Body Language. Millie Criswell
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You’ve done the job.”
Michael’s brow shot up. “There are other forms of release, as I’m sure you know.”
Ellie’s smile was borderline nasty. “I know quite well, actually. I can assure you that I haven’t lived a celibate life since you broke our engagement. Many men find me attractive.”
Okay, many might have been a slight exaggeration, but surely some…well, maybe a few.
“Of that, I have no doubt. I still find you extremely attractive, Ellie.”
His words made her heart beat a tiny bit faster, but she did her best to ignore it. “Uh, uh, uh, Mr. Deavers. Those kinds of statements might be construed as sexual harassment. If I were you, I’d be careful. You never know who’s listening, or who is unable to translate or interpret your intentions accurately.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good. See that you do. Now if we’re done, I need to get back to work. I’m behind already, as it is.”
“Just one more thing.”
She nearly groaned.
“Our breakup had nothing to do with you.”
“Oh, really?” Her brow arched and she folded her arms across her chest in a defensive posture. “Well isn’t that interesting? And here I thought I was involved.”
Michael ran agitated fingers through his dark hair. “I’m not saying this very well, and I’ve been wanting to explain for seven years.”
Ellie heaved a sigh, needing to put the past behind her. “Michael, there’s no point in—”
“Please, just hear me out. I broke our engagement because I was scared, if you want to know the truth. I shouldn’t have rushed into making a commitment. I had serious ambitions. I thought a wife and family would hold me back. I realize now I was a fool.”
“You were probably correct in both assumptions.” Particularly the fool part, she wanted to add, but didn’t. “Anyway, it all worked out for the best, didn’t it? You have the job you’ve always wanted. I remember you talking about working for the United Nations from the moment we met. You usually got what you went after, Michael. The problem is, you didn’t always choose to keep it.”
“I HATE HIM! I hate him! I hate him! I hate him!”
That was the mantra Ellie recited as she hurried home, passing street vendors, storefront windows displaying enticing arrays of merchandise, dodging cars and impatient drivers who didn’t understand about pedestrian right of way, and not paying much attention to any of them.
“I still find you extremely attractive.”
“What bullshit! How dare he say such a thing to me?”
Trying to work, to concentrate, after her meeting with Michael…oh, excuse me…Mr. Deavers had been nothing short of a nightmare, and a testament to her professionalism.
But could she continue working, as if nothing was out of the ordinary?
YES! She had to.
Ellie had no intention of giving the bastard an excuse to fire her or find fault with her work. She was determined to stick it out and excel.
Michael could just go and—
Becky actually liked him, as hard as that was to believe. The woman thought he was charming, handsome and quite intelligent. And of course he was. She also thought he was a vast improvement over Mr. Moody. And of course he was.
It had been hard to dispute that point, but she had tried her damnedest, citing Moody’s experience and wisdom, though she nearly choked on her words as she’d said them.
Ellie couldn’t wait to get home to her new apartment, take a long, leisurely bath, exercise Barnaby, and spend a quiet, relaxing evening by herself. She might even build a fire in the fireplace.
The nights were getting colder now, and she’d been dying to sit in front of a warm, cozy fire with a glass of Chianti and just let the world slip by for a while.
She needed time to get her thoughts together about how she was going to handle the fact that Michael was now her boss.
No. She would not think about him. They were through, finished, done as overcooked steak.
Ellie looked heavenward. “Why me, God? What did I ever do to you? On second thought, don’t answer that!”
Hearing male laughter, she turned to find Mr. Roselli restacking the apples in front of his market and smiled sheepishly. “You talking to yourself again, Ellie?” the portly grocer asked, a twinkle in his eye.
“Yes, but I’m not answering myself this time, Mr. Roselli.”
The older man chuckled. “That’s good. I won’t have to call the men in the white coats to come and get you then.”
“How’s Mrs. Roselli? Is her foot still bothering her?”
“She’s got the gout again. It always bothers her.”
“Tell her I said hi.” She waved goodbye and kept on walking the few remaining blocks to her building.
Ellie loved her new neighborhood, comprised of mostly brownstones. The people were friendly, and she was starting to feel like she belonged.
She hadn’t felt that way while living with Brian, hadn’t fit in with the Fifth Avenue crowd, or with Brian’s snooty friends and co-workers.
No way did her income even come close to matching their pretentiousness.
Ellie took the stairs to her second-floor apartment, two at a time, eager to see Barnaby and find the refuge she was seeking. It had been a long, difficult day—one of many to come, she was sure.
As she reached her front door, it opened of its own accord, and she nearly screamed, until she saw who was standing behind it.
Then she nearly fainted.
“Hello, dear.”
“Mom!” She blinked several times, hoping it was just an aberration, an evil specter floating through her overactive imagination.
No such luck.
“What are you doing here? You were supposed to call me.” Two horrible shocks in one day didn’t seem at all fair.
“I know, I know. But things got progressively worse between your father and me after I confronted him about his dalliance, and I just couldn’t stay in that house a moment longer. I hope you don’t mind that I came.”
Of course she minded. What normal adult daughter wouldn’t? But could she say that? NO!
“I thought you were going to talk to Dad, ask him about the e-mails he’s been exchanging with that woman.”
Rosemary walked into the living room, and Ellie was right behind her, giving Barnaby a cursory pat on his head.
Her dog walker, Jen, had come earlier and taken Barn out for his afternoon walk, so Ellie would be spared that chore for the moment, though the bulldog did not look pleased and was giving her his “you traitor” look.
“I spoke to your father about this woman—Michelle. He claims they’re just good friends. I asked why, if that was so, did he write all that disgusting filth and why did he give her diamonds?
“He said the bracelet was a birthday gift, and that the other was just a private joke between them. I knew right away Ted was lying. Your father lied, Ellie. He stood there and lied right to my face.”
“How do you know, Mom? Maybe Dad is telling the truth. He doesn’t usually lie.” And maybe pigs fly, Ellie thought, feeling more depressed by the minute.
Men were such assholes. The thing was—she had never lumped her father into that category. He was supposed to be above all that…that…stupidity.