Текст книги "Pure Abandon"

Автор книги: Jeannine Colette

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

“Who do you think you are?” I stamp into my office, stopping just past the doorway, with my wet head.

Alexander Asher is standing in front of me looking as innocent as a lamb. “Excuse me?” His voice shows how amused he is.

“Did you know you had a meeting with me? When I said my name and the building… you knew exactly who I was!” I can’t control myself. My hand has made its way in front of my face and my pointer finger is waving dramatically in the air. “And that move in the elevator. Do you realize you are my boss? That is so wrong on so many levels!”

Asher walks toward me with a determined look, his eyes intense on mine. He inches closer. The weight of his body leans into me as he swings his hand around my body and slams the door closed.

His hand is resting on the door with his arm enclosing my head. “I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation for the entire office to hear. Do you, Ms. Grayson?”

This is not the ten-year-old brat I imagined. This is a man. A very arrogant man.

“Will you explain to me just how I ended up in your car?”

“Pure coincidence.” He withdraws and walks toward my desk, taking in the room. His presence dominates the small space. My tiny office feels even smaller with him in it.

“I am many things, but a liar I am not,” he says, taking a seat behind my desk. “Or you can believe I have a very skilled driver who purposefully plows into potholes on rainy days just so I can pick up beautiful women.”

Beautiful? Does he see what I look like? I’m soggy and damp. My hair is a mess of curls and matted ends, but he is staring at me like I’m crème brûlée waiting to be devoured. I feel my ears turning red. Why does this mystery man have such an effect on me?

Well, he’s not a mystery anymore. He’s Alexander Asher, billionaire mega-mogul philanthropist and my boss. I must be getting hot. I take off my trench coat and hang it on the door.

Asher leans his weight back, causing the chair to recline. He draws his hands up in front of his body and rubs the pads of his fingers against each other. He’s wearing an impish grin and looks beyond comfortable sitting in my seat. “I am very sorry if you were mislead, Ms. Grayson, but this is all simply a misunderstanding. I like to think of myself as your knight in shining armor who rescued you from the perils of the rain, which at this moment seems to be giving me my just reward.”

Confused, I follow his eyes, which are no longer holding mine, but are staring down at my chest.

My chest!

My trench coat must have soaked through to my white blouse that is now completely see-through! My breasts exposed through my bra, my nipples rock hard from the cold air. I grab my trench and hold it against my chest.

Outraged, I grab the door handle and swing it open ignoring Trish who is standing on the other side of the door holding two black coffees.

“It’s Mrs. Monroe to you!” I raise my hand and flash my wedding ring at him. Shit! I’m not wearing one today. What the…? I lower my hand in aggravation and motion toward the open door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to compose myself and put myself back together.”

“Mrs. Monroe?” His brows curve in confusion. His eyes wander around the room. He is completely taken off guard. Rising from the chair, he adjusts his cufflinks and speaks in a professional manner. “Well, we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

Poor Trish stands frozen in the doorway, not knowing if she should be coming or going. Behind her, people scurry through the hall.

Asher passes by me, careful not to brush shoulders, and heads out the door, taking my nerves with him. Mortified, I close the door, trying to block the eavesdroppers’ view of my disheveled appearance.

“What happened to you?” Malory looks at my soot-covered ensemble in horror. She is seated at the conference table, closest to the door.

All heads in the conference room turn to the door as I enter the room, late for the meeting. My clothes are now dry thanks to the hand dryer in the ladies bathroom, but track markings of Midtown still give evidence of my interesting morning. I pulled my wet hair into a slick bun. The most polished look I can achieve given what I have to work with.

“You look like you were run over by a truck!” she hisses.

“An SUV actually.” I send a death gaze down to the head of the conference table where Alexander Asher is seated.

He looks at me with those golden eyes, making my ears turn red again. He stands, keeping his eyes trained on mine, and motions for Heavy Harvey, who is seated to his right, to stand. “Mrs. Monroe, please take a seat. We were just about to discuss the venue for the event.” He puts emphasis on the Mrs.

Crap, why did I tell him to call me by my married name?

“No, please, Harvey, stay seated,” I say, preparing to take a seat in the back corner of the room. Harvey is already walking toward a chair in the back of the other side of the room.

“Mrs. Monroe.” Asher motions toward the chair next to him. “ Sit.” He is so dominating. It is sickening.

