“I’m more than competent, but I see your point,” he said. “Only this one time, Elliot. I really don’t want to have to take on more clients. I’m trying to cut back, enjoy what I have with my wife and kids.”
He should just retire if enjoying what he has with his family is the goal. The man’s worth over twenty billion. He could spend a million bucks a day till he dies and never run out.
Shaking my head, I go to the master suite. I need a shower after my morning workout. Once everything sinks in, she’ll get over her hurt feelings. Women all do when presented with money.
Chapter Twenty-One
Annabelle
It feels weird to walk into OWM as a potential client rather than a member of the janitorial staff. I know what the firm is and what it does. I heard people talking about it in the break room. And like Elliot said, it’s probably a big deal to become a client.
Since I don’t want last night to weigh me down forever, I put on a bright sunflower-yellow sheath dress and nude pumps. The hat I wear is jaunty and provides plenty of shade against the brilliant L.A. sun. Elliot is in his usual black button-down shirt and slacks—which must be excruciatingly hot, but never seems to bother him. Today he looks forbidding, like a thundercloud.
The mood rubs off on me, but I do my best to focus on the positive. Elliot is superb in bed, and—except for calling me by another woman’s name during sex—he hasn’t been a complete douche. Things could be worse.
He puts a hand at the small of my back, the courteous but possessive gesture starting to become familiar. He’s so good at acting like a newlywed that I can’t help but wonder if he’s had practice.
The neatly dressed receptionist doesn’t seem to recognize me as she greets me and Elliot. She gives both of us a warm smile.
It makes sense she wouldn’t make the connection, though. Who notices a cleaning lady? Besides even if she thinks I look familiar, she won’t be able to place me, not when I’m sporting a new haircut, an expensive dress and all the rest.
The office we walk into is spacious without being grand. A calming shade of blue accents off-white walls, and the expansive desk is neatly organized. The man behind the desk is surprisingly young, no more than in his early thirties. His gray suit is so dark it’s almost black, and it molds to his lean frame perfectly in the way only custom-made tailoring can. A big smile splits his face as he stands. “Congratulations on your marriage!” The man reaches over and shakes my hand. “I’m Pete Monroe. Nice to meet you.”
I murmur, “A pleasure,” but don’t give him my name. Elliot can call me Gigi all he wants, but I’m not going to introduce myself as Gigi to people we meet as a couple. It feels…wrong.
Elliot guides me to a plushy armchair. Only when I sit down does he take another one just like mine.
“I have all the paperwork,” Pete says. “Your lawyer was very thorough and specific, which makes my job easy.”
“Why I pay him the big bucks,” Elliot says.
Pete chuckles, then asks me questions about my comfort level with certain types of strategies, how much risk I want to assume and other things that I’ve never considered before. I don’t even try to pretend I can be the kind of sophisticated, moneyed investor he’s probably used to dealing with.
No, I can’t afford to lose the principal. I’d prefer that my money keep up with inflation, at least. I have a younger sister—fifteen—who’s going to go to college, and it’d be nice if I could help pay for that.
Pete casts a quick glance in Elliot’s direction when I mention Nonny’s college tuition, but then he’s back to his questions. He’s undoubtedly wondering why I’m worrying about it when I can just ask my rich husband.
Someone knocks on the door. “Come in,” Pete calls out.
It opens, and a face I never thought to see again pops into the office.
All the air whooshes out of my lungs, and I struggle to breathe. The blood in my veins chills, leaving me shaking. The room tilts, and I grip the armrests.
A warm hand on my bare arm anchors me. Elliot’s concerned face fills my vision. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Just a little, um, dizzy spell.”
His eyes narrow, but I can’t think of a better cover story.
I blink a few times, then cast another glance over my shoulder.
I haven’t imagined it.
Dennis Smith is here. In L.A.
* * *
Elliot
Dizzy, my ass. Something else is up with her.
The intern is visibly pale, but he recovers, comes over and places a packet of paper on Pete’s desk. “The documents you requested.”
“Thanks, Dennis.” Pete turns to her as though he hasn’t noticed anything odd between the intern and my wife. “Have you met Mrs. Reed? They just got married.”