Pandora's Box (previously Worth the Wait, a Zebra print best seller) (10 page)

“Raymond Shapiro, I’d like you to meet Charlotte Simone. Raymond has been the family’s lawyer for more years than I care to remember.”

A pale color washed over the face of the short, middle-aged man before he forced a smile. “How nice to meet you,” he said, offering his hand. His grip was firm but his palms were sweaty. “I have to speak to Mr. Westfield about an important matter. If you’ll excuse us?”

“Sure,” Charlie said. She had no idea why Mr. Shapiro seemed so agitated. But since Damian already knew the truth about her, she wasn’t worried.

* * * *

Damian paused for Raymond to pass in front of him before closing the office door. He took a seat at the large oak desk and waited for Raymond to follow suit. Instead, Raymond walked over to the bar and poured a shot of straight bourbon. In one gulp, the amber liquid was gone.

“What does she want?” Raymond asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Miss Simone. What is she asking for?” Raymond poured another drink and sat down in the seat across from Damian. Patches of red stained the older man’s round cheeks.

“What makes you think she wants anything?”

“Lord, Damian. Don’t you know who she is?”

“I know who she is. Do you?”

Raymond wiped his hand across his brow. “I told Erik he shouldn’t get involved. I warned him repeatedly that he was asking for trouble.”

Damian felt his temper rise. “How long have you known about her?”

“I was Peter’s lawyer, for goodness sake. I’ve known about her since the day she was born. I was the one who sent the support checks right up until the day he died.”

How could he not have known about Charlie before now? He had accused her of seeing things with tunnel vision. He had been living in a vacuum. “Support checks to where?”

“Peter’s aunt. She was sent to live with her in Ohio right after her mother died. She was there until she was six years old. After Peter’s death, the old woman handed her over to the state as an orphan.”

“Why?”

“Your mother ordered me to stop the payments. What could I do? There was no court order forcing her to pay the money. Didn’t Erik tell you any of this? He was the one who requested the investigation to find out what had happened to her.”

Damian pressed his fingers into his temples. The more he learned, the sicker it made him. Pandora’s box could not be closed. “Why didn’t you tell me years ago?”

Raymond gestured helplessly. “You know I couldn’t do that. I’ve already said too much. Since you knew who she was, I thought Erik had told you.”

“I want to see those reports.”

“I strongly advise against it. There are things in there that I never showed Erik. I was afraid of what he might do. She spent time in a home for troubled youths.”

“I know. I also know why.”

Raymond took another sip of his drink. “It was probably true, but it was never proven. As far as the police were concerned, she was a pathological liar who did nothing but make trouble for a prominent family that was kind enough to offer her a loving home. In the six months she spent in the juvenile home she didn’t say a single word to any \one. Not one word. Like she was mute. That’s a little strange.”

“I don’t suppose I’d have all that much to say either if no one believed me,” Damian said. “What happened then?”

“She disappeared. The private investigator couldn’t find a thing on her until she enrolled at Ohio State four years later.”

“And she was there until Erik arranged the scholarship for her,” Damian finished.

“There’s more, Damian. Things that could have a devastating effect on your mother and brother if they should ever come out.”

“Like what?”

“Her mother, Marguerite Simone, was Peter’s favorite model. Most of his earlier paintings are of her. The ones he painted in Algeria.”

Damian blinked his eyes. He remembered the picture that had hung in his mother’s living room until the night after the party, the one of the village girl. That’s why Charlie had studied it so intently.

“How would that be so devastating to Mother? She obviously knew, if Peter was sending money for Charlie’s support.”

Raymond paused as if to ponder the wisdom of continuing. Damian cleared his throat, impatiently demanding an answer. “Marguerite Simone immigrated to the United States as the lawful wife of Peter Lawson. On the birth certificate, Charlotte Simone’s last name is Lawson.”

“I still don’t see the problem. I don’t think it would traumatize Erik to know that his father had been married before. His mother was.”

Raymond shook his head. He placed the glass on the desk and took a deep breath. “Peter never indicated a first marriage when he applied for his license to marry your mother. And as far as I can tell, he and Marguerite were never legally divorced. Laws are different in Algeria, but in this country a man is only permitted to have one wife at a time.”

Damian groaned. “How could you let my mother marry him if you knew he was already married?”

“I didn’t know at the time. Marguerite never took his last name. And since she died so soon after Peter’s marriage to your mother nothing ever came of it. But if Charlotte should ever find out ...”

“Don’t you think she has the right to know?” Damian demanded. His mother deserved what she had coming. She’d condemned an innocent girl to a life of hell rather than share Peter’s affections with another woman’s child.

The lawyer’s eyes clouded over. “It wouldn’t change what happened to her. But in giving her legitimacy you’ll label your brother as a bastard. Erik doesn’t deserve that. He’s done everything he could to make up for something that was no fault of his. Peter died without leaving a will, which means technically, Charlotte should have been his heir. Do you realize the kind of lawsuit that woman could file against the estate?”

“Charlotte doesn’t want anything, Ray. She won’t take a damn thing from anyone.”

“Forget the money for a minute. Think about what it would do to your mother if she were to find out that her marriage wasn’t legal. Her whole world still revolves around that man. Being his wife was the greatest joy of her life. Are you willing to gamble that there isn’t enough resentment in Charlotte to make the knowledge public?”

Was he sure? No. Could he remain silent and live with himself? He didn’t know. When he watched helplessly as she wrested with the pain and loneliness of her past, it tied him up in knots. Would it help her to know the truth or would it make the situation worse?

