Wicked Steps Page 2

  I walked toward my office and grabbed the garment bag hanging on the back of the door.

  “You’re not going home to get dressed?” I heard Coco shout.

  “No, I brought my outfit. The traffic is too crazy on a Friday night. Instead of a forty-five-minute drive, it may take hours. I didn’t want to chance it. I thought this might be easier for me. You know how driving frays my nerves.”

  “That’s what copious quantities of alcohol are for,” I heard her say as I closed the door to the bathroom.

  I quickly dressed in a dark-navy eyelet design by Versace. The knit material covered everything but clung to every curve of my body. It was sexy but conservative. One of us had to be. God knows Coco would probably be wearing something that required a stripper pole as an accessory. I’d always been the grown-up in our friendship.

  Tonight’s showing was what everything had been for. I almost wished briefly that Hartman were here to see it finally come together. But this way was better. Not that I was publically overjoyed he was dead. Even if I were, I had to keep that to myself. But it had finally ended. I felt a sense of relief now—closure. I’d been suffocated for five years. It was punishment for my actions. I could complain all I wanted, but the fact was I sold myself for money. He was gone now, and I could finally exhale. Regardless of the bastard he’d been, he had warned me in the beginning, but I signed up anyway.

  I wasn’t a traditional gold-digger, but my arrangement with Hartman might have painted me as one. I’d never even told Coco all the seedy details. She’d always been suspicious, but what I’d done was for both of us. Even though we’d been friends, forever, and I trusted her. I knew she’d never want me to give up my self-worth and my soul. But when I looked at our gallery now and what my future held, I was sure it had been worth it.

  I started working at Wick Global when I was twenty-eight. I was a financial advisor at the main headquarters in New York. I met Hartman one night at a company party at his home in Scarsdale. As my eyes traveled the walls of his estate, I felt overwhelmed. Rembrandt, Picasso, Monet—they were all present and tastefully displayed. I was caught between being breathless and straight hyperventilation. I’d only seen these paintings in magazines. To see them up close and in person, I was overcome with emotion.

  Art had been my major, honestly in all aspects of my life. I couldn’t draw worth shit, but I loved the way an artist’s portrayal made me feel. It conveyed to me sometimes sadness and despair but mostly happiness and beauty. I became obsessed with every era and daydreamed of a time I could visit the Louvre in Paris. Having my own gallery was my life’s ambition.

  I shared my love of great art with my best friend Coco. Unlike me, she could draw and had a knack for buying pieces that were unique and fresh. She had an acute awareness of artistic possibility before it was recognized by the ones who mattered most: the critics.

  But being surrounded by beauty and acquiring my life’s ambition wasn’t meant to be. My best friend was closer to it than I would ever be. She found work as a buyer at one of the finest galleries in New York. On the other hand, my gift was numbers. Among all the art classes I’d taken in college, I also studied business. When it became painfully obvious I would never have my own gallery and it was nothing but a delusion, I secured a position at Wick Global. The opportunity was incredible and so was the money. Maybe if I saved every penny for the next thirty-plus years, I could open my own gallery by the time I retired.

  Somehow, I found myself strolling into what looked to be a large, lavish library. Shelves crammed with books towered from ceiling to floor. And like the rest of the decor in the house, these walls too were adorned with famous works of art. I ghosted my hands across a few of the hardbacks as I stared intensely at the paintings.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure sitting in a high-backed leather chair. I jumped.

  “Did I startle you?” His deep voice vibrated in the cavernous room.

  My hand strangled the straps on my purse as I suddenly realized who this was. I’d walked past his photograph every day in the lobby at work for the last seven months.

  “I am so sorry, Mr. Wick. I didn’t mean to intrude. I was mesmerized by your stunning art collection. I think I might have gotten lost.”