“It’s Ms. Grayson, please.” I stress the Ms. right back at him. He looks at me with intrigue as I take the proffered seat.

“If we’re done here, I’d like to continue with the logistics conversation.” Heather breaks the tension. It’s the most welcoming thing she’s done since I arrived.

“Yes, logistics.” Asher composes himself and takes his seat.

Heather polishes her hair and swivels her chair in Asher’s direction. With her big brown eyes, she gazes at him, attempting to captivate his attention. “We’re going to need a bigger venue.” She looks at him as if he is the bigger venue she needs. A light bulb goes on in my head. This must be why she doesn’t like other women.

Asher doesn’t seem to be interested in Heather’s attentions. He is purely business. Not the same carefree yet seductive man I met an hour ago. “I don’t understand. What is wrong with David Geffen Hall?”

“Mr. Asher, “ Gretchen chimes in, “every single act we’ve asked is available. This event is going to draw way too many people. This is a huge problem for us. If we don’t find a new venue, we’re going to have to turn down performers, and I’d hate to turn any of them away and risk burning a few bridges.”

“Asher… um, Mr. Asher…” Heather corrects herself. “We have the venue booked and the folks at Lincoln Center have donated a lot of their time and more to this event. It would be in bad taste to break that relationship.”

“It would be in worse taste to limit our event.” Asher puts his fingers to his mouth, brooding and detained. “What about the Opera House?”

“Unavailable,” Heather says. “We’ll have to go through the list and limit which performers we have.”

It seems like a silly problem. David Geffen Hall holds almost three thousand people. That’s a huge audience for a charitable concert, but I suppose it would be nice to have an even bigger venue. Maybe next time they should consider a sports arena. Although, that would be rather extravagant.

I don’t know where the idea comes from or why in the world I say it, but the words just slip out of my mouth.

“What about Central Park?” I inquire.

Heather props her curvy body up to attention. “Out of the question. We’re talking security and a bigger production, not to mention getting the mayor’s permission.”

“Yes, it’s just too much to do in the allotted time.” Gretchen agrees. Heather shoots daggers at me for suggesting it.

It was a stupid idea. I’ve seen concerts done there before. Good Morning America does it every week. But I have no idea what goes into securing a space like that. I rest my right elbow on the arm of my chair and place my palm against my forehead as it falls heavy into my hand. It’s not even ten in the morning and this is officially the worst day of my life.

“No, no, wait. I’m the one footing the bill here.” Asher places his hands on the table, a pensive look on his face. “That could work. It’s been done before. It would be big, much bigger than anticipated. And if so, we might be able to get all the networks to bid in on this.”

My head perks up, stunned he is actually considering the idea.

“But that doesn’t solve the Lincoln Center dilemma.” Heather directs the concern at me.

“Keep it,” I shoot back. Oh, I am on a roll today!

Asher leans toward my chair. “What do you mean keep it?”

I feel my pulse quickening the way it has been since I got into his car. I hate being on the spot. And by him. It’s all so unsettling. The adrenaline rush is providing me a moment of complete clarity.

“Do a concert there too. Keep a top artist for yourself. Spotlight a few of the lesser knowns. Hold a private concert for high rollers. Give away some seats to the kids this is benefiting. Turn it into a gala.”

“You can’t really be serious?” Heather is irate. Her body is bobbing back and forth toward the desk, looking around the room to see if anyone else agrees with her. “Again, you need the city’s approval to use the park.”

Asher eyes look up toward the ceiling as if he’s taking my idea and dancing around with it in his head. He begins to nod his head as the thoughts work their way through. “The park doesn’t concern me. The mayor owes me a favor. A pretty big favor too, and I’ve been waiting to cash in on it.” Asher leans back in his chair and draws his hands together in a triangle in front of his face.

He looks across the table and directs his attention toward Erik. “You know more than I do on this matter. Can you put together two productions, one in Central Park and another at Lincoln Center?”

It looks like Erik wants to say no, but he knows he can’t. Instead, he says, “It will be tight, but you know we can.”

Heather shoots more hateful glares in my direction and Gretchen’s mouth purses. I don’t think she’s mad, just overwhelmed by the turn of events. She should be happy. Her problem is now solved.

Asher scribbles a few notes on a yellow pad in front of him. “Good. Then two events it is, going on simultaneously. Erik, I will need someone to work closely with my office to make sure the Central Park event has what it needs from the mayor’s office.”

