Wicked Steps (3 page)

Even though I had experience when it came to men, I wasn’t adequately prepared for someone like him. He was a seasoned man of high intelligence, sophistication, and immense wealth. I’d never been around anybody like this. I was a small fish in his very big pond.

The night we met, I never realized I wasn’t ever going to be equipped to handle what was coming. Seven years with Hartman would ravage me emotionally and damage me physically. In the beginning, he was so kind, attentive, and sweet. It started with impersonal texting. Then quiet dinners. Eventually, he asked me to accompany him to different events. I even traveled with him on a few occasions. Almost two years later, the day after I turned thirty, I was summoned to the top floor of Wick Global, to his office. Going to that suite was a rarity. And for some unexplained reason, apprehension plagued me on the elevator.

Hartman hadn’t mentioned anything about today’s meeting during our date the night before. He’d taken me out for a quiet dinner to celebrate my birthday. The night had ended with a first. He’d kissed me. I didn’t resist. The fact was I’d craved more for a while. I wanted him to know I was prepared to take our friendship to an intimate level. I knew sleeping with him might cause issues because he was the boss, so we’d kept our relationship strictly professional at work. But we’d been seeing each other for almost two years. I was ready for whatever obstructions we had to endure in order to become physical.

Even though we never labeled what we had, I hadn’t been with anyone since the night we met. I’d always wondered if he had somebody on the side in those years. The women he had carnal relations with instead of me. I never questioned him about it. Because what we had was on a different level than physical. Ours was more of a deep mutual affection and companionship than anything else.

His secretary told me to go in. Hartman sat behind an enormous desk. The size of the desk didn’t overwhelm him. He was a large man, almost six feet five inches tall. He fit the description of a successful industrialist. The walls of his office not only displayed evidence of his wealth, but all he’d achieved. Frame after frame of newspaper clippings depicting his infamous takeovers and buyouts. Photographs of him with celebrities, politicians, and other wealthy entrepreneurs.

When he rose to greet me, he looked odd. At first glance, he appeared his normal self, dressed to perfection as usual in a dark Armani suit, looking regal and immaculate. It was a picture of refinement I’d witnessed for the past two years. But today, the suit was wrinkled and he looked out of sorts. I knew him too well. His hair was disheveled and those mesmerizing green eyes lacked the luster of the night before. I suddenly became nervous with anticipation. Patience had never been an attribute of mine.

“Can I get you a drink, Ellery?” he asked, standing, then walking over to the luxury bar in the corner.

“Hartman, it isn’t even eleven thirty yet.”

“It’s five o’clock somewhere, or so I’ve been told,” he murmured as he poured himself a whiskey.

I padded over to him and placed my hand on his arm. “What is it, Hartman? What’s going on?”

“I wanted you to be the first to know,” he said, taking a small sip of his drink. “I’ve been told I have a limited lifespan.”

My heart squeezed inside my chest as my body began to shake. “What? What are you talking about? Please,” I pleaded, my voice quivering.

“They tell me it’s some degenerative disease. I expected it. But I never thought it would actually happen. I kept praying for divine intervention. I guess we all suffer from mortality syndrome,” he replied nonchalantly.

My hand squeezed his arm. I held back tears that threatened my composure. “How can you be sick? You’re healthy and virile? I don’t understand.”

He shrugged, then took a large gulp, emptying his glass. “This has been going on for a few years, before we even met. The doctors have kept it at bay with drugs, but the medications have run their course. I’ve been told possibly five years. Which brings me to why I asked to see you. I have a proposition.”

My mind whirled frantically. He was a dear friend. I wanted possibly more. I cared for him deeply, and there was chemistry between us. I thought we had time to consummate our relationship. “I’m not ready to lose you,” I whispered, choking back a sob.

“Ellery, don’t cry. I didn’t tell you this for pity. I wanted you to know because, eventually, things might get ugly. There are things about me you don’t know. Things… I don’t want you to know. Your friendship has become my most valued possession. Intelligence is a remarkable weapon, especially when a beautiful and sexy woman wields it. I have cherished these last two years, and I want to take care of you—always. Allow me to give you the life you deserve.”

“I don’t understand. What are you saying?” I asked as I reached for a glass, because now a drink sounded necessary. Drink in hand, I dropped into the closest chair.

He was there in an instant, kneeling. “Marry me.”

