Part 9 (1/2)
”Not really pregnant?” Red repeated. ”Were you ever engaged to her?”
”Yes. Let's talk tomorrow when she's gone. And we're alone.” He pulled his calling card with private contact numbers from his pocket. Maybe he could salvage tonight for tomorrow. Warner slipped his number inside her bronze purse and returned it to her. And similar to her hand, he didn't want to let go of her bag either. He didn't have a choice. Red wasn't his to keep. Not yet.
Her arms extended, ready to catch-and leave. ”Your future wife is determined.”
”We're not engaged anymore.”
Red's tone had chilled, eyes stoned, face mannequinesque. ”Maybe you two can get back together and work it out before the kid arrives.” She lowered her voice. ”Hopefully she'll quit smoking before the baby is born.”
”I'd like to explain everything to you tomorrow. Please. I put my card in your-”
Raising her hand, Red cut him short. ”I left crazy back home.” Her once-captivated eyes unlocked from his with disinterest. ”I sure as h.e.l.l have no interest in your St. Barth's drama.”
Red never looked back at him. She didn't acknowledge her Big Daddy when leaving.
He kept his eyes on Red as she turned the corner. Her russet hair cast a black veil over her perfect face in the night. Her tuberose scent lingered behind as if to say, ”I should be in your arms tonight.”
”Honey bunny!”
”Rielle...”
”I've missed you terribly.” Reeking of gin, she extended her arms for capture.
”Congratulations.”
She c.o.c.ked her head and twisted her featureless face. ”For what, honey?”
”You've always possessed such a gift-” He didn't finish. He was too busy staring at his hands. They were bleeding from the amber-colored gla.s.s embedded in his palm. Warner hadn't even noticed-until now. Taking a handkerchief from his pants pocket, he dislodged the bits from his skin and then wrapped his hand tight to stop the bleeding.
Intoxicated, she slurred, ”I have many gifts, sugar. So do you.” Rielle hurled her desperation on him.
Warner held Rielle by her shoulders, dodging her hot breath. After meeting such a wonderful woman as Red, this contact created an instant sour pucker in his throat. Hatred, he tasted hatred. Lowering his head to meet her at eye level, he informed her, ”What I was going to say was-you have such a gift-for ruining the best moments in my life.” It hurt him to say this to the woman he once thought he loved. From the outside, Rielle was still beautiful. Her insides were what made her ugly to him now.
”What?” Rielle stepped back. Her eyes narrowed into black slits trying to sober in hopes she'd heard him wrong.
He advanced with rea.s.surance. ”Get the h.e.l.l out of my life and away from me for good.”
”Warner, honey.” She tried to stand tall.
”I have to hand it to you. Being a b.i.t.c.h at your level requires enormous energy.”
Whack! Rielle's pink nails tore across his face. ”How dare you! I fly down to this floating French sand dune to see you-and this is how I'm greeted?”
Blood spotted his white s.h.i.+rt from her sc.r.a.pe. ”I told you-I never want to see you again.” He wiped his cheek.
”I'm still hoping we can...” Her face darkened, appearing less attractive to him than ever. She stared at his crotch and argued, ”Pity to waste such a beautiful horse d.i.c.k.”
”You've run empty on tricks. No more trying to seduce the men in my family. No more fake pregnancies. No more scams.”
She swung her other hand.
Ready to snap her in half, he gripped her wrist midair. He wouldn't. A gentleman didn't. ”Move on to another billionaire group or try a few millionaires. The Trumans can't take another iota from you.”
Rielle screamed for him to reason with her. She wanted her job back at the foundation and for everything to return to how it once was. He refused. Infuriated, she spit in his face.
You b.i.t.c.h. Warner didn't care what she spewed or spit. He didn't deserve her abuse. He should never be subjected to the cruelty she'd given him or the pain she'd caused him.
