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I smiled. "I'm sure that in your expert hands, Marcella, I won't need luck."
I returned to my office and sat down behind my desk, glad I'd gotten that out of the way and could forget about finding a wife and the mother of my children for a while. I had bigger and harder fish to catch and fry.
Yet something nagged at me in the back of my mind. Was I being too venal about the whole business? I felt somewhat jaded about love and marriage, especially after my recent failed engagement. I had thought I'd be living the happy-ever-after lifestyle by now, but that had all come to a crushing halt earlier that year, when I'd discovered my soon-to-be-wife in bed with her boss.
That night I was supposed to be away on a trip to California to meet with David, but I'd come home to retrieve some files I'd left on the desk in my home office. I walked in only to find that, within half an hour of my departure, after I had kissed her goodbye and we had said how much we loved each other and couldn't wait for the wedding, he had come over and was fucking my future wife in my bed.
In fact, the bastard was in the short strokes when I opened the door, and he actually finished. Neither of them realized I was standing there in the doorway, watching myself become a cuckold.
Our wedding was weeks off, so I'd found out in the nick of time. If I had married her and found out afterward, she would have been entitled to a small share of my income and wealth, based on our pre-nup. This way, the only thing she had of mine was the engagement ring and a lot of time I had wasted imagining that I was in love with her and she with me.
We split, and I kept the reason to myself. I told only David, who had waited for me at the airport even though I'd missed the plane. I had to take the next one after kicking her out of the apartment, her hastily-packed overnight bag in hand.
I told her she could come and get the rest the next day when I was out of town. Then I left for LA and never looked back.
I spent the next week in a drunken haze, partying with my brother in LA's finest watering holes, eating in the best restaurants to be seen in and to see other Hollywood stars and celebrities. David had a stable full of willing groupies who were only too happy to console me in my post-break-up doldrums. It was a week I soon hoped to forget because there was too much of everything – too much pussy, too much booze and pot, too much crazy dancing until late in the night. In addition, I'd had too little sleep and sober reflection on what went wrong and how I missed all the signals.
When I returned home to Manhattan, I cleaned out the apartment we had shared and put it on the market, moving into a different one owned by the company in the new building. I hadn't taken the time to find a proper apartment elsewhere and so had stayed in the apartment with my few personal possessions. I got a storage space for a year, to store the rest of the stuff I had accumulated until I felt recovered enough to search for a home of my own.
Now, I'd wait for my future wife so we could find a place together.
Part of me knew I would have to seriously focus on meeting women and being real with them, but at that moment, the sting of my breakup with the woman I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with was still real enough that I didn't want to deal with it.
So I didn't.
Instead, I'd let Marcella do the work, not really believing she could find me a wife. With the money I'd get access to, I could invest in hiring a full complement of staff and finish furnishing and appointing the offices I'd had custom built in the Fifth Avenue building that Michael and I had teamed up to work on.
In truth, I suspected that I was approaching it this way to protect myself from caring too much about the outcome, even though this was probably the most momentous life decision I could make. That small part of me that knew I was acting foolishly was shoved aside for the part of me that thought hiring someone to do the legwork was just a smart business move.
If Marcella was right, I figured that in a year or two at most, I'd be on my honeymoon with my new wife, and we'd spend the first month on a vacation, trying to get her pregnant. Then, in nine months, our baby would be born. A year later, I'd inherit the second instalment of my trust account.
I didn't believe it for a moment, but at least I could put it out of my mind.
Chapter Seven
Ella
I did my best to organize the small number of possessions I brought with me from New Hampshire. Three sleeveless dresses, three cashmere cardigan sweaters, two pairs of slacks, five t-shirts, a jacket, boyfriend jeans, undies and bras, socks, yoga pants and sleeveless t-shirt, and scarves galore. Add a pair of pumps, a sexy pair of strappy pumps, running shoes, and boots, and that was the extent of my wardrobe. I'd have to be creative with my scarves and sweater/dress combinations so that I didn't seem to be wearing the same thing every day.
I spent that night alone in my tiny apartment, eating some curry from a take-out restaurant down the street – my one indulgence. The next morning, I'd start my new position, and I wanted everything to be perfect.
Before bed, I laid out my black sleeveless dress, a pink cashmere cardigan, my sober black pumps, and hose, hanging everything on a hanger on the back of the door. If I timed everything right, I could hop out of bed at seven fifteen, eat my breakfast, have a shower, dress, and leave the apartment by eight fifteen, arriving at the publishing house at eight fifty, with ten minutes to pick up a coffee and make it inside to my destiny.
At least, that was the plan.
Things turned out to be very not according to plan.
I stood in the middle of Grand Central Station where I had to change trains and realized I'd been robbed.
I had arrived only moments earlier, and decided to check out the subway map to make sure I was taking the right train to get to work when I got an email. I heard the ping and opened my backpack, then removed my cell.
Sure enough, there was an email from Sharon.
Ella!
I'm sorry but I have to cancel our meeting this morning. Can you come at 1:30 instead? My filling fell out when I was eating a pumpernickel bagel and one of the pieces of caraway must have knocked it out, so I'll be at the dentist. Please, take the morning off. I do need you this afternoon though. Bring a notebook and pen and be ready to take notes. I would usually have supplies for you, but we're in a temp office until renovations on our new one is finished, and the stock room is all packed up. I'll reimburse you for anything you spend until they finish the new office space. Thank God, you're here. I've been without someone to help since my last intern left two weeks ago so believe me, I'm so happy that I have you. Meet me at my office at 1:30. I have a 2:00 and want you to take notes, but I'll have time to show you around the office and get you set up in your temporary space before the meeting.
Can't wait to have you as my assistant and help organize my day.