My eyes widened as I looked at him in disbelief. “Okay, now you’re scaring the hell out of me. You went from a terminal illness to proposing. Jesus, Hartman, don’t you think this could be because you’re sick? You know doctors have been wrong before. You’re just the man that could make liars out of all of them.”

He chuckled as he stood. “No, my dear, I have thought about this for a while. The fact that I don’t have a lot of time left has just pushed marriage to the forefront.” I looked up at him as he paused. “I know you don’t love me—”

I stopped him as I gripped his arm. “You know I care for you more than anyone. You’ve been my best friend and confidant. I’ve learned so much about not only business, but also life. You’ve lavished me with many opportunities, ones I would never have had if it weren’t for you. I will always be grateful, and I will stay by your side no matter what. But I need you to fight this. If not for yourself, please do it for me. You’re a man of strength and resilience. If anyone can beat a fatal prognosis, it’s you.”

“Listen to me. The disease I have is going to require more than strength and willpower. I’m thinking possibly only heaven above, and trust me… God gave up on me a long time ago. He would never help a man like me.” He paused and walked toward the window. With his back to me, he continued. “I’m not sure I like the word grateful to describe our relationship, but be that as it may, I need our relationship to be more… at least in the eyes of the board and all the stock holders. If they find out about this, I will be fucked. They will descend on Wick Global like vultures, and they won’t wait until I’m dead to start picking off the flesh.

“I’m offering you a perfect life. The gallery you and Coco always dreamed of, you can have it. I can make it happen, immediately. The mansion in Scarsdale, you can decorate it any way you see fit. It would belong to you. I will even buy you another home anywhere in the world if you desire. You’ll have full excess to endless expense accounts, traveling, automobiles, anything you can dream of. I’ll give it all to you. I’ll provide for you for the rest of your life. And all you have to do is become my proxy wife. As the disease progresses, I won’t be able to run my finances or control my companies. I will need you to navigate me through all of it.”

“But what about the fidelity of marriage? Will you be expecting… you know?” I asked shyly, sounding like a teenager going on her first date.

“There’s a reason I never made serious advances toward you, no matter how badly I wanted to. Ellery, you’re a sensuous woman, and bedding you… Let’s just say it crossed my mind many times.” His voice hushed as he pulled me up from the chair. “I don’t want to ever hurt you—and I would. My appetites tend to run to the extreme. I don’t want to go into details with you, but let’s just say I want you to feel free to be with other men. You do your thing, and I’ll do mine. But we both need to be discreet. People are going to raise questions anyway due to the expeditious nature of our vows. Regardless, everyone must believe we are man and wife in every way. Our marriage must be valid to all. You can’t even tell Coco.”

“She’s my best friend. She won’t believe for a moment I just up and married you without saying a word to her. I’ve never even hinted at any more than a friendship between us. She already has misgivings about our relationship because of the age difference and internet gossip. She always felt you had an ulterior motive concerning our relationship. She never trusted you. She’ll know.”

“Make sure she doesn’t. Our agreement depends on secrecy. And your friend is rather chatty. Her suspicions could ruin everything. Do whatever you have to, but appease her skeptical psyche. I need you with me on this. Let me give you the rest of your life on a silver platter, and it will only cost you five years—maybe less.”

I cringed as I tried to blink away tears. This sounded like some callous and cold contract negotiation. If I did this, what did it make me? By definition, would I be a gold-digger or a whore? He made it clear there would be no physical relations. Could I live with that? I had anticipated taking our friendship to the next level. Now that I knew he was dying, had that somehow changed my mind?

I didn’t think I could be married to him with the knowledge he was sleeping with someone else. I’d already had inklings he was having sex with other women over the past two years. There was no way a man of his caliber stayed celibate. I’d already been privy to the innuendos regarding his sexual exploits. It often made me wonder how many women he slept with and why he never made advances toward me all this time.

Yet I didn’t want to lose him. I valued our relationship too much. Could I agree to what he was asking? Could I live with myself knowing I sold five years of my life in order to have the gallery and lifelong financial security? Or could I justify it by telling myself this was a good deed and I’d be by his side anyway?

