Darkest Ecstasy (12 page)

He should have seen that coming, but he hadn't. His wife wished to take other partners. The idea grated. But he recognized the hypocrisy of not allowing her to do what she wished if he was going to. “I would have to think about that.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You had better think about it. Think long and hard.” She slid the ring back onto her finger. “With a slight adjustment, it will be a perfect fit.”

His heart twisted. “Yes, it will be.”

Well, that was it.

He had his wife. Soon he would have his boys. Everything would be great.

He hoped.

T
he jerk.

What the heck?

The asshole!

What the hell?

By the following Sunday, over a week and a half later, Michelle wasn't sad anymore. She wasn't disappointed. She wasn't confused, either.

She was mad.

Angry.

Furious.

Tage-the-crazy-guy hadn't called since she'd politely declined his insane marriage proposal. What the hell was up with that? Surely her refusal wasn't grounds for him to never speak to her again.

As she had the last week, this morning she took some extra time on her routine, making sure she looked her absolute best. Instead of pulling her hair back like usual, she left it down and curled it. Fat, sexy waves tumbled around her shoulders. She plucked and primped until she was date-ready. Then she grabbed a granola bar and a diet cola and ran out the door ten minutes earlier than normal.

Her hands trembled as she drove to work. Literally shook. And her heart pounded in her chest, fast and hard. She was a nervous wreck. But she had to find out what the hell was going on with Tage.

She pulled into the parking lot almost fifteen minutes earlier than normal—her nerves had her stomping on the gas a little harder than usual—parked, gathered her purse into her lap, and waited.

Ten minutes later, she'd seen no sign of him.

Fifteen minutes later, still no Tage.

Twenty minutes later, and she couldn't wait any longer. She kept scanning the parking lot for his car as she
click-clacked
into the building. She rode the elevator up to her floor alone. As she waited for the car to slowly climb, she closed her eyes and leaned against the back wall, memories of being in that very car with Tage flashing in her head.

He had to be avoiding her. There could be no other explanation. Why? What was going on?

When the car stopped at her floor, she dragged herself out of it.

Her insides were a jumble.

Her emotions were once again all over the place.

This was crazy.

Before she opened the door to suite 610, she sucked in a deep breath, let it out, and jerked up her chin. She couldn't let this silly crap get in the way of her work. She just couldn't.

Still feeling like shit, she let herself into the suite, greeted Lauren with a wave and a smile.

“You haven't heard the big news yet,” Lauren said, eyes glittering with excitement.

“What news?”

“Angela came in this morning with a great big rock on her finger. She's engaged.”

Angela? Engaged? Her heart jerked.

“He's that rich guy, Tage Garner.”

This time her heart stopped. Literally. The air left her lungs in an audible huff. “Who?” she wheezed.

“Tage Garner. You know him. He's your account. Angela said he showed up at her place last night with a ring, told her he couldn't live another day without her, and begged her to marry him. On the spot. Can you believe it? I don't think they even know each other that well. I guess that's what rich people do, huh? Marry women they don't know on a whim. I'm guessing she'll have to sign a prenup.”

Tage?

And Angela?

Married?

Married!

Michelle merely nodded. She couldn't speak. Her insides were being wrung like a twisted shirt through one of those old-fashioned, crank-style laundry wringers. It was absolute agony. But she tried to hold it together. And she did okay. For about ten seconds. Then her stomach lurched.

She ran for the bathroom.

Luckily, for her dignity, and the custodial staff's convenience, she made it there in time. She lost both the granola bar and the diet cola. And the makeup she'd taken such care to apply began running down her face.

She wanted to go home, crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head, and pretend the world didn't exist for a while. But she wouldn't do that. No. She wouldn't let that jackass and that bitch get the better of her.

Nor would she storm upstairs to that asshole's office and give him her idea of a congratulatory hug—a slap across the face.

What the hell was he doing? What the hell?

Determined to regain her composure and get on with her day, she pulled out her arsenal of beauty products from her bag and began putting herself back together. She was looking pretty decent when she heard the door swing open and the soft
click-click
of heels on tile. Ignoring the newcomer, she picked up her lipstick and pulled off the top. As she was lifting her eyes to look in the mirror, she caught sight of blond hair in the reflection. Her gaze jerked, and she found herself staring at Angela's picture-perfect face.

“Good morning,” Angela said as she plopped her handbag on the counter.

Good morning it was not, but Michelle pasted on an expression she hoped would pass for a smile and responded with, “Good morning.”

Angela gazed at her reflection in the mirror and sighed. “I am so tired. Just look at the bags under my eyes.”

Michelle had absolutely nothing to say in response, so she went back to what she'd been doing.

“What a night,” Angela said with a second sigh as she used her left hand to smooth her hair back. The big rock on her finger caught the light and practically blinded Michelle.

Sheesh, could Angela be more obvious? Not succumbing to her coworker's ridiculous nudges, Michelle smoothed on some lipstick, dropped it back into her bag, and left.

God, what a bitch. If Angela had any idea what she was doing by basically gloating about her conquest, she was a bigger bitch than Michelle had ever thought.

She had to blink a few times to clear her eyes as she headed to her cubicle, but that did the job. And before long she was busy with work, her mind occupied, taking calls, responding to e-mails, and otherwise doing her damnedest to make sure she didn't break down again. She was doing a fine job of it until Angela knocked on her cubbie wall and poked her head in to ask, “What are you doing for lunch?”

“I'm not eating lunch today,” Michelle said.

“Oh.” Angela pouted. “Why?”

“I'm sick.” That, at least, was partially true. She felt like crap today, worn out, foggy-headed, and nauseous. She'd caught a stomach virus.

“Oh. I'm sorry. Would you like me to get you some soup or something?” Angela offered, not looking sorry or concerned at all.

“No thanks.”

“Okay.” Angela's head disappeared. Then it reappeared again. “I'm dying. I need to tell you something. And ask for a favor.”

“I'm kind of busy now.”

“Okay. Catch me later, before you leave.”

“Sure.”

That bought Michelle a handful of hours. But only that. At six o'clock, Angela was back at her cubicle, purse in hand, clearly ready to leave for the night. “I'm calling it a day. You?”

Michelle was ready, but she didn't want to walk out with Angela. Because she knew if she did, she would have to listen to Angela talking about Tage. “Well, I still have a few things I need to wrap up.”

Instead of leaving, like Michelle had hoped, Angela grabbed a chair from the next cubbie and pulled it up to Michelle's. “Are you mad at me about something?”

“Mad at you?” Maybe.

“Yes. You've been so quiet today.”

“I'm always quiet,” Michelle said, pretending to be busy.

“Okay, so maybe you are pretty quiet. But I'm getting a different vibe from you today.”

Michelle shrugged. “I don't know why that would be. Maybe it's because I don't feel well.”

Angela seemed to like that explanation. She smiled, nodded. “Yes, maybe. Anyway, I want to ask you for a favor.”

“Oh?”

“I um, know you've heard I'm getting married in a couple of weeks. Lauren said she told you. I'd like for you to be my maid of honor.”

It took a few seconds for Angela's words to sink in. When they did, Michelle's head spun. “Maid of honor? Me?”

“Yes, you,” Angela said, giving her a little nudge with an elbow. “Who else would I ask? You're my best friend here.”

Best friend? Me?
“I am?”

“Yes, you are. You sound shocked.”

“Well, yes. We hardly know each other,” Michelle pointed out as she tried to think of other, more compelling reasons why she shouldn't be Angela's maid of honor. She couldn't go to this wedding. No way.

“Okay, that's true. We don't know each other that well. But my very best friend lives in DC, and she just had a baby. She can't get away. Not even for a few days. So I was hoping you wouldn't mind . . .” Angela gave Michelle a wide-eyed, pleading look.

“I don't know . . .”

“Please, will you do it?”

“I . . .” She couldn't imagine standing in a chapel, watching Angela marry the man she'd just slept with. “I don't know. What's the date? I . . .”
Think quick. You need a good excuse
. “I have some family coming in from out of town in the next few weeks.”

