Her Perfect Revenge (10 page)

"I had no idea; honest." Slowly, he could see anger creeping into her face and Bill began to stammer. "There… there was nothing I… I could do." Silent, Christina kept giving him a deadly look. "You've seen the way he is. Once he makes up his mind, that's it." Still no response from her. "I know this wasn't part of our bargain but… maybe we can make it work? What'd you say?" Bill held his breath.

Still giving him the evil eye, Christina slowly stood up from her chair.

"Is that a 'yes'?" Bill squeaked.

Cupping both hands together, Christina scooped up some of the Chocolate Mousse cake from her plate and began to walk around the table towards Bill with it. Bill watched her progress and knew what was coming—but he was rooted to his chair. She came to stand beside him with the gooey, creamy confection.

He looked up at her then. "You wouldn't dare."

As if on cue, Christina smashed the cake onto his head—pushing it down hard—making sure it was deeply imbedded into his hair. Pieces of it fell onto his expensive dinner jacket but Bill just sat there and took it like a gentleman. A part of him knew he deserved it for putting her through so much this evening.

He looked up again at her angry face. "Hope you don't want coffee with that too," he quipped.

Christina was so mad at him she couldn't even speak. Grabbing a linen napkin she roughly cleaned her hands of the creamy mess, reached for her purse and started walking towards the door.

"Christina, wait!" Bill jumped up, brushed off as much of the gooey mess as he could and ran after her.

* * *

Spying, William had his eye plastered to the scant two-inch opening of his study door that overlooked the foyer. He suddenly saw the dining room door being flung open and Christina marching away. She had her purse and she was heading for the front doors—and boy, did she look livid.

William snickered to himself. Wonder what she'd said to his conniving son when he, William, had exited the room? Giddy, he watched as she threw open the massive front doors and stalked outside. She was on the move and there was no stopping her.

A blink of a second later, he witnessed his deceitful progeny spring out of the dining room and charge after her.

And what the hell was that on his head and smeared onto his jacket? Could it be? Yes it was! Cake. It was the chocolate mousse cake—and his son looked bloody ridiculous.

William shut his study door and burst out laughing. The girl had hit him with the cake! Oh, what a perfect topper to a wonderful evening.

William devilishly giggled to himself. "The family that lives together, sticks together… and sticks it to each other," he mumbled.

What a bumpy ride this was going to be for his son. And when that ride was over, so would the Havenwood gravy train.

Bill's Jaguar was slowly crawling beside Christina as she was purposefully marching down the long drive away from the house. The driver's window was down and Bill was pleading.

"Christina, please let me drive you home."

Christina was so angry with him, with his father, with the entire situation that she didn't want to look at him, hear him or speak to him. All evening long, she'd been railroaded into doing things she didn't want to do and now, these two assholes were expecting her to move in and live with them in that huge house—24/7 for an entire month???!!!

It had been one thing to pretend to be a 'couple-in-love' for a few dinner dates with his father but now this creep expected her to do it 24 hours a day for thirty days under the laser-sharp eye of his commandeering, overbearing father? How would she survive that?

Christina kept walking.

"You can't walk home. It's almost midnight," Bill continued his pleading.

Christina didn't say anything. Her anger had neutralized her vocal cords.

"Christina, get in the car… please."

Bill studied her furious face. He couldn't blame her, really but he should have known his devil father would do something like this. He should have known his father would push and push and push until he'd gotten his way about everything. He was always trying to control Bill's life and Bill should have expected him to try to control Bill's marriage too.

"Let me drive you home and if you don't want to say anything to me, then you don't have to," Bill continued.

Christina reached the end of the drive and walked through the open gates. She opened her purse and retrieved her cell phone. She was calling a cab and getting the hell out of here.

Bill stopped his car beside her. "You know, it'll take a cab an hour to reach this place. Do you really want to wait an hour until 1 a.m. in the middle of nowhere?"

Christina put the phone to her ear and Bill heard her say, "Hi, I'd like a cab at 14025 Wickingham Drive." She paused, then exploded, "What? An hour?" Angry, her eyes flashed to Bill and he smiled. "Never mind. Thank you," she barked into the phone before slapping it closed with one push.

