Chapter 11
"Bitch, at last." Carrie plopped down in the chair across from her and immediately reached for the menu.
"I'm starving. Running around with that bald headed man is getting to be a task.
I'm this close." She put her forefinger and thumb together to demonstrate.
"This close to telling him to go to hell. "
For the first time, she noticed her friend's drawn expression.
"For someone who spent two days in Paris, you sure look as if you're headed for death row. What happened? And why has it taken three days for you to get back to me?"
Waiting until the waitress placed their lattes and sweet potato pies in front of them, Melanie responded. She had been avoiding a conversation with her friend. The one she had with her grandmother was more than enough. And God help her, she was tired to the bone.
"It's over." She said tonelessly, stirring the brew slowly and without interest. She had to be forcing herself to eat. As soon as she went back to work, Jessica had been on her case about trying to find a file that had been needed urgently.
"What?" Her friend paused in the middle of picking up her cup. "Why?"
"He asked me to marry him."
Carrie stared at her wide eyed and put down her cup carefully. "He proposed? When?"
"Our last night in Paris. I turned him down." She picked up her cup and put it back down. "I did more than that, I insulted him, practically laughed in his face."
Pain streaked through her as she recalled the words she had spoken.
"Told him I didn't ask for a proposal, that we were just having fun. That was after he brought me the whole of Paris."
Carrie continued to stare at her in shock and envy. She had to work for everything from the guy she hooked up with, and it was beginning to look as if his interest was waning. On top of that, he was an A-class jerk.
"You've always been lucky."
Melanie stared at her in shock and then burst out laughing. "Lucky? I broke his heart and ended up breaking mine in the process."
She pushed away the plate, propped her elbows on the cracked linoleum. Paris was like a dream, a figment of her imagination. She had taken pictures and would probably spend the rest of her life staring at them and remembering.
"It was magical." She whispered raggedly. "He made it so. He took me everywhere, crammed two weeks' worth of activities into two days. He treated me like a queen, and I repaid him by breaking his heart."
Carrie reached out to touch her arm briefly. "Are you certain it's over?"
"He hasn't called and even if he did, I have to tell him the truth. It's better this way."
She thought she was all cried out, but she was wrong.
"I never should have started it in the first place. He doesn't deserve any of it."
"I want to say you got things out of it, expensive things from what you just said, but I can see that it's not worth it."
"I'm sending them back."
"Honey, isn't that a bit extreme?" Carrie protested.
"No." She shook her head. Picking up the cup, she sipped. "I have nowhere to wear those clothes anyway and I wouldn't feel right wearing them."
"What if he called?"
Hope sprang unbidden inside her chest. "He won't."
"What if he does?" Carrie persisted. "From what you told me, the man is in love with you. He proposed. He's probably trying to cool off a little before trying again. What will you do if he calls?"
She looked down at her pie. "Tell him the truth." She eased out a breath. "He deserves to know. In the meantime, I have my life to live and a son to take care of."
"And a dead end job you hate." Her friend reminded her quietly.
"One that's convenient for now."
*****
Four weeks later she was staring at the pregnancy stick in abject horror and despair. He still hadn't called and the exhaustion she had chalked down to emotional upheaval had persisted and got worse. So much so that she could barely find the energy to get out of bed in the mornings.
David was practically preparing his own lunch to take to school and at nights, she could barely keep her eyes open.
She was also snapping at him and apologizing at intervals, leading him to ask if she was ill.
She did not go anywhere. The cleaning job was further sapping her strength, and she was thinking of letting it go. But she needed the money. The visit to the dentist with her son had taken a chunk out of her savings and she was still contemplating selling the painting to make up for the lack.
This morning, she had rushed to the bathroom and brought up the muffin she had forced herself to eat. Which had prompted her to stop at the pharmacy on her way home. Three sticks had said the same thing. She was pregnant.
Leaning back on the toilet seat, she closed her eyes wearily. Just what she needed, the damn icing on the cake. Her carelessness had resulted in another unwanted pregnancy. This time she was carrying a multi-billionaire's baby. One who had moved on.
