A Winter's Secret (A Winter's Tale Book 4) Page 13

  “Mr. Elliot, I have no desire to take what does not belong to me,” Charlotte said weakly. She was beyond her limit of comfortability. The entire ordeal had made her weary.

  “That’s good to hear. I’m glad to know that you have sense, though, my son seems to have lost his. Stoffer, give my daughter- in- law a new document. My son seems to have destroyed−”

  “She’s not signing anything−”

  “Nicholas, stop,” Charlotte sighed. Taking a step closer to the desk, she positioned her smaller body in front of Nicholas to stop any attempt he may have made at intervening a second time. “Thank you,” she said when the heavy-set man handed her the thick document. Inhaling a quiet breath, she read the first page, the second and then the third. It all seemed reasonable, reasonable enough anyway. Should she and Nicholas divorce she would not be entitled to any revenue made from Plotus Cosmetics, land, property, monies placed in Nicholas’ trust fund, or the keeping of the Elliot name. It’s not like I had any of those things before meeting Nicholas . . . it’s not like I’d be losing anything, she thought as she turned to the fourth page. Blinking rapidly, Charlotte read the first line several times before lowering the papers to her side. Frowning deeply, she turned to face Spencer. “You want me to sign away my rights to my unborn children?”

  “Yes,” he answered simply.

  “Why would I do that? What type of woman would ever do something like that?”

  “In case you were to conceive during your union with Nicholas it only makes sense that your children be raised in our family’s keeping. We can offer what you and your family couldn’t, the best opportunities, a superior education. Of course, you would want the best for your children . . . just as any good mother would. So, it goes without saying that you should allot custody to Nicholas.”

  “You’re incredible,” Nicholas rebuked. “Is there no boundary to your audacity?”

  “Let your wife speak.”

  Charlotte exhaled deeply. Shaking her head at Spencer’s words, she worked to control her breathing. While she was not in the least surprised by his arrogance, she did not expect him to be so forward. “I will sign your prenup papers . . . I will agree to not take anything from Nicholas or your family. I have no right, no claim to your money, to his money and I’m okay with that. But− I will not sign away my custody to my unborn children. That’s insanity.”

  “Stoffer, give my daughter- in- law her wedding gift.”

  Reaching under the desk, Stoffer pulled out a second briefcase. Placing it on the table, he immediately unlatched the metal case locks, allowing the casing to sprang open. Turning the opened carrier around to face Nicholas and Charlotte, he said, “Mrs. Elliot, a gift from Mr. Spencer Elliot.”

  Charlotte’s dark brown eyes widened at the briefcase full of money. Fourteen rubber band held stacks lay in front of her. Each one topped with a one- hundred- dollar bill. Were they all one- hundred- dollar bills? She had never seen that much money before in her life and would probably never see that much again. How much is it exactly? It doesn’t matter. I am not accepting it.

  As if reading her mind, Spencer said, “In front of you sits $150,000. The trunk of my car is filled with nine more briefcases, each holding the same equivalent, a quick stroke of Stoffer’s pen and you’ll be a very rich woman, Charlotte.”

  “Enough,” Nicholas hissed through clenched teeth.

  Charlotte laughed, though there was no humor in it. Glancing from the money, to Nicholas and then to his father, she groaned. Closing her eyes to hold back the sudden rush of tears she felt just beneath the surface, Charlotte exhaled once more. “A bribe.”

  “A gift,” Spencer corrected.

  “A bribe,” she repeated, not fooled. “A 1.5 million- dollar bribe in exchange for my children, children that haven’t even been born. Do you find me to be that low of a human being, that you wouldn’t want your grandchildren raised by me? Am I that appalling to you?”

  “Five- million,” he said, his deep blue eyes holding unyielding resolve. “Do not let pride destroy your chance of becoming a very rich woman. Besides, who’s to say that the two of you will be together long enough to even formulate the thought of having children? Be smart. Sign the papers and let’s finish the evening on a good note.”

