But there was always the risk of a leak or some innovative reporter hanging around outside, waiting eagerly to see which celebrity was dropping by.
"I wish you all the best, and I'm rooting for you."
"Thank you." She smiled at him, and he felt his heart lurch. He was in love with his wife of forty years, but that still did not stop him from admiring beauty when it was right before him. He found himself wondering if her husband was really appreciative of the woman he had and what she was prepared to sacrifice to make a family. He doubted it.
And that, to him, was the most unfortunate thing he had ever seen. He was wealthy in his own right, but the Copelands made his fortune seem like tuppence compared to theirs. And there was also the immense power and recognition. He did not envy them the notoriety. These people could not set foot inside a café without being bombarded by fans and the press.
"I will see you shortly, I hope."
"You will," she promised.
He walked her to the door, watched the sway of her hips in the figure-hugging faded denims, and felt his heart fluttering inside his chest. With a sigh, he stepped back inside his office.
"I hope you did not come all the way uptown to my office to complain about my wife." Samuel's smile was edgy, his tone impatient. He was pressed for time and hated wasting any. Which he considered was exactly what was happening here. "Mother, I have no control over what Eliza does. We both have very busy schedules-"
"She canceled lunch for the third time in two weeks." Marianne Copeland's lips were pursed in disapproval. "I understand she's busy gadding around on the small screen, but this is very important. The fall gala is being hosted by the company, and as your wife-" The emphasis on the word was not lost on him. "She's required to give her input, even a small one. She's the one who's supposed to be doing all the implementing-"
"You've been hosting the fall gala for more years than I care to count, and Eliza knows that. She does not want to take that away from you."
Smoky gray eyes flashed her ire. "Is that so? Or is it the fact that she's too busy playing an actress to take her position as your wife?"
"Mother-"
"I will have my say, Samuel," she interrupted fiercely. "We warned you, did we not? Your father and I warned you aboutmarrying someone like her. You had so many to choose from, and yet you chose her. Now you're having regrets. She's not even capable of producing an heir-"
"The door was open, and your assistant is not at her desk." Golden-brown eyes took in the scene at a glance.
Samuel rose slowly, feeling pained that she had been subjected to his mother's vitriol. He could see the hurt on her lovely face.
"Mother was just leaving." He gave her a hard glance that brooked no argument. With a muttered apology, Marianne swept past her daughter-in-law.
"You should have called."
"That would have been prudent, right?" She came in and closed the doors behind her, leaning against them. "At least, it was not some starlet sitting on your lap. It was just your mother bad-mouthing me as usual. You would think I would get used to it by now."
"Eliza-"
He was the only one who called her by her given name. Others had shortened it to either "El" or "Liz," the variation she hated the most.
"I'm not in the mood for an argument."
"Neither am I." She hid her pain beneath a neutral expression. After all, she was an actress and a damn good one. She would weep and moan later in the privacy of her rooms, but for now, she could not afford to show any sign of weakness. Her husband had no time or tolerance for the emotion, and he would use it against her.
She strolled in, hips swaying, eyes slightly amused and derisive. "Your parents hate me because I have so much stacked against me." She let her purse slide to the floor as she faced him around his desk. Lifting her hands, she started enumerating them on her fingers. "One, I'm black-"
"Don't-"
"Two, I was a nobody from a group home, and three, I'm an actress. It does not matter that I fought to get where I am now. It matters that I'm not blue blood, that I'm not from a respectable family."
"That never mattered to me one bit." His voice was gruff, and she knew he meant it. He had told her that often enough, and Samuel Copeland might be arrogant and ruthless, but he was always honest.
"No." She shook her head, hair dancing. "I want my husband back."
"I'm here."
"Are you?" She smiled slightly. "Then prove it."
Chapter 2