I wanted to be there for him. Even without this deal of a lifetime, I would never let him be alone during his time of need. The only difference this particular marital contract would make was I’d be salaried for my time. It sounded so unsavory, yet it was an opportunity. He was using the gallery as leverage and the promise of security—the two things he knew I valued most. This truly was a chance of a lifetime. The only changes between us were we would be living as husband and wife and my name would now be his, and in that aspect, legally, I would own half his wealth.

We got married three days later. Everyone was shell-shocked, including me. Wick Global put on the pretense of congratulations with cards, food, and bottles of Dom Perignon champagne. Coco flat out disbelieved it. She was angry and dubious that I didn’t tell her. How could I? She would have tied me up and dropped me off at some mental institution. I tried to pacify the marriage to her by saying Hartman had proposed the night of my birthday. I told her I had decided to keep it to myself while I thought about it. I also explained I knew she would attempt to talk me out of it. I didn’t want to lie, so I glossed over the actual arrangement and went right to the gallery part. I said I wanted her to be happy for me. Be thrilled for us because now we had the means and opportunity to fulfill our life’s dream.

I explained I would no longer be physically working at Wick Global. Any business decisions I would be making now would be from a home office. I appeased her concerns by handing her a real estate broker’s card. I told her she was in charge of finding us a location for our new gallery. That task alone would keep her occupied rather than her asking twenty questions daily.

In my heart of hearts, I always knew she’d never believed me. We were too close. She never understood my relationship with Hartman. Primarily, that was his fault because he came across as rather egotistical. They were both guilty because neither chose to get to know each other. Battle lines were drawn the first time they’d met. Now that I married him, it would become worse. But I vowed to be with him through sickness and health. She would have to accept this. Because as long as he was alive, I would stay.

We’d brokered a deal. This sham marriage depended upon secrecy, and he was right about one thing. My best friend had a thing for poking her nose into everyone’s business; she adored gossip. Coco would never in a million years comprehend why I did this. No matter how many ways I explained it.

I kept telling myself it was to help him through his final years, but I even had a hard time convincing myself. A once-in-a-lifetime chance had fallen into my lap. I could grab the brass ring without reaching. I could do this—without consequence. I was too naive to realize then that everything we do in life has repercussions, and sometimes it just takes time for judgment to be delivered.

Ellery

I shook my head. It was foolish to dwell on my past sins. I suppose they weren’t actually sins in comparison to murder and mayhem. And I did stay with Hartman until the end. I witnessed everything he became those final years and still remained until he took his last breath. Giving him not only final peace, but allowing me to be free physically as well as emotionally. If I hadn’t had the gallery these past five years, I wouldn’t have been able to survive. I couldn’t ever tell anyone, even my closest friend, what I’d endured. In order to secure this life I wanted so badly, the cost had been high. I didn’t realize back then, but I had sold my soul—to the devil.

I struggled to twist my hair into what ended up being a messy bun. I did my version of a smoky eye and glossed my mouth with red lipstick. I had heard red was a color for harlots. Well, if the shoe fit. I completed my look with diamond earrings and silver Manolo heels. I needed tonight to be perfect… beyond perfect.

The gallery had many phenomenal nights previously, but this showing was unique because acquiring these specific works by hard-to-get European artists could make tonight’s showcase the envy of every other gallery in the States. None of these particular pieces had ever shown in America. According to a few of the packing slips I’d seen, it had cost a fortune. I didn’t want to even contemplate what other persuasions Coco might have had to perform in order to procure these paintings, but tonight would either make Salacity world famous or we would crash and burn.

I went from the bathroom to my office to discard my work clothes. Our function would be starting within an hour. As I entered the showroom, I noticed the caterers were busy pouring the dry champagne and getting the hors d'oeuvres organized. We usually offered champagne only, but because tonight was so important, we went ahead and purchased caviar and some petite crackers. Nothing fancy, but extremely expensive.

“Oh, dear God,” I murmured to myself when I saw Coco.

I was definitely right about the stripper pole. Jesus, that dress was short. She appeared to forget we were mid-thirties not twenties. It was a deep blood red, like my lipstick, but had a neckline cut down to—

“Like my dress?” she questioned while spinning.

I said a small prayer, hoping she’d worn underwear at least.

“Actually…”

She waved her one hand in front of my face “Yeah, I know it’s a little over the top, but I fell in love with the color, and it fits my body great. By the way, your dress is awesome. Although, it’s kind of demure for tonight, don’t you think?”

