Mad About the Man (20 page)

*   *   *

Blocks away across town, Maddox was having thoughts not so dissimilar from Brie's.

He was having trouble concentrating on the reports and schedules and contracts on his desk, his mind constantly drifting back to the weekend just past. If he closed his eyes, he imagined he could still smell and taste her, could even now feel her as she'd lain in his arms and taken him gladly into her body.

She'd left him sated and happy but wanting more, eager for the hours to pass so he could be with her again.

Jesus
, he was worse now than he'd been in junior high. Then he'd only indulged in immature, adolescent dreams.

Now he knew the reality. Now he knew the woman.

Loved the woman?

He didn't need an answer to recognize the truth. So what was he going to do about it? Brie wasn't the sort of woman you just played around with. She would want a commitment. No, she would probably demand one, complete with vows and a ring.

His eyebrows drew into a tight line, thoughts whizzing through his mind at supersonic speed. He had one failed relationship under his belt, a marriage that hadn't worked out. What made him think a second go-round would be any more successful than the first?

Because it's Brie. Because she and I are good together.

They'd both been through relationship hell, but this time would be different, for him and for her. His eyes were wide-open now. He was a mature man who knew what he wanted. And he wanted Brie in spite of any past bitterness and fear. They could make this work. They
would
make this work.

Anyway, relationships were always a risk. Hell, life itself was a risk and he'd faced plenty of risks over the years. Why not one more? The most important one of all?

Suddenly, without giving himself more time to consider the whys and wherefores, he picked up his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts list in search of a number he hadn't called in years. He stared at the digits for several long moments, wondering if the number was still active.

Well, only one way to find out.

Hitting “call,” he put the phone to his ear and waited for it to ring on the other end.

One ring . . . two . . . three—

“Hello.”

He paused for a moment, listening to the old familiar cadence. “Ellen?”

“Yes? Who is this?”

“Hey, it's me. Maddox. I know it's been a long time, but you and I need to talk.”

“W
e've reviewed the discovery documents and have scheduled dates and times for most of the Mergenfeld depositions. There are a couple people on the list who we're still in the process of locating.”

One of the three associates in the conference room laid a stack of hefty summary reports in front of Brie where she sat across from them at the wide, polished wood table a week later. Trish, her paralegal, was also in the meeting along with Denny, the firm's investigator, and Gina to take notes.

“Even though Mergenfeld's claim isn't as strong as it might initially appear, we still believe settlement would be a better way to go,” said the second associate, who was joined by nods of agreement from his fellows.

“Maybe so, but the client doesn't want to settle.” Brie opened one of the thick briefs and began to scan through, her eyes moving quickly over the words.

Everyone was silent for a minute while she read; then she looked up. “However, I will discuss the possibility of settlement with Mr. Monroe again to see if there's been any softening in that direction.”

Knowing Maddox and his stubborn nature, she figured the possibility of his agreeing to pay his ex-partner a second time, for a business interest Maddox had bought the man out of years earlier, was roughly zero point zero. But greedy, dishonest types like Mergenfeld gouged money out of successful companies all the time, and if it made the most financial sense, she would urge Maddox to swallow his pride and fork out the legal equivalent of hush money just to get rid of Roger “the nuisance” Mergenfeld.

Of course she couldn't force Maddox to settle. But if it seemed prudent, she could nudge him hard in that direction. For now, though, the lawsuit was moving forward. Which meant that all the groundwork for the case needed to be laid whether it was eventually utilized or not.

“The depositions,” Brie said. “I see the first ones are scheduled for next week. You three”—she waved a pen toward the trio of eager associates—“will get those started. I'll come in to observe and handle any lines of questioning that seem to need clarification. Any issues I should know about?”

Three heads shook no.

“Now, about these missing parties. Let's go over the problems you're encountering.”

She took out the sheet containing the list of names of the individuals who needed to be deposed.

“Now, this first one, Alice Smith, she was a bookkeeper at the time, but she's no longer at her last known address; is that right?”

Denny, the investigator, joined the conversation. “Yes, we believe she married and changed her last name, then moved out of state. I'm tracing her, trying to locate any family or friends who might know her current whereabouts, but so far it's been mostly dead ends. I'm working on it.”

Brie made a notation beside the name. “Good, keep searching.”

She moved on to the next.

They were nearly to the end of the list when she read off the second to last. “Ellen Kilkenny. What's her story?”

