Chapter Ten
CHAPTER TEN
THEFIRSTTIMEhe’d met with this man Ronan had felt pity. The guy had been so broken, so upset that his new bride had played him for a fool. And Ronan had been determined to avenge the man, like he’d wanted to avenge his father for all the pain he’d suffered.
But Arte Armand and Muriel hadn’t been married very long. How much could he have actually suffered?
Ronan hadn’t known her very long, either, though, and he was suffering. His body was tense and aching for hers. And it had only been a couple of days since she’d come here and given him that envelope with her name smeared across the front of it. Had someone given her the memos in that envelope? Or had something else been in it and she was just claiming that it had held those forged memos?
He didn’t know what to believe anymore. That was why he’d asked Arte Armand to come to the office. They sat back by the bar where Ronan had had sex with the man’s ex. Arte sat across from him, his legs crossed. Ronan could almost smell Muriel—in the office.
A twinge of guilt struck him.
But Arte didn’t look as broken as he had the day of their first appointment. His eyes were dry and bright now. His face was tanned, his body relaxed. He wore jeans that were as artfully ripped up as Muriel’s had been and a bright pink silk shirt with the cuffs rolled back to reveal the black and white polka dots on the other side of the fabric.
“I’m glad you called,” the man said. “I was going to set up an appointment to talk to you, anyway.”
“You were?” Had the guy gotten married again? Only a little over six months had passed since his divorce had been granted. That was enough time to get into a serious relationship. But to get married again...
Why would he risk it if his marriage to Muriel had been as terrible as he’d claimed?
“Yes, but I’ve been busy with the musical I’ve been producing.”
With Muriel’s money. And Ronan felt another twinge of guilt—this time for her.
“Really?” Ronan asked. “I didn’t know you were interested in theater.”
Arte laughed. “Oh, goodness, yes, that’s why I moved to the city. I’m a triple threat. I can sing and dance and act.”
How good an actor was he? So good that he’d fooled Ronan?
“But you were modeling.”
Arte grinned, revealing perfect blindingly white teeth. “It was easier to break into modeling than acting. But I’ve found exactly the right vehicle now to launch my career.”
Muriel. She had been the vehicle. And Ronan had given him the keys.
“I can’t help you with entertainment law,” Ronan said. “I’m strictly a divorce lawyer.”
“Oh, that’s not why I wanted to see you again,” Arte replied. “It’s about this whole The World’s Most Beautiful Woman thing.”
Muriel. She was not a thing. Ronan clenched his jaw to hold back his remarks.
“That’s because of us,” Arte continued. “So shouldn’t we get a part of it?”
“I don’t want the title,” Ronan said. But he was beginning to wonder about Arte Armand.
His hair was expertly styled, the tresses highlighted in gold. The same color that was Simon’s natural hue.
Arte laughed again, and it was nearly as high-pitched as a giggle. “Of course not.”
“Then what do you want?” Ronan asked.
“Money,” Arte replied, as if it should have been obvious.
And it should have been—from their first meeting—that that was what he was all about. Money.
“I think she should give me a percentage of what she’s making now,” Arte said, “since we made her so famous.”
We. Ronan flinched, and his stomach pitched with queasiness from guilt. He wanted to shout at the man to stop saying that—stop giving him so damn much credit for what they’d done to Muriel.
“You weren’t married long enough to be awarded alimony,” Ronan reminded him.
“But you got me a great settlement.”
“Yes, I did.” Far more than what Ronan now realized the man had deserved. “And you agreed to that settlement, so you can’t go after any more.”
“But Muriel would still only be a face and a body with no one knowing her name if it hadn’t been for us,” Arte persisted. “That should get us something, some percentage of her earnings.”
It wasn’t Ronan or the PR firm that Muriel should have worried would send her a bill. It was her damn ex.
“It got me a complaint to the bar association,” Ronan said. “That’s why I called you.”
“Complaint?” Arte asked, and he tensed now.
“Yes, Muriel claims I suborned perjury,” he said. “She thinks I coerced all those witnesses to lie.”
Arte laughed again, but this time it sounded hollow with nerves. “Don’t worry about it. She can’t prove anything.”
“There’s nothing to prove, right?” Ronan asked. “I believed those people were all speaking the truth.”
“They were—of course they were.”