The night Rielle had run into Sheldon's arms in her typical cry for attention, Warner was co-hosting a fundraiser and c.o.c.ktail party. The lavish affair took place at the private residence of Manhattan's mayor. Mixed with his parents, brother and friends, he campaigned to secure funds for a new development-South Street Seaport Resort & Spa. Adjacent to the financial district, the new condominium-resort-spa community featured Brooklyn Bridge views.
Truman Enterprises' banks had required a high percentage presold. Then the residential spa and resort could break ground. With his attention divided he'd suggested, ”Rielle, it may be best if you stayed home tonight.” She'd demanded his undivided attention and couldn't stand it when he talked to anyone else for more than a second, even if for business.
”It's my opportunity to be seen,” Rielle had insisted and accompanied him to the party. She clung to his arm, her squinting eyes keeping women away from prospecting Warner, as well as any potential investors for South Street Seaport Resort & Spa.
”Stay put, I have to go chat with someone. I won't be long.” He smiled to rea.s.sure her she could stand on her own amongst the city's elite. ”Why don't you talk to your future in-laws?” He'd eyed his folks who sat in the corner, their enthusiasm soured.
At first, his first wife Jacqueline had shocked his parents due to their age difference, but they'd grown to adore her. ”Rielle is...different from your beloved Jacqueline,” his mother remarked gravely to him after their first introduction.
”Don't leave my side, Warner, I mean it.” Rielle had grabbed his arm. Her nails sank into his flesh as her insecurities drove a wedge between them.
”Stop.” He turned his back, ignoring her threat.
”You b.a.s.t.a.r.d!” she'd screamed, loud enough for onlookers to hear.
Christ. He yanked her close, pressing his mouth to her left ear. ”Go home, Rielle.” His heart sank with disappointment as she stalked off. She'd taken pleasure in the negative charge between them. Raised in a loving home, Warner had never once witnessed his parents argue or fight. Anytime they had a disagreement, his mother would always turn to his father and say, ”We'll talk about it later, darling.” As he grew older, becoming involved in his own relations.h.i.+ps, he wondered if his parents' ”let's fight another time” ever came. Did they argue behind closed bedroom doors? If they did, it never came close to what Rielle brought to the bickering table.
Sheldon confessed later to Warner he'd grown bored at the fundraiser, grabbed a joint from catering and had snuck into a back bedroom to smoke. Stoned, he'd gazed up to see Rielle grabbing for his attention, unb.u.t.toning his s.h.i.+rt and pants.
”Stop it.”
”f.u.c.k me, Shel.”
”No!”
”Yes.” She'd pushed him onto the bed and attempted to ride him. When he couldn't get hard, Rielle had pulled her dress top down and shoved her nipples in his face.
”Freak, get off me!” Sheldon had shouted.
Warner heard his brother and had walked in on them as Rielle's authenticity surfaced. She stood and lunged for him, begging for his attention. Her fake pregnancy b.u.mp hit the floor and so did her billionaire scheming agenda.
”Con artist,” his brother had muttered.
At first, Warner didn't believe it. The fake pregnancy didn't make sense to him until he recalled Rielle stating he couldn't touch her or make love to her while she carried the baby. She also hadn't allowed him to go to her OB-GYN appointments, because they didn't exist. He stood holding her shoulders as she started hitting him. In Rielle's mind, her failure was his fault. In one night, he'd observed his engagement and baby become a shame.
Tonight in St. Barth felt no different.
Warner wiped the phlegm from his face. He reached in his back pocket for his cell and called the St. Barth's police station.
As authorities arrived, the woman he thought he once knew scratched her own face and tore at her blouse. Rielle claimed he'd beaten her. The police didn't buy it. When her charade didn't work, she pretended to faint, claiming exhaustion from their miscarried love child. Her lie didn't go over with the female officer who slapped the handcuffs on her wrists. Rielle released herself, perhaps in hopes the policewoman would let her go. Or maybe she became scared.