Envy(149)

Yes, that was very good. And who could contradict him?

Perhaps he should confess that he had flirted with the idea of merging Matherly Press with a media giant and had met with Blume to discuss it. But now that Daniel was gone, he looked forward to working side by side with Maris to preserve and even strengthen Matherly Press.

Excellent.

Now, what to do about their personal relationship? Tricky to resolve, but not impossible. She was so easily pacified. Maybe he would take a special interest in this book she was so excited about. He would offer to become personally involved in its publication and devote himself to making it a huge success. She’d like that.

Or maybe he’d suggest that they try harder to produce an heir to continue the dynasty. Physically impossible, of course, but she could be happy in her ignorance until he devised something else to keep her preoccupied and malleable.

There were several options from which to choose. He was confident one would be a workable solution for their present rift.

Finally, there was the problem of the private investigator. He might dig deep enough to uncover that nasty business in Florida. But what if he did? It was an unhappy story, nothing more. He had never been incriminated. Resurrecting the incident might generate some unfavorable speculation about him, but he would dismiss any rumors as vicious gossip.

Having worked out these solutions, it was with a jaunty and optimistic air that he stepped off the elevator and walked briskly down the hallway toward his office. Even his assistant was standing at attention at her desk, wringing her hands as though anxious to please him. “Coffee, please, Cindy.”

“Mr. Reed, he—”

He sailed past her and entered his office, where he came to a standstill so abruptly he might as well have walked into a glass wall. “Stern?”

Appearancewise, this attorney and Howard Bancroft were practically interchangeable. The same bald, pointed head bobbed as the man said curtly, “Mr. Reed.”

“What the f*ck are you doing in my office, behind my desk?”

Overlooking the obscenity, Stern gestured toward the two men with him. “These gentlemen work as paralegals for my law firm. They have agreed to help you box up your personal items. A project I will closely monitor. You have one hour to complete the task, at which time I will relieve you of your keys to this office and your security pass into the building. I will then escort you out through the Fifty-first Street exit.

“When stipulating to me the terms of your immediate dismissal, Ms. Matherly was very specific about that. She did not want to cause you any embarrassment by conducting you outside through the main entrance. In my opinion, that was most gracious of her and more consideration than you deserve.” With a quick motion of his hand, he activated the paralegals. He checked his wristwatch. “The clock is ticking. I think we should begin.”

Cindy squeezed in through the door behind him. “Excuse me, Mr. Reed? The deliveryman won’t release this package until you personally sign the return receipt.”

She was the most convenient outlet for his rage. He rounded on her, eyes blazing.

She recoiled but thrust the package at him and managed to say, “It’s from a Mr. Parker Evans.”


* * *


Maris had just completed her read-through when Mike returned. She was sitting motionless, the manuscript pages lying in her lap. She had stared at the last line until the letters blurred.

Pain that splinters the body but slays the soul.

Because she was dazed by that line and those that had come before it, Mike’s return didn’t register until he nudged her shoulder. “I remembered that you enjoy tea sometimes. I hope that’s all right.”

Nodding dumbly, she took the warm Styrofoam cup from him. He sat down in his desk chair. When he ripped open a packet of artificial sweetener, the sound seemed abnormally loud in the small room. “One or two?” he asked.

“One’s fine.”

She removed the tight plastic lid from her cup. Mike dumped the contents of the packet into the fragrant, steaming tea, then passed her a plastic stir stick. She stirred much longer than required to dissolve the sweetener. When she tasted the tea, it burned her tongue.

“This isn’t the ending, is it?” she asked.

Mike frowned into his coffee. “He hasn’t shown the last chapter even to me. I’m not sure he’s written it. It may be too painful for him to write.”

“More painful than this? God,” she cried softly. “It’s incredible. I can’t believe it happened.”

Mike looked at her meaningfully. What she’d said was rhetoric, because actually she believed every word of Parker’s account. Noah had done this to his friends. She knew he had. She knew he was capable of it.

“What happened afterward, Mike?”

“Todd—”

“Noah. This isn’t fiction.”

“Noah returned to the marina.”

“As related in the prologue. He faked hysteria. Claimed that Parker had gone crazy onboard the boat. Abused the girl. Attacked him. They fought. The girl went overboard and so did Parker. Noah tried to save them.”

“He must’ve gone into the water so his clothes would be wet and it would appear he’d searched for them.”

“He blamed Parker’s violent outburst on envy.”

“A lie, of course. But a damn good one. Believable. The Coast Guard organized a search-and-rescue effort.”