  Charlotte’s dark gaze held Spencer’s for a long second before she nodded her head in acceptance of his answer. Offering him a small smile, she handed Stoffer the unsigned papers over the still open briefcase. “Thank you for such a beautiful party. Please pass along my gratitude to Muffy. She really does have amazing taste,” she said, her voice trembling. And then turning on her stilettos, Charlotte took off running, quickly making her way across the lobby to the exit.

  The chilly evening breeze hit her hard as the first onslaught of tears poured shamelessly down her make- up covered face. Closing her eyes, she squeezed her hands into tight fists, barely flinching as her nails tore into soft flesh. “AHH!” she screamed into the darkness, hating that she had allowed his opinions to bother her so deeply.

  “Dimple,” Nicholas said from behind her.

  At the sound of her name, Charlotte continued in her flight, running down the steep wide steps with no thought of the skinny heels that fastened around her narrow feet.

  “Dimple. Stop,” he called, running after her. Grabbing hold of her wrist before she made it to the last step, Nicholas spun her around so that her wet face rested on his chest. Wrapping his strong arms around her trembling body, he placed his chin on her head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. God, he missed her, missed having her in his arms. “My father’s a−”

  “He’s right. I bring nothing to the table. I’m not rich . . . I don’t fit in here, not with your family, or their friends. Not in the life you’re accustomed to.”

  “I don’t care about any of that. None of that has ever been a concern of mine. You know that . . . you know that I could care less about you not coming from a wealthy family. Wanting to make light of the situation, Nicholas laughed softly, “Be honest, after getting a taste of Spencer at his best . . . Babet doesn’t look so bad anymore, does she?”

  Ignoring his attempt, Charlotte continued to sob. The reality of their dilemma broke her heart. It didn’t matter what she did or didn’t do for that matter she would never be his parents first choice, hell, or even their second choice for that matter. “Your father wouldn’t have asked Blithe to sign a prenup. He wouldn’t have asked her to sign away the rights to her children, either. She fits into your world far better than I ever will. Maybe, self- consciously you’ve always known that. Maybe, that’s why . . . that night happened. You−”

  “Don’t do that,” Nicholas groaned. Placing his hands on either of her shoulders, he took a small step away from her. His light silver eyes bore into her almond browns, unblinkingly. “That night was the worst mistake I’ve ever made, and it had nothing to do with her being better suited for me. I was an ass− an insecure ass that jumped to conclusions for no other reason than sheer jealousy. And I pray to God that one day you will forgive me for that moment of weakness that continues to haunt me daily.” Lifting his right hand to Charlotte’s face, he feathered his thumb across her tear stained cheek before tucking a stray hair behind her ear. Standing over her, Nicholas stared down at her beautiful features, her long thick black lashes, and lush mouth. God, help him, she was breath- taking.

  Charlotte studied him through puffy eyes. Swallowing her words, she leaned into his touch, in need of his embrace, just as he was in need of hers.

  Nicholas wanted nothing more than to feel his wife’s lips against his, to get lost in the taste of her kiss once more. But, the possibility of rejection stopped him cold. “Let me take you home,” he said, lowering his hands to his sides.

  Nodding, Charlotte murmured, “Thank you.” Then backing out of his reach she continued down the stairs and across the property’s illuminated sidewalk in the direction of his car. She felt like a fool for thinking that she would ever be accepted into
the Elliot’s world. Spencer made his feelings crystal clear; she was an outsider and there was nothing she could do to change that. It was a reality that cut deeper than she’d cared to admit, a truth that she’d never be able to change.

  Chapter Twenty- Three

  The drive to Charlotte’s apartment had been a quiet one, quiet though not at all unpleasant. Pulling up in front of her building, Nicholas parked his Chrysler 300 before taking off his seat belt. Adjusting his weight, he turned to face Charlotte who was silently staring out of the passenger side window. Her expression was a serious one. “Dimple,” he breathed her name, a litany on his full lips. There was a wealth of concern in his voice. “You’re giving my father too much power. I’m not concerned, and so you shouldn’t be either.”

