The Bachelor's Bride. Audra Adams
when the woman threatened to quit.
No. It had been all too real, and it—she—had consumed his thoughts, his nights, his days ever since.
“Get Mazelli on the phone for me,” he said to Charlotte, and walked toward his office.
“Trudy Levin is in there waiting for you,” Charlotte said as she lifted the receiver.
“What does she want?” Reid asked, hand on the doorknob.
Charlotte shrugged. “She wouldn’t say. Only that she had to see you. Important.”
He nodded. “Okay. I’ll see her. Get Mazelli.” He opened the door.
“Oh, and she has a woman with her.”
Charlotte’s voice followed Reid as he entered his office. The room was large, taking up the better quadrant of the top floor of the office building that he owned. It was bright, with all the draperies pulled back to allow the maximum amount of sunlight inside. He’d picked the room purposely for that, one of his greatest weaknesses being the sun on his face.
Trudy stood and turned to him as he entered. She smiled. “Hi, Reid.”
He smiled, too. He liked her. She was one of his best employees. Smart. Loyal. Ambitious. All the things he liked to think he was.
He took a step closer to his desk. “Trudy. What can I do for you?”
And then his eye caught sight of a dark-haired woman standing by the corner window. Her hand was entwined with the material of the drapery as she admired the view. At that moment she turned and looked at him over her shoulder. Reid squinted against the light that framed her face like a halo.
Recognition came like a fist to his solar plexus.
“Rachel.” It was a harsh whisper.
Trudy sighed, just loud enough to divert his attention for an instant. “I see,” she said, “there’s no need for an introduction.”
Two
“You know my name?”
Reid took a step closer. “Only that it’s Rachel. Nothing more.”
She looked the same to him, the only difference being her mood. The first time she’d been smiling, carefree, loose. Now she was nervous, uptight, strung out. But the eyes were the same, a soft gray rimmed in a black so dark it matched the color of her hair.
The buzzer sounded and Charlotte’s voice filtered through the intercom. “Mazelli on line one.”
As if to insure that she wouldn’t disappear again, Reid kept his eyes riveted on Rachel as he walked to his desk and lifted the receiver.
He pointed to her. “Don’t move,” he said, then pressed the button for line one. “Yes.” He tapped his fingers on the leather blotter on his desk and listened for a short time. “Fine. Send me a bill.” He looked up at Rachel, and their eyes locked. “Yes. That’s right. I no longer need your services.”
Reid cradled the receiver. He remained stone-still, staring at Rachel as if she were a phantom. Rachel stared back. Trudy coughed. “Maybe I should introduce you,” she said. “Rachel Morgan, Reid James.”
“Hello,” Rachel said softly.
“Hello? That’s all you have to say to me? After what you’ve done?”
Rachel looked to Trudy then back to Reid. “I—I don’t understand. What have I done?”
Reid stood for a moment, mouth agape. He realized what he must look like and purposely shut it.
“This is a joke, right?”
Rachel shook her head slowly. “No.”
Turning to Trudy, Reid said, “Would you mind leaving us alone for a little while?”
Trudy hesitated. “I don’t know if I should. She’s not used to your rages, Reid. You look like you’re ready to kill someone.”
“Go along, Trudy, and don’t worry. I gave up killing women years ago.”
Trudy shook her head and gave him a patronizing grin. “Maybe I should stay.”
“No. There are things I need to say that are private.”
“I think I know what they are,” Trudy said.
“Do you?” Reid said with an arch of his brows. “That’s interesting, because I don’t.”
His fury was simmering, evidently close to the surface. Trudy glanced at Rachel. She was shaking.
“It’s all right,” Rachel said to her friend, her voice trembling. “Go. Please.”
Trudy walked to the door. “All right. But I’m waiting right outside. Scream if you need me.” She paused with her hand on the doorknob and turned to look at Reid. “That goes for either one of you.”
When she was gone, Reid stepped from around his desk. He walked over to the sitting area and placed his hand on the back of a Queen Anne chair.
“Sit,” he said softly, and when she didn’t move right away, added, “Please.”
It was not a word he used often, if at all, and it didn’t roll off of his tongue easily, but he didn’t want to scare her away. Not again. If that’s what he had done the first time. He didn’t know, and that was the problem. He had to know who she was and what had happened. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he wasn’t about to blow this opportunity, this tremendous stroke of good luck, and lose her again.
“Please,” he repeated, and this time she complied, moving toward him, then around him before sitting in the chair.
He sat on the couch across from her with only the width of the coffee table separating them.
Rachel placed her hands on her knees, palms down. “Can you tell me what happened that night?” she asked.
Reid arched his brows. “I was going to ask you that question.”
Rachel shook her head. “I don’t know. I thought it was all a dream up until now.”
“A dream?”
“Yes... You see, I became quite ill after. The flu or some such virus. Whatever the case, I was in pretty bad shape. I passed out the night of the party, and I’m afraid I don’t remember very much about it. Trudy said you were the host.”
“Yes... Our new perfume launch party at the armory. We met there,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “We talked...”
“Yes?”
Was she for real? Did she actually think that he would believe she didn’t remember any of this?
“We left together.” Rachel’s eyes widened. She leaned forward, urging him on with a nod of her head. “We walked for a while,” he continued, “and ended up by my place. Do you remember any of this?”
“No,” she said softly. “What happened then?”
“And then you came with me upstairs.”
“To your apartment?”
“At first.”
“And after?”
“To my bedroom.”
Rachel’s gaze dropped to her hands. She felt the heat rise to her face.
“Look at me,” he said, and she lifted her eyes. “You really don’t remember?”
“No. I was on antibiotics. I had something to drink. The punch, I think—”
“The punch was almost all vodka.”
“That’s what Trudy said. I don’t