Heather lurches toward Asher, exuding overeagerness. “I will be in charge. With all due respect, Kat, you are just too new to take on such a large responsibility.” She is so smug.

Asher pays no mind to her comment. “Heather, I will connect you with my office upstairs to get all the details.” He seems pleased with the way the events are coinciding. “Mrs. Monroe, you will be working with me on the private event. Since it has now become a gala, I want to be involved in every aspect.” He looks up at me. “And I like the idea about the kids. I’ll have my office take care of that.”

Heather nearly falls out of her seat. I want to do the same. First of all, I was hired to work alongside Heather, not lead my own project. And secondly, I can’t work with this man. I try to come up with my best plea to excuse myself from the position. “I’ve only been here a week and was hired to work with Heather. Central Park is going to be a large production. She’ll need assistance. You should hire someone else to produce the gala.” The irony that I’d rather work with Heather is not lost on me.

Heather’s mouth falls open as she lets out a loud “harrumph” sound. Yeah, maybe my comment didn’t quite come out the way I meant it to. I was trying to save myself, not make her look bad.

Asher takes a look around the room and appraises the staff. His eyes fall on Trish for a second before he pulls himself back to address the table.

“Heather is a fine producer. But you’re right. With one producer on the project, Heather will need assistance. Patricia will temporarily be promoted to Heather’s production assistant for the next three months. She can handle it, right, Erik?”

One thing you can’t fault Erik on is his team. And the man is proud of the people he has selected to be a part of it. Erik seems to have no choice, yet has full confidence in the company he created. “Trish is more than capable of assisting. We’ve done a concert event in the park before. Not as big, but we know what we’re looking at. Heather will be fine.”

Heather dramatically rises from her seat. “But she’s a receptionist!” Her voice almost shrieks with the word.

Asher’s jaw clenches in agitation over Heather’s outburst. While his face is stern, his voice is steady and direct. “No. She is an assistant. Let her assist you. As I recall, you’ve wanted to perform this role on your own. Now is your chance to prove you’re as good as your threats.”

Asher just called Heather on her shit in front of everyone. I’d smile if I weren’t so damn pissed off. And as thrilled as I am that I’m now separated from Heather, I’m absolutely frightened. I’m now running my own event and am in way over my head.

To be completely honest, I thought only two producers on the event was ridiculous when it was just Heather and me. Now it’s just me. This is insane.

My mind is scrambling. I want to cry or back into a corner—or both. This is a colossal responsibility. I look over at Heather, an unreadable expression on her face. I can’t tell if she’s excited to be rid of me or just as scared as I am.

My mouth opens to protest when Malory leans over to whisper, “You are a fucking rock star.”

I close my mouth and hold my breath. If I want to be like Malory and if I want to prove to Gabriel my career is worth the sacrifices, then I’m going to do this full throttle.

Once my hands stop shaking, that is.

Asher leans forward in his chair, securing the buttons on his well-tailored suit jacket, and continues the meeting. I sit back and take notes as technical terms are discussed and sponsorship requests are detailed. The entire time, I find myself glaring at Asher, wondering how I was such a fool this morning.

At the end of the meeting, Asher turns to Malory. “I expect a full report on ad sales, and sponsorships in place by next Friday.”

Malory nods as she takes notes on her blackberry.

“That’s all.” Asher rises and the meeting is over.

Just like that.

Damn, he can command a room.

I hide in the safe space that is my office. I am still coming down from my morning aggravation. From the rain to the car ride, the elevator and in this office…

I am relieved to finally be able to take off my shoes, which are still cold and damp. I turn to the computer and pull up a Google search, typing in ALEXANDER ASHER.

Thirty years old, he is a trust fund baby, part of the Asher empire, but made his personal fortune investing in several small internet companies and reselling them to the likes of Google, Yahoo, and Time Warner for millions. A graduate of Columbia University, he owns a stake in a small record label he sold to Sony, as well as a production house (us) and three restaurants, one each in Vegas, L.A., and Miami.

He acquired Marks Entertainment three years ago, creating Asher-Marks Entertainment, in which Erik obtained a considerable sum as long as he was able to stay on board to run the team. I read about the company before but didn’t put much research into the acquisition. What really speaks out is his philanthropy. He annually gives away a considerable amount of his fortune to children’s charities.

Never married. No children. Asher has been seen with a different actress, model, or super beauty at every premiere, gala, and opening around the city.