  Charlotte turned then, her dark eyes searching his face for something, anything that would take her mind off of the toxic thoughts threatening to destroy her. There was such a hopelessness in the way she looked at him. It was enough to break his heart. Nicholas moved then, ignoring all reservations, he lowered his head to hers allowing his lips to brush hers with the lightest of touches.

  Seconds passed, one− two as he gave Charlotte the opportunity to refuse him, but to his surprise she did not push him away. Afraid of being rejected if he gave her too much time to consider what was happening between them, Nicholas’ right hand wrapped around the nape of her neck. His fingers were soft, his grip firm as he pulled her closer to him. He needed the feel of her lips against his, it was a simple truth that he humbly accepted. Nicholas fastened his mouth to Charlotte’s, his full lips parting hers with an urgency. Possessively his mouth moved over hers, his tongue stroking, exploring as he fed on the sweetness found there.

  He knew that there was a profound difference in needing and wanting, and what he needed more than anything was to gather his wife in his arms, to protectively hold her soft body against him, to ease her mind from the poison his father had implanted there. Hesitantly, Nicholas ended their kiss, immediately feeling bereft from their separation. Resting his forehead against hers, he let out a quiet breath. “Can I come up?” he asked, silently praying that she would not reject him.

  Charlotte ran her tongue across her lower lip, and tasting him, she pulled it into her mouth. Her mind battled with her heart . . . letting him into her home, into her bed was not a good idea. With one kiss he had been able to shatter her defenses, with one touch the barriers she had firmly planted around her heart had started to fall, leaving her vulnerable and unprotected. What would happen if she spent the night with him? Could she handle the consequences of his love making? NO! her subconscious screamed at her. You’d be lost. You’d stay lost in him. But as Charlotte’s mind screamed at her, her heart began to ache at the thought of sending him away. As much as it pained her to admit it, she missed Nicholas− she missed her best friend. Slowly raising her small hands to either side of his face, she whispered, “Yes.” One word was all she could manage. “Yes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Charlotte jogged down the busy sidewalk of W. 10th Avenue, her pace steady as she carefully maneuvered her small body through the crowds along her path. A thin sheen of sweat coated her brow and the nape of her neck as she pressed onward, her running shoes slapping the ground forcefully. The warm spring breeze caressed her tanned skin, the sweetest of kisses encouraging her to endure beyond the ache spreading through her lean frame, past the pain gathering in her muscles. Taking deep breaths through her nose, Charlotte skillfully exhaled, feeding her lungs the air they so desperately craved as she pushed her body forward. Pushing her body had become the norm over the past few years. Running had always been a form of therapy for Charlotte, and as of late it seemed that she had been running more for mental peace than physical fitness.

  It had been three days since she had last spoken to Nicholas, three days since they had made love, and her every thought had involved him since then. For the life of her, Charlotte could not get his face, the hard lines of his body out of her mind. It didn’t help that he consistently called and texted her, begging her to meet him so that they could talk. Talking still wasn’t something she was ready to do. Talking meant discussing the topic she so wanted to forget about, it meant discussing Blithe. And in all honesty, she wasn’t ready for that conversation. Call it immaturity, or just pure stubbornness, she didn’t care to criticize herself too harshly on the matter.

  Regardless of the reason, she was mentally and emotionally drained at the thought of re-living the night that destroyed the foundation of their relationship. Still, Nicholas had been persistent in his attempt to work things out between them, and deep- down Charlotte was relieved that he hadn’t given up on them, even with her making their reunion more difficult than it had to be.

  Continuing down W. 10th Charlotte closed her mind to all things Nicholas and forced herself to focus once more on the pain radiating through her aching limbs and the tightening in her chest. The throbbing sting stiffening her joints as her tired feet hit the dirty pavement was the only solace she had since the weekend, and even though it was only a momentary relief, she was incredibly grateful for the temporary peace.

  ***

  Nicholas sat in Charlotte’s living room for what felt like an eternity as he waited for her to return home from work. Silently, he stared at the white and beige striped wall in front of him, his mind drifting off to the night he’d helped her paint it.

