Grant Landon.”
“Who?”
The name from the past had tumbled from Gage’s lips without warning but now that it had, he knew it made sense. A friend. A real friend, one who’d known him in that long-ago time when he’d stood halfway between the defiance of his abandoned youth and the promise of the man he was to become.
“You met him in New York. I brought him by a couple of times when I was in law school. Remember?”
Did she remember? