarkable. She’s organized a big network. There are volunteers there all the time, but as the administrator of the grant, she has to be the one to monitor and help with transporting the necessary drugs.”
“Isn’t it dangerous?”
“She assured me that there are more dangerous areas of the world,” I replied, remembering how I’d asked Val the same question. “That doesn’t mean I don’t worry about her. I asked her why she couldn’t offer the same services here in the United States. There are still millions of people here who can’t afford the necessary treatment. Especially with Stewart’s diagnosis, it made sense. Why not start Harrington Cancer Clinics in the US?”
“Great idea. What did she say?”
“She laughed and told me she’d get a grant proposal to me as soon as she could.”
“I love the way your beautiful eyes glow when you talk about your sister.”
“She’s the only good thing to come out of this.”
“No, she’s not,” Brody said matter-of-factly.
Pressing my lips together, I didn’t respond.
“How many people has she helped through the Harrington Society?”
“Hundreds, maybe thousands. But who’s to say she wouldn’t have done that—”
“You’re doing it again, Vik. Don’t sell yourself short. You made a deal with the devil and managed to promote good. Damn, beautiful, you’re the one who deserves sainthood.”
He couldn’t have been more wrong. Sainthood was not in my future. Well, unless the devil had an apprenticeship program. I mean, he did start out an angel. I chuckled. Perhaps the devil did have a p
rogram. Unfortunately for him, I’d been a very good student.
“You’re doing it again.” His tone was demanding, as he proclaimed, “Stay with me.”
“I can’t.”
“Not the night, though I want that. Stay here in this suite, with the ocean view.” He gestured toward the windows. “Stay here. Don’t go back into the darkness.”
If he only understood: that was where I was born and where I’d lived. It was who I was. Nothing he could do or say would change that.
“If Stewart’s already asleep,” Brody began, “give me two hours. I’ll search the contract tomorrow and text you. We’ll work out another time and place to discuss it. Just, please, give me two hours tonight.”
My lips quirked to a one-sided grin. “Why, Mr. Phillips? What could we possibly do in two hours?”
Lifting my hand, Brody stood. “Come with me, Victoria, let me show you.”
My gaze fluttered toward the floor. “I-I don’t…”
“Please,” he implored. “No sex. Let me hold you. Just the two of us, in the light.”
The anxious twisting in my stomach told me what I already knew: I should leave. I shouldn’t allow my darkness to pollute his light. However, before I could argue, Brody had arranged the bed pillows and pulled me toward his broad chest. The beating of his heart echoed in my emptiness. It resonated with an ache more painful than the shame I used to feel from the warehouse or Stewart’s comments.
That humiliation was no longer present. It had been, but I’d learned to shut myself off. It was like this afternoon. My body engaged in the activities instructed by the voice through the headphones, but my mind and my heart were shielded. As Brody continued to whisper loving things, the pain within me grew. Shouldn’t I like this? Maybe my heart wasn’t shielded; maybe it was dead? Then again, can an organ ache if it no longer existed?