“When I married him, I thought my husband was an enigma, a tragic widower struggling to raise a son while growing his business. In fact, he was none of that. He didn’t struggle. He hired people to deal with anything inconvenient, and that included Brandon. He hadn’t any room in his heart for me at all. I had romanticized our affair, and I was more than willing to marry him. I didn’t care that he explained his proposal as a matter of keeping up appearances once our liaison had leaked to the press. It had to be a grand romance, otherwise, he was only another dirty old man chasing after the help, and that wouldn’t do for Power Regions. He didn’t love me. He professed to, of course, the way men will,” she shrugged meaningfully.
“I’m sorry that your relationship didn’t turn out the way you wanted it to, but that doesn’t have much to do with me and Brandon.”
“Brandon and me. Goodness, hasn’t the boy hired anyone to work on your diction? It has a great deal of bearing on your situation because you, like myself, were a necessary bride. A hanger-on acquired to meet a corporate need,” Lena persisted.
“Untrue. We’re in love, Lena. I know it sounds unlikely, and it probably burns you because you weren’t lucky enough to have that with his dad, but Brandon loves me.”
“Brandon has no more love for you than his father had for me,” Lena said grimly. Despite the apparent malice of the remark, she showed no rancor, nothing but a rather tired sadness.
“Brandon didn’t lose his first wife to illness. I’m his first wife. First and only. He’s not still hung up on some old love.”
“You’re right about one thing. Brandon isn’t in love with anyone else. His father never got over his first love and neither will the son.”
“I know his mother’s death made a huge impact on him, and on his father, too, I expect, but—”
“He wasn’t still in love with Brandon’s mother. It was that company. Power Regions was his first and only bride. Nothing will ever take the place of the corporation in his heart. It’s all he ever had from his father.”
“Then why would you want to take that away from him?” Marj challenged.
“To destroy it. Why do you think I want Power Regions? To keep it for myself and run the company? Perish the thought. I want to dismantle it, so I can finally have some peace.”
Marj gasped in shock. “You want to tear it apart? Just—disembowel his legacy like that? Take away everything they’ve both worked for?”
“Yes. I hate that infernal machine, that monstrous business that took my husband away at night and on weekends and kept him ever from having a fully engaged conversation with me or remembering anything about us without consulting a secretary. Because all of his preoccupation, all his time belonged to the company. It was his wife, his mistress, his child. And I will raise a glass of the best single malt in this city to toast its demise when I triumph.”
“I don’t understand. You’re just still jealous of his company? Didn’t he pass away about five years ago?”
“You see. People thought I was a gold-digger. But I wasn’t. I truly loved my husband with all my heart. He was my world, and I gave him all my love, but it wasn’t enough. It feels like yesterday. It was a moment of such despair for me. I had no more chances to get his attention, his approval, to secure his regard. I would never be able to get him to love me. I had stood by for years, making his home a showplace, cutting a fashionable figure on his arm at corporate events. I was never more than an accessory to him. I didn’t have a child. Indeed, I never wanted any. But I have this small bit of wisdom to impart, and I’ll give it to you as if you were my own. Don’t waste decades trying to get the attention of a man who only loves his job.”
Those words hit home with Marj. She quickly pondered them.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Ah, this omelet looks lovely,” Marj said with forced calmness. In fact, it didn’t look lovely so much as it looked pale and she swigged her Bellini too fast. It was sugary and sparked on her tongue with the bubbles. “Champagne with breakfast is brilliant. I’m so glad you invited me.”
“The mimosas were an incentive for you to listen to reason. I take it you’re no more moved by my warnings than I would have been at the time. Another Bellini then?”
“Indeed.”
“There’s a good answer. If you’re to continue with this farce, as I did before you, you’ll need a few stock replies. Indeed is one, as you say—that’s another. It’s a backhanded acquiescence. Implies that you’ll concede a point even though you recognize baldly that the other person is utterly mistaken.”