“The same truth, nearly line for line,” Ronan murmured. “As if they’d rehearsed it...” Why hadn’t he noticed that before? Why hadn’t he questioned them—and Arte Armand—more?
Maybe it was what they’d said about her cheating, about her orgies, that had distracted him from reality and plunged him into the fantasy of a naked Muriel Sanz, insatiable for sex.
Arte shrugged his thin shoulders. “They all saw the same things,” he said. “So, of course, they’re going to describe them the exact same way.”
Now Ronan knew who’d written the script.
“If they were lying, I could lose my license,” he said.
Arte reached out and squeezed his arm. “Don’t worry. You had no idea.”
“That they were lying?” He needed to know. But if Arte admitted to what he’d done, Ronan would probably be tempted to tear him apart. Even now, his hands were clenching into fists.
“No, no, of course not,” Arte stammered. “I don’t know why she’s so upset, anyway. It’s not like the trial hurt her or her career...”
That was the argument that Ronan kept giving her, too. But he heard how self-serving it sounded now. “She is upset,” Ronan said. And he was beginning to understand why.
Arte uttered a regretful sigh. “Because of her grandparents...”
“What?”
“They raised her after her mom flaked out and ran off,” Arte said. “They’re real sweet, real conservative people. They must have been devastated.”
Over what had come out of the trial, over what Ronan, using McCann Public Relations, had put out there for them to see and hear. He flinched.
Arte sighed again but straightened in his chair. “But they know her, so it’s not like they believed...” He pressed his hand to his mouth, as if trying to push the words back in.
“It’s not like they believed the lies?” Ronan prodded him.
Arte shook his head. “No, no, not the lies. The truth,” he stammered some more. “They wouldn’t believe the truth about her. They would only see the best in her.”
“That she’s straightforward and honest,” Ronan said.
And Arte turned toward him, his brow furrowed. “You believe that about her?”
“That’s what one of her true friends has said about her,” Ronan replied.
“Too bad she hadn’t had that person testify,” Arte said.
Too bad...
Her representation had been bad. But, ultimately, she’d agreed to the settlement once Ronan had had the prenup tossed out. So she was stuck with it now.
At least she wasn’t stuck with Arte Armand any longer.
The slighter man stood. “I wouldn’t worry about her complaint,” Arte said. “You’re a good lawyer.”
Ronan had believed that until now. Now he wasn’t certain how good he was.
“I’m sure you can get out of it,” Arte said. “Are you sure you can’t get anything more—”
“No!” Ronan snapped as he jumped up from his chair. He wanted to slug the guy so badly, but he held his fists at his sides. “I think she’s lost enough already.”
Her money and her reputation. And maybe the respect of the grandparents she loved.
Ronan understood now why she was so angry. And he didn’t blame her. He was lucky all she’d done was turn him into the bar association. If he’d been in her place, he might have done far worse—like he wanted to do now to Arte Armand.
A knock sounded at his office door before it was pushed open and a blond head appeared around it. “Hey, oh, sorry to interrupt,” Simon said. “We were waiting for you to start the meeting. I didn’t realize you were with a client.”
“We’re finished,” Ronan said. For now...
He wasn’t entirely sure that he was done with Arte Armand, though. Not after what the man had done—and had made Ronan do—to Muriel.
The guy eagerly walked toward the door, as if anxious to escape Ronan. Maybe he’d sensed how close he’d come to getting the crap beat out of him. Or maybe he was just anxious to get a closer look at Simon, because it was obvious he was checking out Ronan’s partner.
How the hell had Ronan missed that?
How had Muriel? She couldn’t have known or she wouldn’t have married the man.
As Arte headed toward the elevator, Ronan walked into Simon’s office and dropped heavily into one of the chairs around the conference table.
“What’s wrong with you?” Trev asked.
Ronan closed his eyes and shook his head. He couldn’t even talk about what he had just learned, how big a fool he had been.
“Arte Armand just left his office,” Simon answered for him.
“And you realized the guy’s a sleaze?” Stone asked with a shudder of disgust.
“Do you know the guy?” Ronan asked, since his partner had made comments before. What worried him about that was that Stone was a criminal lawyer.
Stone shook his head. “I met him in the elevator a couple of times when you were representing him.”
“So you didn’t represent him?” Ronan asked.
Stone shook his head again. “He’s a sleaze but as far as I know, not a criminal.”