  He turned toward me and took a sip of dark liqueur. I knew he was at least twenty years my senior, but he was very attractive, with salt-and-pepper hair, a strong jaw, and green eyes that glittered like shards of rich emeralds. I’d always adored mature men. His gaze held me fixed to the floor. His hand gestured me to sit down. I slowly perched on the edge of a chair that probably cost more than I made in a year.

  “Would you care for a brandy?” he asked as he stood and moved toward the bar.

  “Um… yes… please.” I mentally chastised myself for stammering through three tiny words. But truly, this man unnerved me.

  “You work for me, miss?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Wick, for the past seven months. I’m Ellery St. Claire,” I said, holding his stare for a moment. “I’m actually one of your financial advisors.”

  “Really. So how is my company doing, Miss St. Claire?” he asked, chuckling as he handed me my drink.

  I watched as he took another sip from his own sniffer. His mouth surely belonged on the wall, because it too was without a doubt a work of art. Really, Elle? Worst pick-up line ever, even if you’re only thinking it in your head.

  For the next few hours, we were engaged in conversations that stemmed from business to art. This man had made me feel comfortable in less than five minutes. The tyrant persona I’d heard rumors about never surfaced—at least that first night. I learned he’d never married or had children. He loved travel and abhorred parities. Even with all his wealth and servants, he appeared lonely to me.

  I’d heard women whispering about him at work. I knew they said he was a shark in the boardroom as well as the bedroom. He always got his way. He’d made some powerful enemies behind closed doors. Both in business and with women. His sexual affairs were notorious. All of this was hearsay and speculation. The women I worked with loved lascivious gossip. The man I’d just spent hours talking to did not come across as the kind of person they branded him to be.

  Even though I had experience when it came to men, I wasn’t adequately prepared for someone like him. He was a seasoned man of high intelligence, sophistication, and immense wealth. I’d never been around anybody like this. I was a small fish in his very big pond.

  The night we met, I never realized I wasn’t ever going to be equipped to handle what was coming. Seven years with Hartman would ravage me emotionally and damage me physically. In the beginning, he was so kind, attentive, and sweet. It started with impersonal texting. Then quiet dinners. Eventually, he asked me to accompany him to different events. I even traveled with him on a few occasions. Almost two years later, the day after I turned thirty, I was summoned to the top floor of Wick Global, to his office. Going to that suite was a rarity. And for some unexplained reason, apprehension plagued me on the elevator.

  Hartman hadn’t mentioned anything about today’s meeting during our date the night before. He’d taken me out for a quiet dinner to celebrate my birthday. The night had ended with a first. He’d kissed me. I didn’t resist. The fact was I’d craved more for a while. I wanted him to know I was prepared to take our friendship to an intimate level. I knew sleeping with him might cause issues because he was the boss, so we’d kept our relationship strictly professional at work. But we’d been seeing each other for almost two years. I was ready for whatever obstructions we had to endure in order to become physical.

  Even though we never labeled what we had, I hadn’t been with anyone since the night we met. I’d always wondered if he had somebody on the side in those years. The women he had carnal relations with instead of me. I never questioned him about it. Because what we had was on a different level than physical. Ours was more of a deep mutual affection and companionship than anything else.

  His secretary
told me to go in. Hartman sat behind an enormous desk. The size of the desk didn’t overwhelm him. He was a large man, almost six feet five inches tall. He fit the description of a successful industrialist. The walls of his office not only displayed evidence of his wealth, but all he’d achieved. Frame after frame of newspaper clippings depicting his infamous takeovers and buyouts. Photographs of him with celebrities, politicians, and other wealthy entrepreneurs.

  When he rose to greet me, he looked odd. At first glance, he appeared his normal self, dressed to perfection as usual in a dark Armani suit, looking regal and immaculate. It was a picture of refinement I’d witnessed for the past two years. But today, the suit was wrinkled and he looked out of sorts. I knew him too well. His hair was disheveled and those mesmerizing green eyes lacked the luster of the night before. I suddenly became nervous with anticipation. Patience had never been an attribute of mine.