As upset as I had been earlier, there was no denying I was affected by his presence. When he touched the small of my back, I could feel his body heat against me. And that invigorating scent of tobacco and vanilla, I could have drunk him in for days.

I close my eyes, thinking of what his soft hands would feel like running up and down my body. A chill runs down my spine. This is wrong. I am married.

Oh—I console myself—a little fantasy never hurt anyone.

I order lunch in an attempt to stay hidden from my coworkers. If my appearance wasn’t enough to make me a hermit, anyone who heard my outburst this morning is definitely talking about it.

I spend the afternoon making calls to Lincoln Center, vendors, and various press departments, letting them know I am the primary contact on the event now. As it’s a summer Friday, I decide to call it an early day. I turn off my computer and pack my stuff to head home.

Grabbing my belongings, I am startled by a knock at the door. I let the person on the other side know they can enter, and Trish walks in carrying a long white box.

“Special delivery!” she exclaims like a singing telegram.

I step back and watch her enter.

“Looks like it could be flowers.” She awkwardly carries the large box into my office and places it on my desk, nearly dropping it on the way. “It’s really heavy. From your husband?”

I swing the box around so the front is facing me and open the small white notecard on the top.

My heart stops.

I hold the card to my chest, concealing it from Trish, who is staring at me like a puppy waiting for a treat. “Um… Yes, these are from my husband. Thank you, Trish. That’s all.”

Disappointed she can’t see what’s inside, Trish slumps her shoulders and closes the door behind her as she exits my office.

I put my hands on the top of the box and open the lid. Inside is a bed of the purest white roses I’ve ever seen. I pick up some of the stems and breathe them in. They subdue my senses.

I look down and count about three-dozen roses. They are devoid of thorns and cut to a perfect height. I lift a large bunch and see there is something beneath them. I move more stems to the side, and lying on a bed of white petals on the bottom of the box is a black umbrella with an intricate antique, white pearl handle. It’s beautiful. I laugh to myself, thinking of the day’s events.

What an exhausting day. I can’t wait to get home and see Jackson.

Home.

There is no way I am bringing white roses home. That is a conversation I am not willing to have with Gabriel.

I grab the box and my bag and walk out of my office and stop at the reception desk. “Trish, you should take these.” I place the box on the upper counter of her desk. “I don’t have a vase or anywhere to put them, and I have such a long commute. Take them home.”

Flattered, Trish takes the box and opens it. “Oh, Kathryn, these are rare. Really rare and expensive. Really expensive! I can’t take these.” She closes the box. “The graphics team will be here this weekend. Maybe I’ll keep them here in the front. Help take the sting out of having to work on a Saturday.”

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.” I can tell this girl is a good egg. I hope Heather is easy on her. Lord knows we could all use a little saving grace around here.

“Your mother’s here,” Gabriel calls out from the kitchen window. He’s peering through the blinds while drying his hands on a dishtowel. Tossing the towel over his shoulder, he walks over to the island and pours gin into two glasses – a martini glass for her, a lowball for him.

My mother, Gwendolyn Grayson, lives for a good time. If there’s a party, she’s there. When I was a kid, she would rent out halls, have soirees, and wear the most elegant dresses as she mingled with her closest friends and family. She frequented nightclubs and went to every fundraising luncheon she was invited to. And she showed up with bells on. Literally. One year, she went to a holiday party wearing a red silk taffeta gown with a marabou fur cape lined with reindeer bells.

She can’t balance a checkbook, but she can figure out a way to get the senator to come to the ribbon cutting at the local nail salon. She once had the face of Elizabeth Taylor, Sofia Lauren’s body, and the flair and style of Zsa Zsa Gabor. Gwendolyn was a fierce woman in her youth, and everyone loved to have her around, especially my dad.

Frank Grayson, also known as “Catch”, was a pitcher in the big leagues. He was on the road a lot, but when he was home, he was the best dad in the world. He escorted Gwen to her events. Not because he enjoyed them. He went because they were important to her. His life revolved around Gwen. That’s probably why when cancer took him from us, she locked herself in her room for days.

I was thirteen at the time and spent my formative years taking care of my mother. She was too flighty and irresponsible to be left alone. She stopped going to as many functions and moved us to upstate New York where her family is from. The fresh air in the mountains is nice, but as soon as I graduated college, I moved back to Manhattan and felt like I could breathe again for the first time in years.