“He’s a con,” Simon said from where he sat at the head of the table. “The guy’s a con artist.”
Ronan sucked in a breath at the managing partner speaking his worst fear aloud. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“Takes one to know one,” Simon said. He had been a con artist himself. If he hadn’t, they all wouldn’t have survived the streets. His cons had kept them alive and fed.
Ronan sighed.
“What does this mean?” Trevor asked.
“I think I could be in real trouble,” Ronan said. “Those witnesses lied. If the bar association finds out, they might not believe that I didn’t know, that I didn’t suborn perjury.”
“So you might lose your license,” Stone murmured.
Losing his license was the least of his concerns at the moment. He was afraid he’d lost more than that, like his chance of ever being with Muriel again.
* * *
Her body tense, Muriel followed the man as he led her down a long corridor. She was stiff and achy. Maybe she should have used her vibrator before this meeting. But she doubted that it would relieve her tension anymore. She was beginning to worry that only Ronan could do that.
And that was why she was here.
“I’m surprised you would want to hire McCann Public Relations,” the man murmured over his shoulder, his voice pitched low.
Obviously, he knew Muriel and what his company and Ronan had done to her. Because of that, she wasn’t here to hire them. Hell, she didn’t need them. Not since she’d been labeled The World’s Most Beautiful Woman.
No. What Muriel needed was answers.
She hadn’t gotten any from Ronan. So she hoped she could get them here. From Allison McCann. The man stopped at the end of the hall and pushed open a door to a corner office. Sunshine poured through the two walls of windows and glowed like a spotlight on the woman behind the desk.
Allison McCann, with her deep red hair, silky white skin and bright blue eyes, deserved the label of The World’s Most Beautiful Woman far more than Muriel felt she did. But Allison McCann always remained in the background.
Muriel wasn’t sure how she managed that until the woman spoke, her voice so cool it bordered on frigid. “Ms. Sanz, please come in and have a seat.” She gestured toward the chairs in front of her glass desk. “Edward, close the door on your way out.”
As the man turned to do his employer’s bidding, Muriel caught the look that crossed his face. And she shivered. His boss’s voice wasn’t the only cold thing in this office.
The door snapped shut with a sharp click, and Muriel jumped. She hesitated a moment before walking toward that desk and that woman.
“I’m sorry...” the woman murmured.
“I didn’t come here for an apology,” Muriel said. She wouldn’t have expected this woman to offer one any more than she expected Ronan to do so.
“I meant for Edward...” Allison gestured at the closed door. “So, if you didn’t come here for an apology, why are you here, Ms. Sanz? Are you in need of our services?” She sounded politely hopeful—not pushy.
All the PR people Muriel had met were pushy. She was almost pleasantly surprised, until she remembered what this woman had done to her.
“Why?” Muriel asked. That was what she wanted to know the most.
The woman’s lips curved into a slight smile. “That is a fair question, given that you are already extremely high profile right now. But, of course, that is the best time to hire McCann Public Relations, so that we can help guide your career in the direction in which you’d like to go. Please have a seat and tell me where that might be.”
Muriel hadn’t realized she was still standing. But she was too tense, too anxious, to sit. She walked toward the windows, instead, and stared down at Midtown. Allison had a view of a park from her corner office.
“Do you want to cross over into acting?” Allison asked.
“No,” Muriel replied. “I’m no actor.” She was too honest for that. Arte was the one who’d wanted to act and dance and sing.
“Singer?” Allison asked.
Muriel laughed. “God, no.” She held up a hand. “And before you ask, I’m not a dancer, either.” She had no rhythm—except with Ronan. With him, she always found the perfect rhythm—their movements coordinated to drive each other out of their minds and to ecstasy.
“So you’re happy with your modeling career?”
Muriel turned back to study Allison’s face. Did she detect some condescension? Some judgment? “Yes, I’m happy being a model.”
“Why?” Allison asked.
That was the question Muriel wanted the publicist to answer. But she answered Allison McCann first. “I admire the creativity of the designers. I enjoy showing off their hard work.” Especially Bette’s. She knew how long and how hard Bette had worked to achieve her recent success.
Allison tilted her head and studied Muriel, as if trying to gauge if she spoke the truth. “I could use that quote to get you a lot more work,” Allison said. “Designers would love hearing that.”
Muriel laughed. “You’re always working the angles, huh?”
“Is that a problem?”