I snatched a glass of champagne off a server’s tray as they walked by. “Actually, considering who will be here tonight, I think I dressed appropriately.” I paused to take a sip. “You do understand tonight is about impressions. Hartman’s only been gone a couple months. How would it look if I dressed like a stripper?”

“You offend me. I look like a stripper? Maybe that’s why my parents named me Coco. They saw future potential,” she replied as she pretended to scowl, acting offended.

Nothing affected her. She had no moral compass, no boundaries, and she had never cared what anyone thought, least of all me.

“I suppose it is what it is. I knew I couldn’t expect you to dress like a mature business woman.”

“What, because I choose to show off my assets rather than smothering them under couture?”

“Okay, let’s not argue. The guests are beginning to arrive. You made sure Fabrico and Bo got everything perfect? I mean ‘white glove’ sparkling.”

“Of course, Elle. Don’t worry. Tonight will affirm everything we’ve worked for. I promise. We can relax now. You
are
allowed to enjoy yourself tonight. We earned this.”

She had no idea how true her words were. And if she actually knew how all this came to be, Coco wouldn’t be so giddy. Regardless, I couldn’t shake the feeling of apprehension niggling at me.

I took a very large sip of my drink as the guests began to walk in. I headed toward the Risqué room because I wanted to see it completely set up. Really, I wanted to have proof that she actually draped the art. I slipped under the velvet rope at the entrance and met both Coco and Bo. All three of us stared at the painting in front of us, then at each other.

“What the hell is that?” I whispered as the three of us tilted our heads in opposite directions. I was praying a new angle might explain what I was currently viewing.

Bo cleared his throat. Coco held on to the crook of my elbow. As I turned, her lips curved into a devious smile.

“Is that a penis?” I asked as I gulped, imploring God to make it not so. There was an impending possibility I might black out while looking at this piece.

Coco began laughing as Bo stepped back to ogle the painting. Actually, it appeared more like gawking. Of course, if I were a man, I’d be envious. Penis envy. It was large and pierced. My one hand fell to the lower part of my dress. I mean, who did that to their genitals? Ouch.

“I do believe that is a cock. A penis is what little boys have… and wrinkled old men like your dearly departed.”

“Seriously, Coco.” I cringed at her in disbelief.

She snickered. “Too soon?” she gloated. “God, his cock is a sight to behold. Shit and they say my tits are more than a mouthful. That right there qualifies as XXL. Damn.” Coco licked her lips as she spoke.

“Shut up, for God’s sake. You knew about this and still you put it on display? Are you out of your mind? This is not an erotic presentation. This is clearly pornography. We could get arrested,” I hissed.

“Self-portrait, I think,” Coco quipped, wiping her brow while still licking her lips.

As usual, my best friend chose to ignore my concerns. She acted very nonchalant about the entire thing.

“Fuck, we are going to jail. What will our guests think? This isn’t fine art. This is… Oh, good grief—how could you think this was okay? Why would you want to sabotage our most prominent night?”

“Do you have any idea who painted that? Whose cock that may be?”

“I don’t care. Just remove it before we get a citation for indecent exposure.”

I turned to leave the room, my body shaking from the stress. A light sheen of sweat beaded my forehead, and for a moment, I felt like I might have an anxiety attack. That penis could ruin us.

“Elle, that’s a portrait by
Wicked
,” Coco said as she padded after me.

I stopped in my tracks.
She’s clearly insane. He never shows his work in America. Ever.

“No, it’s not. It can’t be.”

“Why do you think I spent so much money on Paris acquisitions? I’ll be honest. I thought I was buying a muted piece of his erotica. I have to admit this is so much better—especially if it’s him.”

“I still don’t believe it. He’s never exhibited his work outside of Europe. I’ve never heard of anyone here obtaining even one of his paintings.”

“Yeah, well, I got two of them.”

I recoiled. I wondered now what the other painting portrayed. Possibly a vulva?

“You don’t have to be so freaked out, Elle. People will love this because
he
painted it. It could be a dog turd and they would claim him as the next Rembrandt.”

I wish it were dog shit. Better poop than penis.

“I doubt Rembrandt ever did a self-portrait of
that
,” I said in an exasperated tone. “Whatever, fine, but can we cover it until later? Much later. When most of our guests are so intoxicated they won’t be able to decipher it’s a male appendage.”

“You’re kidding, right? The wives will know. Women always appreciate something beautiful and big.”

I wagged my finger at her. “Whatever. Just keep that penis concealed for now.” I released an exhausted exhale. “I’m going to get another glass of champagne. I’d like to be inebriated myself, since you decided to exhibit a pierced prick. Who does that? What kind of sick man has rings in his…? Never mind.”

I stomped to the main room, where more than a hundred guests were now drinking, talking, and perusing the art. I was optimistic we would make many sales tonight. I never asked Coco what the Wicked portrait cost. I once saw his work in a European catalog, and it was close to a million in American dollars.

Wicked was an enigma. I’m sure his secrecy added to the demand for his art. Everyone speculated on who he was. What he looked like. How old he was. No one knew anything. There had never been a single photograph, other than an occasional hand in front of a face. If the dealers in Paris had any knowledge, they weren’t giving it up. I’m sure their silence accrued quite a payday. He was just a man; it’s not as if he were some celestial being or mystical creature —even if he was hung like horse. Just because there was a huge penis hanging in the Risqué room didn’t necessarily mean it was his anyway. It could be someone else’s.

I quickly took my glass and walked over to a large group of patrons to introduce myself. The sad part was most everyone already knew me. My reputation was already tainted because when I married Hartman, there was so much speculation concerning our relationship. Now the upper crust of New York would know me forever as his widow. No one loved gossip more than high society, and tonight was a who’s who of tabloid-happy people. I wondered if they were here to view the actual art or check out the wife of the late, great Hartman Wick.

I mulled around, chatting with some local artists, city officials, as well as celebrities. Having been married to wealth these last five years had prepared me for socializing with influential people. Still, most of these people had been Hartman’s associates and acquaintances. My acceptance by them had been a “package deal.” None of them would have bothered with me if I weren’t his widow. I wasn’t in their uppity circle of friends.

He had loathed going to parties but enjoyed entertaining in our home. To him, there had always been a difference. Entertaining was a festivity that allowed him to map out his next big takeover and make more money. I didn’t see the point. He had more money than God, and in reality, he couldn’t take it with him. He always claimed everything he did was for my future. But I never believed him. I wanted to. I’d seen his gentle and kind side, but when it came to business, he was shrewd, relentless, and unforgiving. I didn’t like that person.

Seeing faces I recognized made me feel as though Hartman were here. I wanted the man I’d known in the beginning, the thoughtful and compassionate one, to share this moment with me. To be with me as my one true vision materialized. But he became a monster as the disease ate away his ability to think and reason. He became a man I not only feared, but despised. I tried to convince myself it was his condition, but that was an excuse. One I created in my mind because I never wanted to believe his depraved actions or vile nature had always been part of the genuine man. And in truth, I
was
happy that piece of him died and no longer existed.

What I did miss was companionship. I yearned for the tender touch of a man, one who understood love and passion. I’d known plenty of men before, but never love. I had never witnessed unbridled, consuming heat. I ached deeply. I would have Coco believe I was indifferent. That I never thought about sex and I was cold. But I had a desire so deep in my belly it coursed through my veins like fire. Yet I stood here numb and afraid.

After those years with Hartman, I wasn’t sure if I could trust anyone again. It didn’t matter if I wanted to or not. He’d made me anxious and skeptical. Sometimes I wondered if he planned it that way so I would only ever belong to him. Even from the grave, I could feel his icy presence all around me. I felt scarred inside and out. Even now, I might desire something physical, but I wasn’t sure if I could cross that threshold again with any man. I was lucky. I made sure the gallery consumed my every moment. I envied Coco’s lust for life and her romantic adventures. I never allowed her to see my pain.

The scent of male cologne wafted all around me. But it was the aroma of musk combined with the man who wore it that drew my attention. I attempted to catch my breath as my fingers touched my neck. My hand shook as I took another sip of champagne, trying to hide my obvious fluster.

He was flawless. His hair appeared blended with several shades of brown, streaked by lighter, almost silver strands throughout. The perfectly cut style accented exotically shaped eyes with pristine arched brows and thick onyx lashes. His lips were lush and bow shaped. Heavy stubble covered his jawline. He really was captivating, and I wondered what had driven him to spoil such a consummate appearance. He seemed much too refined to mar his look with a pierced brow. Sexy as it was, it was distracting. He was too pretty to be a man.