Bill reached over and opened the passenger door invitingly. Christina glared at him as she reluctantly plopped herself into the plush seat. She slammed the door shut and stared straight ahead through the windshield, refusing to look at him.

Bill studied the beautiful creature beside him. "I know you don't want to talk to me but you're going to have to tell me where to take you. I don't know where you live."

Christina gave him a deadly fierce look. If looks could kill, as the old adage said, he'd have been incinerated to burnt toast right about now.

Then, reaching into her purse, she pulled out a small pad and pen and wrote the words, 'twenty-third and sixth' on it. She shoved it in front of Bill's face.

Bill looked at the paper and then at her set expression. "The silent treatment still on?" he asked. Not answering, Christina stared straight ahead. "Okay then," he surrendered. He put the Jaguar in drive and squealed onto the street.

Christina gave him a sneaky look from under her lashes. She knew that not speaking to him may have been childish and immature but it was the only thing making her feel good right now—so what the hell!

* * *

They had been driving for twenty minutes and neither of them had spoken a word. Christina sensed rather than saw his eyes dart towards her several times. She knew he was worried. She would be too, if she were in his position. Good. Let him worry. Let him panic. Let him suffer. Looked good on him. But then anything would look good on that handsome mug.

Suddenly, Bill reached over to turn on the radio and his arm accidentally brushed her leg. Christina felt the physical sparks again—almost as if he'd given her a static shock. She quickly pulled her leg away from him.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

So—he'd felt it too, she sensed. The damn car was too small anyway and they were sitting too close to each other. And God—the heat inside the Jaguar was getting to be unbearable. Christina felt like she was on fire. She reached out to her passenger door, fumbling for the window button. Suddenly, the window magically slid down half way and she turned to Bill who gave her a big grin.

Christina gave him a full-on glare before turning her frozen face away. She heard him sigh with frustration.

Suddenly, Christina's calculator brain started to add a few things up. When William had first mentioned the "moving-in thing", she'd been furious. Things were quickly spiraling out of her control and she'd felt like a bedsheet on a clothesline, being pulled by the wind.

But, thinking logically—if—she were to move in with those dastardly Havenwoods, she would have complete and total access to Bill's life—to his routines, his secrets, his everything. It would be so much easier to dig up dirt on the bum if she was inside the nest rather than if she was outside looking in. What if this 'moving-in thing' was actually a blessing in disguise?

Christina instantly made up her mind. She would definitely move in tomorrow and with the unlimited access to his life that alone would give her, she could dig up enough manure on Billy Havenwood to bury him.

Bill turned onto Twenty-third Street and in seconds he pulled over to the curb, outside her apartment building. As he shut off the engine, Christina was already fumbling for the door handle.

"Do I get a goodnight kiss?" Bill sarcastically cracked.

Ever so slowly, Christina turned her head towards him, exorcist style and gave him another chilly glare.

"That looks like a 'no'," he continued, half to himself. "So, are you moving in tomorrow?" Christina kept glaring at him. He was clearly becoming frustrated as he let out a quick breath. "Say something," he said in exasperation.

Christina paused, for effect. "There's cake in your hair," she enunciated before opening her door. In a flash, she was out of the car and walking towards her building.

Panicking, Bill scooted out and looking over the top of his car, shouted after her, "I'll come by tomorrow. We'll talk then."

Christina pretended to ignore him and just kept walking. Let him wait for his answer. Why should she make this easy for him? She reached her front doors and disappeared inside.

Frustrated, Bill slapped the roof of his car before getting back in. Tomorrow, he was going to have to use every ounce of charm, fast-talking and brains he had to convince Christina to help him. But would she? Or was this the end of the Havenwood billion dollar line for him?

He revved up his Jaguar and pulled out into the city traffic. Crap—he wasn't going to sleep a wink tonight.

Meanwhile, as Christina entered her apartment, she threw her hands up joyfully in the air and shouted, "yes" to the heavens. This was going to work! Her revenge plan was actually going to work! It was time Bill Havenwood paid his dues.

Wow—revenge really was sweet and she could almost taste it.

Bill Havenwood wasn't the only one who hadn't slept all night. Christina hadn't either but for very different reasons. Ideas and plans had raced through her mind and she'd spent the night detailing everything in her journal. By morning, she had a clear picture of what she was going to do to make the rat bastard suffer.