“Rather interesting actually,” Denny said, lifting his thin auburn eyebrows the way he did when he'd come across some unexpected or curious bit of information. “We located her without too much difficulty, though we had to go a few layers deep to track her current address and vital stats. She lives on some island off the coast of Washington State.”

“Okay. But if you know where she is, then what's the problem? Is she refusing to cooperate? If travel is the problem, tell her we'll pay her expenses to come here to New York. Otherwise we can do the deposition via teleconferencing.”

Denny exchanged a sideways look with one of the associates, who was apparently aware of whatever situation was at hand. “Well, it's not that she won't cooperate exactly. It's just—”

“Yes? Just what?”

“Well, we wanted to run it past you first to make sure you definitely want her included.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“Because she's Monroe's wife.”

Brie stared, her pen frozen suddenly against her yellow legal pad. “Wife?” Inwardly, her pulse gave a weird double beat. Outwardly, she didn't react, careful not to betray the shock and confusion running through her mind. “Ex-wife, you mean.”

“No, his wife.” Denny thumbed through a couple of papers inside a file. “From what I could ascertain, she and Monroe have been separated for a number of years. No children, though he does provide her with a minimal level of support twice a year.”

She couldn't breathe. She hurt, her chest aching as if she'd taken a punch straight through the ribs to her heart.

Married?

Maddox was married? Had been married all this time with never a word to her? No, it wasn't possible. He wouldn't do this to her. He wouldn't lie, not about something so important, so essential to them both.

It had to be a mistake.

“Are you certain?” Her voice was calm, maybe too calm, but not enough for any of the others to notice. “He's known in public circles as a bachelor. Maybe there was a divorce, but the decree got lost or misfiled somewhere?”

The words sounded ridiculous, even to her. Yet still she didn't want to accept what the others clearly already accepted as the truth.

Denny shook his head. “Definitely no divorce. They are still legally married. I double-checked at the courthouse of record. And Mrs. Monroe herself confirmed it when I spoke to her, even though she goes by her maiden name, Kilkenny. Doesn't want the press to find her apparently.”

Or anyone else such as Maddox's lovers.

The room began to buzz. Had a fly gotten inside the conference room? Then again, maybe the sound was only in her head.

“So? Keep her on the deposition list?” one of the associates asked.

“What?”

“The list. You want us to leave her on it and set her up for questions?”

Brie couldn't think, her mind an odd, dark blank. And she was cold, as if she'd suddenly been tossed into a meat locker and left to freeze. Yet somehow she managed to make her muscles function.

She slammed the cover closed on her pad, reached out to gather up the binders she'd brought with her, cradling them to her chest. “I'll think about it and let you know.”

Getting to her feet, she stood upright somehow, even though she could barely feel her limbs beneath her.

“But there's one more name we didn't discuss,” one of the associates said, clearly confused at her abrupt departure.

“Proceed however you think best.” She looked at her watch, pretending to check the time. “I've got to go. I have a call coming in any minute.”

She walked out into the corridor and down the long hallway, traveling at a quick, yet even, pace. She stifled the urge to break into a run, quashed the need to scream or rant or burst into a flood of tears. She couldn't afford to let herself feel, not here, not right now. She didn't know what the associates thought of her hurrying out of the meeting the way she had, but she hadn't been able to stay another moment, fearing she might fall apart completely.

Reaching her office, she closed the door and sat down behind her desk.

Numb. Her whole body was cold, her muscles rigid with shock.

Maddox is married?

No, it wasn't possible. He would have told her if it was true. He wouldn't have forgotten to mention something as essential as being married! Yet Denny was an excellent investigator. He didn't get his facts wrong; he was a very careful man when it came to his profession.

So it must be true.

Oh, God, why would Maddox do something like this, lie to her like this, especially when the two of them were in love?

She sucked in a harsh breath as reality hit, the movement making her ribs ache harder.

Maybe
we
aren't in love. Maybe it's only me.

Because now that she thought about it, Maddox had never said he loved her, not even in their most intimate moments. He told her she was beautiful, desirable, that she made him laugh, that he enjoyed her company.

But love?

She'd put it down to the inability some men had for verbalizing their emotions. She'd known he carried around baggage from his past, even if he didn't discuss the particulars. But maybe in Maddox's case, there were no deeper emotions for her beyond sex and casual friendship. Maybe all he really wanted was the sex, even if they were practically living together these days. Perhaps she'd mistaken the closeness she'd thought he felt for something more.