As Gwen’s car pulls into the driveway, I grab Jackson and head to the foyer to greet her. Gabriel is right behind us.

“Happy Birthday!” I shout as I open the front door.

“Let me see my beautiful family!” Gwen throws one arm up and over Gabriel’s shoulder as the other swings around, enveloping Jackson and me. She is wearing a flowing pink pantsuit with a floral overlay that sashays as she walks. She makes a dramatic gesture with her arms so the fabric dances in the air as she talks. “Oh, I missed you so much. You make it worth the three hours on the thruway.”

“You look beautiful today.” Gabriel leans in and kisses her cheek, always the charmer.

“When do I not?” Gwen winks at him and nudges her elbow into his stomach. They both share a laugh as she leans over and gives Jackson a loud kiss on the cheek. “And there is my grandson! You’ve gotten so big.”

Jackson buries his face in my chest, then looks up through his long lashes he inherited from his father and gives his grandmother a flirtatious look.

“Oh, you are going to be a killer with the ladies, Jackson! Stay close to Grandma and I’ll teach you how to win over every heart in town.” Gwen walks straight toward the kitchen where Gabriel has the martinis lined up.

“Drink for the birthday girl?” Gabriel asks Gwen, adding a few olives to make hers extra dirty.

“You know it, kid.” She takes the martini and clinks her glass against his. “Look at my son-in-law, the lawyer. All the girls at the club are just jealous that I have a lawyer in the family.”

Ah, the ultimate bragging rights for any parent. If your child couldn’t be a doctor or a lawyer, then you must at least make sure everyone knows they were smart enough to marry one. That or a major celebrity. Gwen would have taken either.

“Don’t you roll those eyes at me, young lady.” Gwen takes a sip. “I brag about you too. You and your big TV career.”

“Kat is currently working on a concert program,” Gabriel says to Gwen before turning his attention to me. “You should tell your mom when it’s airing so she can watch.”

A huge smile crosses my face. It’s the first encouraging thing Gabriel has said about me returning to work. Maybe he’s settled into the idea since the first week was a success.

Gwen puts her drink on the island and claps her hands together, pulling them toward her chin. “I’ll have a viewing party. Oh, how exciting!”

I can see the wheels spinning in Gwendolyn’s head as she plans her next big event. The thought of a Gwendolyn Grayson soiree has me shaking my head. I’m sure her viewing party will be the event of the year.

“So tell me. What has been going on around here? What’s the gossip? Kat, are you making any new friends?” Gwen is as nosey as ever.

Gabriel sees this as his cue to leave, taking Jackson along with him. He knows I hate my mother’s meddling.

“Mom, you know I don’t have any friends here,” I say, walking to the refrigerator and taking out the dinner salad. Every time she comes here she embarrasses me with this topic.

“You moved from the city to raise a family. Now you’re here. You should join the Mother’s Club. You need a network, darling.”

I sigh. Does this woman ever give up?

Gwen leans into me, halting me from moving from my spot by the refrigerator. “Kathryn, you are a wonderful girl with a lot to offer. I don’t understand why you don’t give any of the women out here a chance?”

My shoulders rise as I try to give an explanation. “I don’t know. I just don’t click.” I move around Gwen and walk over to the island.

“Besides, I have Malory. She has been a great friend to me. Between getting me the new job and showing me the ropes…” I say, giving the salad a vigorous toss. I look over at my mother, who is giving me the Gwendolyn Grayson stare down. “What is that face for?”

“I don’t like that girl. She rubs me the wrong way.” Gwen’s hand is on her hip, her lips puckered together.

“Oh, please, Mother. You only met her once. You can’t stand here and say I need friends and then badmouth the first one I talk to you about. Besides, I have a lot of friends. They just happen to live all over the country.” I try to keep my cool, but I can feel my eyes slightly bugging out of my head.

“You know I worry about you. Look at you. You have circles under your eyes. You really should wear more night cream.” I back away as she tries to put her hand on my face. She flinches when I pull away.

My mother makes a trip down here once a month to see us, and we always waste so much time with these ridiculous conversations. They always consist of her telling me what she thinks I should do and me resisting.

“I know you worry about me, but I’m a grown woman. I can take care of myself.” My voice is controlled. I grab the salad bowl and walk it outside to the patio table where Gabriel and I set up Gwen’s birthday dinner.