  “Can I get you a drink, Ellery?” he asked, standing, then walking over to the luxury bar in the corner.

  “Hartman, it isn’t even eleven thirty yet.”

  “It’s five o’clock somewhere, or so I’ve been told,” he murmured as he poured himself a whiskey.

  I padded over to him and placed my hand on his arm. “What is it, Hartman? What’s going on?”

  “I wanted you to be the first to know,” he said, taking a small sip of his drink. “I’ve been told I have a limited lifespan.”

  My heart squeezed inside my chest as my body began to shake. “What? What are you talking about? Please,” I pleaded, my voice quivering.

  “They tell me it’s some degenerative disease. I expected it. But I never thought it would actually happen. I kept praying for divine intervention. I guess we all suffer from mortality syndrome,” he replied nonchalantly.

  My hand squeezed his arm. I held back tears that threatened my composure. “How can you be sick? You’re healthy and virile? I don’t understand.”

  He shrugged, then took a large gulp, emptying his glass. “This has been going on for a few years, before we even met. The doctors have kept it at bay with drugs, but the medications have run their course. I’ve been told possibly five years. Which brings me to why I asked to see you. I have a proposition.”

  My mind whirled frantically. He was a dear friend. I wanted possibly more. I cared for him deeply, and there was chemistry between us. I thought we had time to consummate our relationship. “I’m not ready to lose you,” I whispered, choking back a sob.

  “Ellery, don’t cry. I didn’t tell you this for pity. I wanted you to know because, eventually, things might get ugly. There are things about me you don’t know. Things… I don’t want you to know. Your friendship has become my most valued possession. Intelligence is a remarkable weapon, especially when a beautiful and sexy woman wields it. I have cherished these last two years, and I want to take care of you—always. Allow me to give you the life you deserve.”

  “I don’t understand. What are you saying?” I asked as I reached for a glass, because now a drink sounded necessary. Drink in hand, I dropped into the closest chair.

  He was there in an instant, kneeling. “Marry me.”

  My eyes widened as I looked at him in disbelief. “Okay, now you’re scaring the hell out of me. You went from a terminal illness to proposing. Jesus, Hartman, don’t you think this could be because you’re sick? You know doctors have been wrong before. You’re just the man that could make liars out of all of them.”

  He chuckled as he stood. “No, my dear, I have thought about this for a while. The fact that I don’t have a lot of time left has just pushed marriage to the forefront.” I looked up at him as he paused. “I know you don’t love me—”

  I stopped him as I gripped his arm. “You know I care for you more than anyone. You’ve been my best friend and confidant. I’ve learned so much about not only business, but also life. You’ve lavished me with many opportunities, ones I would never have had if it weren’t for you. I will always be grateful, and I will stay by your side no matter what. But I need you to fight this. If not for yourself, please do it for me. You’re a man of strength and resilience. If anyone can beat a fatal prognosis, it’s you.”

  “Listen to me. The disease I have is going to require more than strength and willpower. I’m thinking possibly only heaven above, and trust me… God gave up on me a long time ago. He would never help a man like me.” He paused and walked toward the window. With his back to me, he continued. “I’m not sure I like the word grateful to describe our relationship, but be that as it may, I need our relationship to be more… at least in the eyes of the board and all the stock holders. If they find out about this, I will be fucked. They will descend on Wick Global like vultures, and they won’t wait until I’m dead to start picking off the flesh.

  “I’m offering you a perfect life. The gallery you and Coco always dreamed of, you can have it. I can make it happen, immediately. The mansion in Scarsdale, you can decorate it any way you see fit. It would belong to you. I will even buy you another home anywhere in the world if you desire. You’ll have full excess to endless expense accounts, traveling, automobiles, anything you can dream of. I’ll give it all to you. I’ll provide for you for the rest of your life. And all you have to do is become my proxy wife. As the disease progresses, I won’t be able to run my finances or control my companies. I will need you to navigate me through all of it.”

