saw an article in the Star about some former local turned billionaire—”
PJ snorted and rolled his eyes. “Blah, blah, blah. Newspaper writers like that sort of thing. Gives them a reason for living.”
“Everyone has to have a purpose.”
“Some people have better purposes than others.” He shifted in his chair. “We were launching a new windsurfer in a new venue on the island and—” he shrugged negligently “—my sister-in-law said we should promote it. Suggested I give them a local angle.”
The PJ she had known wouldn’t have done anything anyone else suggested. Apparently her surprise was evident.
“It was my choice,” he said sharply. “And look at its unforeseen consequence. I not only may have sold a few windsurfers, but my wife turns up on my doorstep.”
Back to the “wife” bit again. “Er, yes. Something we need to talk about.”
But before she could take advantage of the opening, there was a quick tap on the door and his assistant came in carrying a tray with glasses of iced tea and a plate of delectable-looking cookies.
She was completely professional and efficient, but her eyes kept darting between PJ and Ally as if she were in a minefield and either one of them might explode at any moment.
PJ didn’t seem to notice. “Thanks, Rosie.” He paused, then said, “I don’t believe you’ve met my wife. Not officially. Ally, this is Rosie. Rosie, this is Alice.”
Rosie’s eyes grew round as dinner plates. “You mean, she really is? You haven’t been joking? I mean …”
Rosie didn’t look like a woman who would be at a loss for words, but she seemed to be now. And Ally was at a bit of a loss, too, at the notion that Rosie’s surprise didn’t simply stem from her saying she was PJ’s wife.
He’d told his secretary he was married? Ally was sure she had misunderstood.
But then Rosie mustered a polite, slightly amazed smile and held out her hand. “I’m glad to meet you,” she said. “At last.”
Ally blinked. At last? So PJ had spoken of her? She turned confused eyes his way.
“Rosie runs the show here,” PJ said, not addressing her confusion at all. He smiled easily at his assistant. “Hold all my calls, please. And get Ryne Murray to reschedule.”
“He’s already on his way.”
Ally began to get up. “You’re busy,” she said quickly. “I don’t want to disturb you. I can just leave—”
“Not a problem,” PJ went on, still talking to Rosie as if Ally weren’t objecting at all. “When he gets here, tell him we’ll need to get together another time. My wife and I have things to discuss.”
“We don’t, really,” Ally protested.
“And then set up a time early next week.”
“Are you listening to me? I don’t want to upset your schedule. I don’t want to upset your life. The opposite in fact! I should have called first. I don’t want—” She started toward the door, but PJ caught her arm.
“It’s all right,” he said firmly. Then he smiled at Rosie. “That will be all, thanks.” And he waited until she’d shut the door behind her before he let go of Ally’s arm and settled back into his chair again. “Sit down,” he said. “And tell all.”
But she shook her head. “What did you do that for? Why do you keep saying that?”
“Do what? Say what?” He handed her a glass of iced tea, then nodded toward the cookies. “My sister-in-law bakes them. They’re fantastic. Try one.”
“I’m not here for a tea party, PJ! Why did you introduce me as your wife? Why do you keep saying I’m your wife?”
He took a bite of one of the cookies and swallowed before he answered. “You’re the one who told her that. I just confirmed it.”
“But why? And she already knew that you were married!” It was the last thing she’d expected. She’d imagined he’d be keeping it quiet. Instead every other word out of his mouth seemed to be the W word.
“Yes. You’re my wife, so I’m married,” he said simply, and punctuated the reality by taking another bite out of a cookie.
“Yes, but—”
He wiped powdered sugar off his mouth. “You’d rather I’d call you a liar?”
“No. Of course not.” Ally sighed and shook her head. “I didn’t imagine you shouted it from the rooftops. You didn’t say anything in the article about being married,” she reminded him. “On the contrary, the article said you were dating hordes of eligible women.” She could have quoted word for word exactly what it had said, but she didn’t.
“Hordes.” PJ gave a bark of laughter. “Not quite. I escort women to business functions. Acquaintances. Friends. It’s expected.”
“But they don’t know you’re married.”
“Hell, Al, most of the time, I barely even know I’m married!”
His exasperation relieved her and swamped her with guilt at the same time. “I know,’ she said, clutching the glass tightly in both hands. “I’m sorry. It was selfish of me, marrying you. We never should have. I—” she corrected herself “—never should have let you do it.”
“You didn’t ‘let’ me,” PJ retorted. “I offered. You just said yes. Anyway—” he shrugged it off “—it was no big deal.”
“It was to me.”
Marrying PJ had given her access to her grandmother’s legacy. It had allowed her the freedom to make her own choices instead of doing what her father prescribed. It had been the making of her. She owed PJ for her life as she knew it.
“Well, good,” he said gruffly. “So tell me all about it. We didn’t have much of a chance to talk … last time.”
Last time. Five years ago when she’d come back to Honolulu for an art opening, when he’d showed up with a gorgeous woman on his arm. Ally gave herself a little shake, determined not to think about that. “It was a busy time,” she said dismissively.
“So it was. You’re a household word now, I gather.”
“I’ve done all right.” She’d worked very hard, and she was proud of what she’d accomplished. But she didn’t want him to think she was bragging.
“Better than, I’d say.” PJ leaned back in his chair and ticked off her accomplishments. “World renowned fabric artist. Clothing designer. International entrepreneur. Business owner. How many boutiques is it now?”
Clearly he’d done some homework, too.
“Seven,” Ally said shortly. “I just opened one in Honolulu last month.”
She
