“I was referring to…”
He thought he saw the start of tears, but it might have been a tricky reflection off the lenses of her glasses. “I know what you were talking about, Maris.”
They exchanged a long and meaningful look. He was consumed with the desire to touch her. “I don’t want you to leave.”
He hadn’t known he was going to say that until he heard his own gruff voice filling the heavy silence. He hadn’t made a conscious decision to speak the words, but he meant them. And he meant them for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with his revenge on Noah Reed.
“Write your book, Parker.”
“Stay.”
“I’ll be in touch.” She backed up several steps before turning and walking away from him.
“Maris!”
But she didn’t stop or even slow down, and she didn’t look back, not even when he called her name again.
Chapter 16
“This visit is long overdue. I’m glad you were free.” Nadia Schuller sent a smile across the table to her luncheon guest.
As the setting for this intimate get-together, Nadia had chosen a small, cozy restaurant on Park Avenue. Its menu was unaffected; the decor was country French. Nadia thought the lace panels in the windows were a bit precious for Manhattan, but they contributed to the restaurant’s friendly ambience.
And that was the note she was trying to strike with this lunch—friendliness.
Which was somewhat of a challenge when you were screwing your guest’s husband.
“Thank you for the invitation.” Maris offered a strained little smile and opened her menu, a not so subtle hint that she was ready to get lunch under way and over with as quickly as etiquette permitted.
A waiter in a long white apron approached their table. “What would you like to drink, Maris?” Nadia asked.
“Iced tea, please.”
“I’m having white wine. Would you rather have that?” She made it sound as though she were granting Maris permission to have an alcoholic beverage if she preferred.
Addressing the waiter this time, Maris repeated, “Iced tea, please. Lots of ice and a fresh wedge of lemon.” Turning back to Nadia, she said, “I formed the habit when I was in the South.”
“They drink it year-’round down there, don’t they? That and moonshine.” Nadia ordered her wine and the waiter withdrew. “I heard all about your trip to Dixie.”
“Oh?”
“From your secretary. When I called to invite you to lunch.”
“I thought perhaps Noah had told you.”
“No, I haven’t seen Noah in, hmm… actually, I think it was the night I saw the two of you at the awards banquet.”
They made small talk until the waiter returned with their drink order, then listened to his recitation of the chef’s specials. Nadia requested a few minutes for them to think over their selections. This delay in the proceedings seemed to perturb Maris, but Nadia wasn’t going to be brushed off like a piece of lint.
She didn’t like Maris in the least, and she was absolutely certain that her dislike was reciprocated. Both were successful businesswomen, but their approach to their careers, to men, to life in general, couldn’t be more dissimilar.
Maris Matherly-Reed had enjoyed all the advantages that Nadia had been denied. Maris had been born into a wealthy and well-respected family and had cut her perfectly straight teeth on a silver spoon.
She had attended exclusive private schools and was a frequent guest at the tony parties held in the tony estates in the Hamptons. Her photograph often appeared in the society columns. She had traveled extensively.
Maris had culture out the ass—an ass that hadn’t required painful, expensive liposuction to get it slim and taut. Shapely as it was, however, you couldn’t melt an ice cube on it.
Nadia, née Nadine, had been born poor. Her family’s poverty was forgivable. It was their ignorance and uncouthness she had found intolerable. As early as preadolescence, she determined not to remain in Brooklyn and marry some boorish loser of a husband with whom she would fight over how they were going to house and feed their ever-increasing brood.