She had seen him at several functions. The internet was filled with his activities and the fact that he was seeing Mallory Gaines, the stunning blonde actress of the popular sci-fi series. So much for love and marriage proposal.
Tucking the stick along with the others in the bag from the pharmacy, she rose a little unsteadily.
She was going to have to get a professional confirmation of course, but she already knew she was about six weeks pregnant. Wonderful, as if her life wasn't already a wreck.
Washing her face with cold water, she straightened her shoulders and made preparation to call the pizza place again. It was the third time this week and no doubt her son would be in seventh heaven.
*****
He had started the journey to her place and almost turned around three times.
After telling himself that he should leave well enough alone.
He had not called her, but the fact that she hadn't called as well proved that she had meant every word she said to him that awful night in Paris. That she was just having fun.
But he wanted to hear it again. Wanted to know that it was really over.
Pulling up in front of the porch, he looked around for her vehicle and wondered if he should have called first. She might not be home. Shoving the door open, he alighted and was about to knock when the door swung open.
His relief turned to puzzlement when he saw the woman standing there.
It was definitely not Melanie. This woman was blonde and built and wearing a slinky robe as if she had just tumbled out of bed. She also looked vaguely familiar.
"Hi sugar." She purred, one hand with talon like red nails, tugging the bodice of her robe over her straining bosom. "What brings you to my door?"
"Is Melanie home?" Her perfume was overpowering.
"Who?"
"Melanie Foster. This is her place, isn't it? I picked her up here several times."
The woman gave him a puzzled look before stretching out a hand. "Sylvia Anders and I know who you are. Rodney Lancashire. I've stayed at two of your hotels in the past and must say that I'm very impressed. Why don't you come in? I was about to have a glass of wine."
"No thank you." He tamped down the impatience. "Where's she?"
"Who?"
"Melanie Foster." He gritted.
"I live here by myself. All by my lonesome." She batted her thick lashes in obvious invitation.
"Look lady, I don't have time for this. I'm looking for Melanie."
She pouted, disappointed that he was not taking her up on her invitation. Then the name registered. With narrowed eyes she stared at him.
"Are you referring to my maid?"
"Excuse me?"
"My maid, cleaning lady. I fired her last week.
Came home unexpectedly to find out that she had been wearing my stuff.
She never realized that I stuck a nanny cam in the bedroom.
The bitch had the nerve to help herself to my best and most expensive outfits.
I kicked her out and called to tell the cleaning service. They let her go of course."
He stared at her in baffled anger. "There must be some mistake."
"Wait." Lifting a finger, she stepped back inside and soon came back with her phone. Swiping the screen, she turned it around. "Is this her?"
He studied the photo of the woman he had lost his heart to and felt as if he was walking through a nightmare.
"Yes." He said roughly. "Where can I find her?"
"Probably at her other crappy job, if they hadn't given her the sack too. What did she tell you? That she was some rich socialite out on the town?"
Sylvia's lips curled in disdain.
"The nerve of her, pretending to be me."
"Thank you." With his head whirling, he had taken one step forward when she called after him. "Let me give you the address of the place where she works."
*****
Melanie looked up from the document she was perusing to see Jessica standing inside the doorway.
"I'm just about finished, just give me a couple more minutes to--"
"There's someone here to see you."
If she hadn't been so busy and distracted, she would have picked up on the woman's dazed expression.
"I don't have time to--"
"I suggest you make time."
The achingly familiar voice had her lurching up from her chair. Her hands gripped the edge of her desk as she stared at him.
"Rodney."
"Mr. Lancashire has kindly asked me to excuse you as he has something important to discuss with you." Jessica gave her a curious look that spoke volumes. "I told him you were through for the day."
"Shall we?" The stiff formality of his tone warned her that he was just hanging onto his anger by a thread.
"I -- yes." Fumbling, she moved lethargically to get her coat and purse.
Stepping aside, he waited until she had moved past him before following her. Ignoring the curious looks they were receiving, he went directly to the silver gray Mercedes parked in the lot and wrenched open the door.
"Get in." He ordered curtly.
When she hesitated he took her arm, fingers digging into her flesh.
"I'm not above making a scene." He warned.
Dragging her arm away, she sank into the passenger seat and gripped her purse.