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Daniel wasn’t around to corroborate it. Nadia was probably lying about Stern’s corroboration. Noah would claim she had written it out of spite. He would admit that he and Nadia had engaged in a temporary and ill-advised affair, one he now deeply regretted. The sudden death of his father-in-law had made him see the error of his ways and returned him to his wife and the sanctity of their marriage. When he broke off with Nadia, she retaliated by fabricating this story about him and his family.
By the time all the hubbub died down, no one would remember the details of the original story. The facts would have been confused in the multiple retells. No one would know what or whom to believe. He could walk away from the whole mess virtually unscathed and looking valorous for owning up to an extramarital affair for which he would publicly ask his wife’s forgiveness.
His wife. Maris was the hitch in this plan.
He was counting on her to ignore Nadia’s story. She wouldn’t give Nadia the satisfaction of denying or confirming it. But it went beyond that. What was he to do if in fact Daniel had given Maris control of Matherly Press? Say the attorney, Stern, had knowledge of a transference of power and the documentation to prove it. What then?
All right. He would go along. He would say that Daniel had informed him of it while they were in the country. Yes! They’d discussed it at length, and Noah had agreed that Maris should have the title and the authority that it conveyed. But Daniel had asked him to be her helpmate. To serve as her advisor. To guard her back against marauders and steer her around pitfalls.
Yes, that was very good. And who could contradict him?
Perhaps he should confess that he had flirted with the idea of merging Matherly Press with a media giant and had met with Blume to discuss it. But now that Daniel was gone, he looked forward to working side by side with Maris to preserve and even strengthen Matherly Press.
Excellent.
Now, what to do about their personal relationship? Tricky to resolve, but not impossible. She was so easily pacified. Maybe he would take a special interest in this book she was so excited about. He would offer to become personally involved in its publication and devote himself to making it a huge success. She’d like that.
Or maybe he’d suggest that they try harder to produce an heir to continue the dynasty. Physically impossible, of course, but she could be happy in her ignorance until he devised something else to keep her preoccupied and malleable.
There were several options from which to choose. He was confident one would be a workable solution for their present rift.
Finally, there was the problem of the private investigator. He might dig deep enough to uncover that nasty business in Florida. But what if he did? It was an unhappy story, nothing more. He had never been incriminated. Resurrecting the incident might generate some unfavorable speculation about him, but he would dismiss any rumors as vicious gossip.
Having worked out these solutions, it was with a jaunty and optimistic air that he stepped off the elevator and walked briskly down the hallway toward his office. Even his assistant was standing at attention at her desk, wringing her hands as though anxious to please him. “Coffee, please, Cindy.”
“Mr. Reed, he—”
He sailed past her and entered his office, where he came to a standstill so abruptly he might as well have walked into a glass wall. “Stern?”
Appearancewise, this attorney and Howard Bancroft were practically interchangeable. The same bald, pointed head bobbed as the man said curtly, “Mr. Reed.”
“What the fuck are you doing in my office, behind my desk?”
Overlooking the obscenity, Stern gestured toward the two men with him. “These gentlemen work as paralegals for my law firm. They have agreed to help you box up your personal items. A project I will closely monitor. You have one hour to complete the task, at which time I will relieve you of your keys to this office and your security pass into the building. I will then escort you out through the Fifty-first Street exit.
“When stipulating to me the terms of your immediate dismissal, Ms. Matherly was very specific about that. She did not want to cause you any embarrassment by conducting you outside through the main entrance. In my opinion, that was most gracious of her and more consideration than you deserve.” With a quick motion of his hand, he activated the paralegals. He checked his wristwatch. “The clock is ticking. I think we should begin.”
Cindy squeezed in through the door behind him. “Excuse me, Mr. Reed? The deliveryman won’t release this package until you personally sign the return receipt.”
She was the most convenient outlet for his rage. He rounded on her, eyes blazing.
She recoiled but thrust the package at him and managed to say, “It’s from a Mr. Parker Evans.”
* * *
Maris had just completed her read-through when Mike returned. She was sitting motionless, the manuscript pages lying in her lap. She had stared at the last line until the letters blurred.
Pain that splinters the body but slays the soul.
Because she was dazed by that line and those that had come before it, Mike’s return didn’t register until he nudged her shoulder. “I remembered that you enjoy tea sometimes. I hope that’s all right.”
Nodding dumbly, she took the warm Styrofoam cup from him. He sat down in his desk chair. When he ripped open a packet of artificial sweetener, the sound seemed abnormally loud in the small room. “One or two?” he asked.
“One?
?s fine.”
She removed the tight plastic lid from her cup. Mike dumped the contents of the packet into the fragrant, steaming tea, then passed her a plastic stir stick. She stirred much longer than required to dissolve the sweetener. When she tasted the tea, it burned her tongue.