She buried her face in her hands.

Ah, God, why am I such an idiot? How can this be happening to me again?

Because of all the things she should have asked him right off the bat, “Are you married?” seemed a straightforward enough one. But even after all of Stephen's deceptions, even as cautious around men as she'd become, it had just never occurred to her that Maddox wouldn't mention something as significant as the fact that he had a wife. The possibility that he might be married had never so much as crossed her mind.

A new chill swept through her, her skin as white and cold as ice.

When she was a kid, she'd thought Maddox was a bastard, but even then, she'd never dreamed he was a liar too.

A soft knock came at her door. “Brie?”

It was Gina.

Brie fought to get her voice working. “Yes?”

Gina cracked the door. “Your three o'clock is here. Shall I put them in the conference room?”

Three o'clock?
Did she have a three o'clock? She couldn't even remember which client she was supposed to meet. “Yes. Conference room.”

Gina paused. “Hey? You all right?”

Brie kept her gaze averted, unsure what her assistant might see in her eyes if she looked up. “Yes. It's just a headache.”

Just a heartache, actually.

“Oh, sorry. You need some Advil or something?”

Or something
might be nice, like a massive dose of sedatives that would put her so far under she wouldn't be able to remember much more than her name and certainly not this new nightmare she was suddenly living.

But she was going to find a way to manage; she couldn't afford a breakdown now. Somehow she would find the strength to shove her emotions off to one side and get on with her work. She would stuff them down deep inside herself where no one would see; no one would notice.

Later, she would let it all out. But only when she was alone and had the luxury of indulging her misery where there was no one to hear.

And what about Maddox? She was supposed to go to his penthouse tonight.

Tears stung the insides of her eyelids at the reminder. No, she couldn't think about him anymore.

Not now.

She sniffed and blinked hard, forcing the moisture away. “No, I'm okay,” she lied. “Tell the . . . um . . . client that I'll be with them shortly.”

“Will do.” Gina shut the door behind her.

If only she really were okay. Somehow she didn't think she ever would be again.

*   *   *

Maddox let himself into Brie's apartment. It was a little after ten at night and he'd been calling her for hours.

At first, when she hadn't shown up, he'd assumed things had gone long at work and she was running late. When another half hour had passed by with no word from her, he'd started to get antsy. He'd called her office, thinking maybe her cell was malfunctioning and she'd missed the half dozen messages he'd left. One of the associates answered and said no, that Brie had left around her usual time, and could he take a message?

Maddox had said no and hung up, genuinely worried now.

He'd decided to give her a bit more time; there had to be a good explanation for why she hadn't arrived. He'd told himself not to panic as their dinner sat untouched and congealing in the kitchen. Nothing terrible had happened to her; she would be along any minute now and tell him the whole story.

But she didn't show up, the hour growing later and later. He kept calling her cell, leaving message after message, but she didn't pick up. He considered calling her family but figured he'd just upset them if they didn't know where she was either. He tossed around the idea of calling the hospitals as well, but told himself he was overreacting.

She was fine. She had to be fine. Anything else was unthinkable.

Then it occurred to him that maybe they'd gotten their wires crossed and he was supposed to be over at her place tonight. Maybe she was there waiting and was worried just like him, wondering why he hadn't shown up. But if that were the case, then why not call him? Even if her cell wasn't working, she could still have found a landline phone to call his private number or leave a message with the hotel switchboard.

Forcing down his growing panic, he'd put on his coat to protect against the cold November wind and headed out to check out her apartment.

And so he'd let himself in, his chest knotted, heart pounding with a mixture of hopefulness and dread.

It was dark inside, so he didn't see her at first. Then he caught sight of her shape, seated in the middle of the living room sofa, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

“Brie?” he said.

She didn't move.

He snapped on the overhead light.

She flinched and squeezed her eyes closed; her face looked red, ravaged. Had she been crying? Was she ill?

“Please, turn that off,” she told him, her voice strained and oddly pitched.

He complied. Making his way deeper into the room, he found a lamp to switch on instead. Soft illumination spread in a small circle through the space.

“Brie, baby, what's happened? Are you all right?”

He sat down next to her on the couch, started to put his arm around her shoulders.

She moved away, jumpy as a wet cat, practically sprinting off the sofa. She went to stand on the other side of the room, her arms crossed at her waist.

He looked across at her. “What's wrong? I've been calling you all evening. Why didn't you answer? Is your phone broken?”