  JANUARY 2007

  “It’s a waste of money,” Nicholas advised as Charlotte handed him the painter’s tape. “You’ll have to paint it back when you move.”

  “Well, that won’t be for some time . . . it’s not like I’ll be able to afford to buy a house in Manhattan anytime soon,” she huffed at him. “So, be a doll and get to work.”

  “You want to buy a house?”

  “Nicholas, tape, wall, now,” Charlotte laughed. “Stop trying to distract me from the task at hand.”

  “Distract you? Is that what I’m doing?”

  “It is.”

  “I can assure you, Dimple, distracting you was not my intent. If I wanted to distract you . . . I wouldn’t do so through conversation,” he said smugly, his grin boyish.

  “If I didn’t know any better Nicholas Elliot, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

  “Well, do you?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Do you know better?”

  A knock at the door interrupted Nicholas from his thoughts. Sighing, he made his way to the foyer, stopping at the wall table along the way to grab a pen from the junk basket, half expecting to have to sign for a package. Taking a glance through the peephole, Nicholas frowned. Opening the steel door, his silver gaze met the other man’s before openly eyeing him from head to toe. “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “Is Charlotte home?”

  So, this is a personal visit, Nicholas mused over the thought. “No, she isn’t. Can I help you with something? Are you a neighbor?” he asked, meaning to pry.

  “You don’t recognize me?” the man arched a thick brow, slightly amused.

  “Should I?”

  “Santiago Martìnez,” he said, extending his right hand to Nicholas. “I work for Gizzelle Bridal as a member of the accounting team. I transferred to Leisure Me Ready’s building after the takeover.”

  Narrowing his silvers, Nicholas shook his hand. “Sorry, I don’t recollect ever making your acquaintance. Nevertheless, here you are now at my door asking for my wife. If you want to speak to her about work, I suggest limiting those conversations to the office.”

  Santiago’s caramel face lit up with wry amusement from Nicholas’ obvious annoyance at his being there. “Well, this is more of a social call, than business. Besides, Charlotte didn’t show up for work today, so−”

  Taking a step toward the threshold and closer to the other man, Nicholas bade, “She didn’t show up for work?”

  “No, I didn’t show up for work today,” Charlotte said from the end of the hallway. Her deep browns move
d from Nicholas to Santiago and then back again, confusion tightening her delicate features. Why is Nicholas inside my apartment, even more importantly how did Santiago find out where I live? Stopping just short of both men, she asked Santiago, “How did you get my address?”

  “I have a friend in Human Resources who gave me your information,” he answered honestly. “You know after hearing those words spoken aloud, I realize how crazy that sounds,” he said. Running his fingers through his short jet- black hair, he offered Charlotte a coy smile. “I’m not a stalker,” he laughed. “I heard what went down with Proctor and wanted to check on you, that’s all.”

  Nodding her head, she answered, “I’m sure my information included my phone number . . . you could have just called.”

  “And miss the opportunity to embarrass myself, absolutely not,” he laughed again.

  Charlotte smiled at his boyish nature. “Well, thanks for stopping by. It was nice of you to go out of your way for a person you’ve met twice,” she said, her tone a sarcastic one.

  “And on that note, I will be on my way.” Santiago nodded at Charlotte before turning his attention back to Nicholas who had been intently watching the exchange between the strange man and his wife. Meeting Nicholas’ hard gaze, Santiago winked at him before turning to head in the direction of the hallway stairs.

  When Santiago was no longer in sight, Charlotte inched past Nicholas whose muscular frame was blocking entry into her apartment. “What are you doing here?” she asked him once she had made her way inside.

  Allowing the door to slam behind them, Nicholas leaned against the cool steel in silence. His silvers cold and accusing as he watched her every move, a hunter stalking its prey. Feeling his eyes on her, Charlotte turned around to face him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Who is he to you?” Nicholas asked, his voice was dark, ominous, befitting for his condemning question.