“What are you going to do, Damian?”

“I don’t know, yet. She’s going to work here for a few months after graduation. I’ll have time to decide.”

“Do you think that’s wise in light of the circumstances?” Raymond asked carefully. “Erik will be here every day, too.”

“No, he won’t Erik wants to spend his time digging up fossils.”

“Monica must be livid.”

“I don’t care if she is. It’s his life. If he changes his mind later on, then he knows there is always a position for him here. Meanwhile, I don’t want him to know that you and I spoke. Let him tell me what he wants, when he wants.”

“You’re the boss.”

“That’s right” Damian nodded, ending the meeting. “Let me make my calls now. I don’t want to leave her out there by herself too long.”

“You don’t trust her.”

“Yes, I do.”

Raymond left Damian alone, but making calls was the last thing on his mind. What should he do? She had the right to know. But when and how should he tell her? Perhaps in time, when she learned how to let go of her anger, when she trusted him, he could find a way to approach the subject.

She needed help. The kind of help he was unable to give. It didn’t matter that she had escaped a full sexual assault the betrayal of trust at such a vulnerable age had left the same psychological scars.

He’d done a lot of reading on the subject since Erik had told him about her past. There were numerous organizations around the city that helped women deal with the trauma. But how could he get her to talk to someone without letting on that he and Erik knew?

He thought to just confront her with what he knew. In business, he had found that the direct approach was always the best. However, Charlie was not a client. She was a complicated and confused woman who had taken up residence inside his resurrected heart. He couldn’t take the chance of scaring her off before forging a bond of trust.

* * * *

Charlie noticed the familiar scent of Damian’s after-shave and glanced up. He stood at the door with his suit jacket slung over his shoulder and his tie untied. Apparently, he had finished his calls and was now able to loosen the restraints of his pin-striped uniform. He came up behind her to read the screen she was working on.

“Pretty easy, huh?”

“To someone who knows what they’re doing. Don’t think you’re hiring cheap labor, buster.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Are you ready to leave?”

“Yes. I have to get back now, anyway.”

“I thought we’d do some sight-seeing first. Whatever you want”

Charlie grinned with mischief on her mind. “Okay. I want to walk to the top of the Statue of Liberty.”

“I think I can handle that.”

“And then I want to go to the Empire State Building, the South Street Seaport, Chinatown, and Rockefeller Center.”

“Are you planning to spend the night in my apartment? It would be midnight before we finished all that.”

“I don’t know. How comfortable is your kitchen floor?”

“I’ve only awakened there once, and I assure you, I wasn’t comfortable. But it could have been the hangover. I do have a guest room, though. Unless you’re afraid.”

She knew he had issued her a challenge, hoping she’d be too stubborn to back down. For once, he’d figured right In the ten months since her arrival in New Jersey, she’d never found the time to make the one-hour trip into Manhattan. She needed a break. With no early-morning classes the following day, she would have plenty of time to get back to school.

“Should I be afraid of you, Damian?”

“You can trust me. I’d like to believe you know that.”

Charlie bit her lip. Perhaps it was time to take a leap. Damian had already proven himself. “I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”

“I’ll lend you a pair of my silk pajamas,” he teased.

“A tee-shirt will be fine. I don’t want to hydroplane across the top of the bed and wind up with a broken hip.”

Damian laughed heartily. “Let me get a camera from the claims department. I wouldn’t want to go to all those historical sights and not have a record of it for your photo album.”

“I’m not sure there’s any room in the album with all the family photos I possess.” As she rose from the chair, she caught a flash of sadness in his eyes. “It was a joke.”

He put his arm across her back. “It wasn’t funny.”

For the first time in her life Charlie felt guilty about hurting another person’s feelings and she did something she’d never done before. She apologized, sincerely. 

CHAPTER
SEVEN

New York City was always a tourist’s Mecca, and today was no different. The line for touring the Statue of Liberty had a two-hour wait so Charlie reluctantly passed on the climb. Instead, she bought a silly, foam rubber Miss Liberty crown, which she insisted on wearing the entire day, much to Damian’s embarrassment

She was stunned to learn that he had never visited any of the tourist sights. How could he live in the city and not find the time to walk among the tall masted ships at the Seaport or take in the grand architecture of St Patrick’s Cathedral? She could have stared out at the view from the World Trade Center for hours.

And the stores along Fifth Avenue! Luckily, she had left her money at home or she might have been tempted to spend her rent on a shopping spree. Damian waited patiently while she enviously eyed the clothing in the windows of the better department stores. The one time he offered to buy her something, she tore into him, so he didn’t offer again.

He got a tiny bit of revenge, though. When she insisted that they pick up something to eat back at the apartment, he headed straight to a gourmet take-out shop. The meal cost more than her food budget for the month. She pretended to be unimpressed, but it was impossible to remain indifferent as the delicious aromas filled the car.

When they walked into the courtyard of his apartment complex, she felt as if an announcer should start doing a monologue for “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.” She strolled around the perfectly landscaped garden, a sight not common to many Manhattan buildings. At the inlaid glass doors, a doorman admitted them into the marble foyer, then the elevator whisked them up to the tenth-floor penthouse and several thousand square feet of exquisitely furnished living space.

As Damian showed her into the living room she sighed. “Your apartment has a fireplace?”

“Don’t get too impressed. It’s only for show.”

Charlie pointed to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Central Park. “Is that for show, too?”