  “But what about the fidelity of marriage? Will you be expecting… you know?” I asked shyly, sounding like a teenager going on her first date.

  “There’s a reason I never made serious advances toward you, no matter how badly I wanted to. Ellery, you’re a sensuous woman, and bedding you… Let’s just say it crossed my mind many times.” His voice hushed as he pulled me up from the chair. “I don’t want to ever hurt you—and I would. My appetites tend to run to the extreme. I don’t want to go into details with you, but let’s just say I want you to feel free to be with other men. You do your thing, and I’ll do mine. But we both need to be discreet. People are going to raise questions anyway due to the expeditious nature of our vows. Regardless, everyone must believe we are man and wife in every way. Our marriage must be valid to all. You can’t even tell Coco.”

  “She’s my best friend. She won’t believe for a moment I just up and married you without saying a word to her. I’ve never even hinted at any more than a friendship between us. She already has misgivings about our relationship because of the age difference and internet gossip. She always felt you had an ulterior motive concerning our relationship. She never trusted you. She’ll know.”

  “Make sure she doesn’t. Our agreement depends on secrecy. And your friend is rather chatty. Her suspicions could ruin everything. Do whatever you have to, but appease her skeptical psyche. I need you with me on this. Let me give you the rest of your life on a silver platter, and it will only cost you five years—maybe less.”

  I cringed as I tried to blink away tears. This sounded like some callous and cold contract negotiation. If I did this, what did it make me? By definition, would I be a gold-digger or a whore? He made it clear there would be no physical relations. Could I live with that? I had anticipated taking our friendship to the next level. Now that I knew he was dying, had that somehow changed my mind?

  I didn’t think I could be married to him with the knowledge he was sleeping with someone else. I’d already had inklings he was having sex with other women over the past two years. There was no way a man of his caliber stayed celibate. I’d already been privy to the innuendos regarding his sexual exploits. It often made me wonder how many women he slept with and why he never made advances toward me all this time.

  Yet I didn’t want to lose him. I valued our relationship too much. Could I agree to what he was asking? Could I live with myself knowing I sold five years of my life in order to have the gallery and lifelong financial security? Or could I justify it by telling myself this was a good deed and I’d be by his side anyway?

  I wanted to be there for him.
Even without this deal of a lifetime, I would never let him be alone during his time of need. The only difference this particular marital contract would make was I’d be salaried for my time. It sounded so unsavory, yet it was an opportunity. He was using the gallery as leverage and the promise of security—the two things he knew I valued most. This truly was a chance of a lifetime. The only changes between us were we would be living as husband and wife and my name would now be his, and in that aspect, legally, I would own half his wealth.

  We got married three days later. Everyone was shell-shocked, including me. Wick Global put on the pretense of congratulations with cards, food, and bottles of Dom Perignon champagne. Coco flat out disbelieved it. She was angry and dubious that I didn’t tell her. How could I? She would have tied me up and dropped me off at some mental institution. I tried to pacify the marriage to her by saying Hartman had proposed the night of my birthday. I told her I had decided to keep it to myself while I thought about it. I also explained I knew she would attempt to talk me out of it. I didn’t want to lie, so I glossed over the actual arrangement and went right to the gallery part. I said I wanted her to be happy for me. Be thrilled for us because now we had the means and opportunity to fulfill our life’s dream.

  I explained I would no longer be physically working at Wick Global. Any business decisions I would be making now would be from a home office. I appeased her concerns by handing her a real estate broker’s card. I told her she was in charge of finding us a location for our new gallery. That task alone would keep her occupied rather than her asking twenty questions daily.

  In my heart of hearts, I always knew she’d never believed me. We were too close. She never understood my relationship with Hartman. Primarily, that was his fault because he came across as rather egotistical. They were both guilty because neither chose to get to know each other. Battle lines were drawn the first time they’d met. Now that I married him, it would become worse. But I vowed to be with him through sickness and health. She would have to accept this. Because as long as he was alive, I would stay.