Our backyard is small but well planned out, with a small patio made of limestone and a teak table in the center. Gabriel’s barbeque is set off to the side. Between the two is a chaise lounge Gwen frequents when she visits. The three of us, and sweet-faced Jackson, take a seat at the table for Gwen’s birthday celebration.

Gwen takes a seat between me and Gabriel, repositioning her martini in front of her dinner plate. Gabriel has already set the steaks on the table, and roasted vegetables he prepared on the grill. We each fill our plates and start the meal.

“Kathryn, there was an article in the Times this morning about a classic films exhibit I think you’d be interested in.”

I saw the article too. The Museum of Modern Art is having an exhibition called An Auterist History of Film. Gabriel would tell you it’s a fancy way of saying, “a director’s look at film.” But it’s more than that. It’s the director’s personal creative vision being able to shine through studio interference. I can only imagine what my job would be like if I was able to take my ideas and make them come alive without the Heather’s of the world fighting me on them.

I shake my head and start cutting up Jackson’s food. “I’d like to go, but with the new job and Gabriel’s crazy schedule, I wasn’t planning on attending,”

“That’s a shame. It looked like something you’d enjoy.” Gwen’s bangles dangle as she reaches over to grab a plate. “Did you hear about your cousin Mark?”

I glance up. “No, how are Mark and Nadine?”

“Probably getting a divorce,” Gwen replies indifferently.

Gabriel and I display equal expressions of confusion. Mark and Nadine are the perfect couple. Two kids, a lucrative business, and a love affair that stems from high school.

“What do you mean they’re probably getting divorced?” I’m leaning over the table, hovering in her direction.

Gwen takes a sip of her martini, moving forward to the edge of her chair, loving the audience she has for this exciting piece of gossip. “She was caught in bed with her trainer. The two were spotted at a motel. Can you believe it? It’s so cliché!”

Nadine cheated? I can hardly believe the girl I’ve known for a decade is the type to cheat. I place my hand over my chest, feeling terrible for my cousin. “Poor Mark. What did he say when he found out?”

Gwen leans back, crossing her legs. “He doesn’t know yet. No one has the heart to tell him. Truth is I think Nadine might leave him first.”

Gabriel shrugs his shoulders and takes a bite of his steak. “Maybe he doesn’t want to know,” he says with a mouthful.

“Why wouldn’t he want to know?” I nearly shout in astonishment.

Gabriel swallows and looks at me like I’m overreacting. “Listen, Kat, some people don’t want to know. It’s easier for them to believe a lie than to face the truth. I’ve seen it before.”

I shoot my husband a threatening look. “Do you know a lot of philanderers?”

“I’ve known a few men at my office to have affairs,” Gabe says casually, leaning over and putting his arm over the back of my chair. “And do you know what happens when someone tells the wife? That person gets excommunicated from their lives. The couple stays together and the philandering spouse continues his lifestyle. And the guy who opened his big mouth?” Gabriel makes a slicing motion across his neck. “Excommunicated.”

I cross my arms in disgust. “That is a crock of shit.”

“Gabriel is right, darling.” Gwen dabs her chin with a napkin. “This happened many times with your father on the road. Trust me, as a baseball wife, I often wonder what went on when he was out of town. But I’ll tell you this,” she says, leaning over the table, waving her napkin at us. “If someone else told me your father was having an affair, I would not have believed it. I would have needed to see it with my own eyes.”

“Mom, Dad would never have cheated on you.” My tone comes off very self-righteous.

Gwen leans back in her seat and grabs her glass. “Oh, Kathryn, he had women from all over the country flirting with him, and I know he flirted back. It was in his nature.”

“Flirting is one thing. Attraction is fine as well. It’s natural.” Isn’t that what I’ve been telling myself? “But cheating is another.”

“You’re right. As far as I know, your father was faithful ‘til the day he died. Even still, my point remains the same. A person needs to discover these things on their own. It’s a process.”

The revelation of my cousin Mark’s marriage is beyond comprehension. What drives people to walk away from their marriages just like that? And Gabriel. He seems so cavalier with the whole conversation. Does he think people have the right to cheat on their spouses if the opportunity arises? Is he planning on having an affair himself? Has he had one already? The thoughts are spinning through my head a mile a minute.

Gabriel shifts gears for the group and presents Gwen with her birthday present—a vintage jewelry box made of mirrored glass that can sit on her bedroom dresser. It will only hold about an eighth of her jewelry, but it’s glamorous and I knew she’d love it. And she does.