By 9 a.m., Christina left a message for Jenny at the Streetwise Magazine office to meet her at Napoleon's Restaurant for lunch. Jenny and her little daughter Taylor lived in the same apartment building as Christina. She had knocked on Jenny's door this morning but her friend had already left for work.

* * *

"I'm engaged." Christina blurted out the words in a rush.

Both Jenny and her were seated at a small table near the back of ritzy Napoleon's. Being lunch hour, the chi-chi eatery was already suffocating with patrons.

Stunned, Jenny froze with her wine glass poised in mid-air. "But you haven't been on a date in months?"

Christina sheepishly rolled her eyes up if to say, 'you never know'. Dawning crept into Jenny's eyes. "Is it Stanley Moore? Have you been secretly dating Stanley Moore?"

"Stanley?"

"I knew he had the hots for you. And then he offered to give you free legal advice about your car accident and it all adds up. Good ole Stanley."

"Jenny…"

"He's a good catch you know, being a lawyer and a good one at that." Jenny took a big sip of her wine.

"It's not Stanley. It's… Bill Havenwood."

Jenny spit out her wine, spraying it onto Christina's blouse. "What?" Jenny choked out.

Other patrons turned their heads to stare at the commotion.

Christina lowered her voice. "Before you start screaming, hear me out." She eyed Jenny as she wiped at the stain.

And for the next ten minutes, Christina gave Jenny a blow-by-blow account of what had happened and her devil's bargain with Bill Havenwood. When she'd finished, Christina studied Jenny's face. "Well?" she tepidly inquired.

"I don't like it," Jenny announced. "You're the one who's going to get hurt, not him."

"Not this time, Jenny; I've got the upper hand."

Jenny shook her head 'no'. "Guys like him always win in the end, Christina. And from what you've said about the father, he sounds just as bad."

"Are you going to support me or lecture me because I'm telling you now, I'm going through with this, no matter what."

"Chrissy, please, think about it some more…"

"No more thinking. Are you going to help me?"

Jenny scrutinized her friend's determined face. She sighed. "You know I will. So what do you want me to do?"

Christina reached into her purse and pulled out a key. She gave it to Jenny. "This is a spare key to my apartment. Just keep an eye on the place and pick up my mail. I may have a few bills that need to be mailed out on certain days so my checks won't bounce, so I'll leave them on the kitchen table for you to mail. I'll come back and forth during the month but I may not be able to get back to the apartment everyday."

"Anything else?"

Christina wrote the Havenwood address on a napkin. "This is where I'll be. If you need to reach me, call me on my cell. Don't come by the place whatever you do. Billy Havenwood might recognize you. You were at that school a lot longer than me and he might remember you."

"That's true. I was there for almost six months before I left."

"Right. He doesn't remember me but if he sees you, it might trigger some neurons in that booze-soaked, fried brain of his and then he might connect you to me and game over."

"Got it."

Content, Christina smiled. "Now, let's eat this overpriced slop before it gets cold." She pointed to her plate.

Jenny laughed. "I'm sure it tastes better than crow which is what you'll be eating if this thing backfires on you."

* * *

After lunch, Jenny went back to work and Christina went back to her apartment but not before stopping at a newsstand to buy ten different magazines.

On entering her flat, Christina checked her answering machine for messages. There were none. So Havenwood hadn't called and it was after 1 p.m.? Interesting. But Christina wasn't worried. She knew he would call.

Now—to begin her plan…

Christina dumped all the magazines she'd bought onto the table. She then retrieved scissors, glue and an envelope from a kitchen drawer, and went to work. Christina was going to send Billy Havenwood a blackmail letter through the mail—with cutup magazine alphabet pasted together to form sentences on paper—just like they did in the movies.

And why was she doing this? She needed to know whether he truly did have secrets—and this was one way to flush it out of him.

Christina reasoned that she'd send him this anonymous blackmail letter and watch his reaction. If the only secret he was hiding was their phony engagement, Bill would show her the letter so that they could compare notes on who might have sent it. If he didn't show it to her, then—bingo—she'd know he definitely did have more secrets to hide… and she'd find them.

It was quite clever—her little plan. And it would work too. Christina was sure of it.