“It is when you smear innocent people.”
Allison jumped up from her chair now. “If you made this appointment in order to attack me, then you should leave right now.”
“If I’d wanted to attack you,” Muriel said, “I wouldn’t have made an appointment. I would have done it someplace public and embarrassing, like your favorite restaurant or on the street outside. I would have wanted to embarrass you like you embarrassed me.”
Allison’s pale skin flushed, but it wasn’t with embarrassment. It was anger. “I was just doing my job, Ms. Sanz,” she said defensively. “You should not be taking this personally or making it personal.”
“It was personal to me,” Muriel said, flinching as she remembered having to warn her grandparents. Well, she’d tried. But she’d been too late. The story had already broken before she’d had the chance.
Allison shook her head. “Is that why you filed a complaint with the bar association against Ronan Hall? Out of spite?”
Muriel snorted. “Spite? I am not a child.”
“You’re acting like one,” Allison accused her. “Lashing out...”
She was tempted to show this bitch exactly what acting out looked like, but she held her temper. Physically. Verbally she let the other woman have it. “I could sue you for defamation of character,” she threatened. “Those witnesses were lying. I have proof of it.”
“Forged memos,” Allison said with a disdainful sniff.
“That’s what Ronan claims,” Muriel said. And she was beginning to believe him. “So you’ve talked to him.”
“I work closely with all of the partners of Street Legal,” Allison said.
How closely? And did she just work with them? Or was it more than work?
“I know,” Muriel said. “That’s why I’m here. I want to know whose idea it was to publicly smear me. Yours or Ronan’s?” She wanted to cross her fingers in the hope that Allison would take the responsibility. That she would say that Ronan fought her over every press release.
But Allison said nothing. She just sat back down and shook her head.
“I deserve the truth,” Muriel said. “Not that I expect you to recognize it.”
Allison leaned back in her chair, and her beautiful face twisted into a tight grimace, like she’d sucked on a particularly sour lemon. “You wasted your time coming here,” she said. “Unless slinging your insults will make you feel better...since all your recent success obviously hasn’t.”
“So you’re of the same school of thought as Ronan,” Muriel said. “That the end justifies the means.”
Allison just tilted her head and studied Muriel through those icy blue eyes of hers.
“It doesn’t,” Muriel told her. “Not when the means were so mean...” Tears stung her eyes now, and she rushed toward the door. When she opened it, she slammed into the body standing outside it.
And she nearly plowed over Allison McCann’s assistant who’d obviously been listening at the door. “If I’d known why you were here,” he whispered as he led her through the reception area toward the elevators, “I could have told you that you were wasting your time.”
“I should have known I wouldn’t get any answers here,” Muriel agreed as she blinked back her tears of frustration.
It was Ronan’s fault that she was so damn frustrated. She wanted him so badly. But she didn’t want him if he was really the man she’d originally thought he was—the liar, the ruthless lawyer.
Who was he?
“You should have asked me,” Edward said as he led her toward the elevator.
Muriel stopped. “You know?”
“I sit in on all of Allison’s meetings,” he said, “except for this one.”
Apparently he was the one to whom Muriel should have spoken. Maybe that was why Allison hadn’t allowed him to sit in.
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open to the empty car. Before she stepped inside, Muriel turned to him and asked, “So whose idea was it to smear me?”
“Ronan Hall,” the man replied.
And Muriel felt as though she’d been punched in the stomach.
“Allison really felt horrible about it,” Edward continued. “But she has to honor her client’s wishes.”
“And Street Legal is her client,” Muriel said. Not her.
She’d just been a hapless victim.
“It was Hall’s idea,” Edward continued. “He’s the worst one of those bastards from Street Legal.”
“Are they a pretty big client for McCann PR?” she asked.
“The biggest,” Edward said with a regretful sigh. “And the most ruthless.”
So Allison McCann would probably not help Muriel out with the bar association—even if she knew for certain that Ronan had suborned perjury. And Muriel didn’t know for certain. She’d begun to believe him.
But now she wondered if she’d been played—exactly the way he’d bragged to his partners that he would play her into withdrawing her complaint.
Edward continued, “That’s why she had to do what Hall wanted. I’m sorry for what happened to you.”
Before stepping into the elevator, she squeezed his arm in gratitude. His apology was nice, but it wasn’t the one she wanted.
The person who owed her the apology was Ronan.