“We've tentatively set the date for May fourth.”

“I'll check my calendar.”

“Thank you.” Angela literally flung herself at her and gave her a big, squeezy, patty, bear hug. “I hope you can do it.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

“You're the best.” Angela stood, smoothed her skirt with her left hand, making sure to display her big, stupid ring, and then flounced off. At the exit, she called out, “See you tomorrow!”

Unfortunately, she would. “Bye.” Michelle powered down her computer, grabbed her purse, and, making sure Angela was long gone, headed for the door. Being the last one to leave, she cut off the lights and locked up before heading to the elevator.

She hit the button, then started scrolling through her personal e-mail on her cell phone. When the bell rang, signaling the elevator car's arrival, she stepped forward without looking up. The doors rumbled open, and out of the corner of her eye she spied men's shoes in the elevator.

Her gaze climbed higher, following the long line of two well-clad legs, lean torso, broad shoulders.

Oh hell.

It was time to start taking the stairs.

Maybe it was her imagination, but she could swear she saw something flash in his eyes. She didn't step inside right away. She was frozen by surprise. But when the doors started rolling shut, she stuck out her arm to catch it. To hell with him. She wasn't going to let him scare her away from the elevator. Or anything else.

She moved to the front corner of the car and watched the doors close. Then she stared straight ahead and tried not to let him know how intensely she felt his nearness. Nerves in her skin prickled with heat, up and down her back. The short ride was going to be freaking torture. All sixty or ninety seconds of it.

The car remained silent except for the hum of the motor as it slowly descended to the ground floor. She tilted her eyes up to watch the numbers above the doors illuminate, one at a time. Five. Four. Three. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him poking at one of the buttons. Was he going to get out? Good.

The car stopped.

“Michelle.”

Why weren't the doors opening?

She didn't turn around.

“Michelle,” he repeated.

A wave of warmth washed through her. A war was raging inside her mind. One part of her brain was telling her to turn around, to get the answers she'd been aching for since she'd found out about the engagement that morning. The other part was telling her to keep silent and still and let that man marry whomever the hell he wanted, whether she was a coldhearted bitch or not.

The part that wanted answers won. She glanced over her shoulder and her gaze tangled with his. Immediately she saw a dark shadow in his eyes. Something was wrong.

“I owe you an explanation,” he said.

“You don't owe me anything.”

He pushed away from the back wall. That put him within inches of her. Too close. Within reach. “You don't believe that.”

A flare of anger surged through her. “What do you want from me? What do you want me to say? That I'm devastated because you decided to marry someone else? Because that would be a lie. I'm not devastated. You did what you had to do. Life goes on. Whatever.”

“You sound angry.”

“I am angry. And confused. But what do you care? I'm nothing to you. Nothing.” Angling across him, she reached for the button on the panel to get the car started again. There was no point to this conversation. None. And she was starting to lose control. Her nose was burning. Her eyes, too. She couldn't cry in front of him. She couldn't let him see how much she hurt.

He grabbed her wrist. “No, you're definitely not nothing to me.”

“Stop it!” She jerked her arm, yanking it from his grasp. “What the hell are you trying to do? Drive me insane? You made it clear from the beginning that sex was just sex to you. I shouldn't expect anything more. I assumed the marriage proposal, which came out of nowhere, was a joke. Evidently I was wrong.”

“If you'd realized it was serious, would you have answered differently?”

“Now? No. We don't know each other. I'm not the kind to run off to Vegas and get married, only to divorce a week later.”

“I'm not that kind, either.”

“Yeah, well, I guess we'll see about that.”

He visibly exhaled. His gaze wandered over her face for a moment, searching for something. She wasn't sure what. Then he pushed the button. The car lurched, then began once again to slowly fall toward the ground floor.

Michelle didn't breathe until she was out of that stupid elevator, and far, far away from that infuriating man.

Angela had no idea what she was in for. Whether it ended up being a week of hell or a lifetime, she couldn't possibly know what a screwed-up man she'd agreed to marry.