I hit the disconnect icon.
As my car filled with the music from the radio, my surroundings came into view. I was near the offices of Craven and Knowles. My mind started turning, playing Stewart’s words over in my head. He said he’d recently reviewed the contract. That was the opening I needed. If he’d reviewed it, I could review it.
Jumping two lanes of traffic and ignoring the horns, I pulled into the parking garage and found a space. It was nearing 5:00 PM. No doubt the secretary wouldn’t be pleased to see me so close to closing time. Too damn bad. I’m Mrs. Stewart Harrington.
I took off my sunglasses and looked in the rearview mirror. I never went out without makeup. My eyes looked red, as did my lips; yet, my cheeks were pale. Reaching for my purse, I found some mascara, eyeliner, and lipstick. My damp hair was tied in a knot at the back of my neck. Pulling a few loose strands from the sides, I let them dangle beside my cheeks. Sliding my sunglasses back into place, I decided it would have to do. I’d driven to the law firm for a reason, even without thinking about it. For the first time in over ten years, I wanted to see the damn contract.
“Mrs. Harrington? I-I’m sorry. Did you have an appointment?”
“No, Trish. I did not.”
She shifted uncomfortably. I knew she didn’t want to spend her precious nail-polishing time on me. Honestly, I didn’t know how this woman had kept her job as long as she had. She was probably giving blow jobs under desks. It was the only possible answer. Her skills as a receptionist certainly lacked: maybe she excelled at fellatio?
“D-Did you want to see someone?”
“Trish, I want to see something. I need to speak to Mr. Craven’s assistant. I believe she’ll be able to help me.”
She looked toward her computer. “I’ll be happy to schedule—”
I put my hand on her desk. “I’m here now. Now would be a marvelous time to schedule. Don’t you agree?”
“Y-Yes. Let me call her. I know Mr. Craven has been out. If she’s available—”
My skin crawled. “Trish, I suspect that even if Mr. Craven’s assistant is busy, she can find time for me. I’m not leaving until I see what I came to see.”
Trish stood. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll get Maggie.”
“Thank you.” I nodded as I followed her to the center conference room: the fishbowl with the blinds. It was the same one I’d been in many times. Within seconds she’d hit the switch, changing the windows to opaque.
“Mrs. Harrington, may I get you something? A coffee perhaps? One with cream and two sugars.”
“Thank you.”
I wasn’t a coffee drinker, but her request made me smile. It was one of my first lessons in being Mrs. Harrington. At that time, I’d seen so much potential. Funny, I shouldn’t have. Perhaps there was a time I’d been as positive as my sister. Leaning back against the plush leather chair I huffed. No, that had never been the case.
My purse buzzed and I pulled out my phone. There were three text messages. The first was from Brody:
“I’M WORRIED ABOUT YOU. WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU OK?”
I grinned as I replied:
“IN YOUR OFFICE. IN THE FISHBOWL.”
The second was from Stewart.
“NOT ANSWERING YOUR PHONE? VERY MATURE. COME HOME NOW!”
My grin quickly disappeared. He may have the power to make me participate in his sick-assed fantasies, but never during our marriage had he had the ability to control my comings and goings.
“I DIDN’T TURN OFF MY RINGER. I MUST NOT HAVE HEARD IT. I WILL BE HOME… LATER.”
The final message was from my sister Valerie.
“I JUST GOT A CALL FROM STEWART. WERE YOU PLANNING ON COMING TO SEE ME? I’D LOVE TO HANG OUT, BUT I’M ON CALL TONIGHT. TOMORROW?”
I sighed. I’d find something else to do. All I knew was that I didn’t plan to be home until Stewart was amply medicated and sound asleep.
“LET ME CHECK. TOMORROW MIGHT WORK.”
As I finished my last text the door opened. The young paralegal, probably about my age, in her late twenties, entered. I didn’t recognize her, but then again, young women working for Parker Craven came and went with some regularity.
“Mrs. Harrington,” she said with a tight smile. “What can I do for you?”
Trish came in the open door and set my cup of coffee on the table. After she left us alone, I replied, “Maggie, I presume?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I would like to see a contract that Mr. Craven prepared for my husband and me before our marriage. I know it’s available: my husband told me he’d recently reviewed it—yesterday, I believe. He recommended that I also review it.” The mention of Stewart seemed to dispel some tension. I remembered my recently washed face and removed my sunglasses. Obviously feigning a smile I went on, “I’m sorry I didn’t call first. As you can see, I’m not truly prepared to be out. It’s just that with his health… well, Stewart wanted me to do this right away. So here I am.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “Yes, I’m so sorry about your husband. I was worried because Mr. Craven is currently with a client, but if Mr. Harrington sent you here…”
“He did. I’d recommend that you call, but with the medication, he’s probably asleep right now. That was why I wanted to do as he asked before he woke again.”
Her light brown eyes glowed. “Of course. Let me get it for you. I haven’t sent the contract back to the filing room yet. It’s on my desk.”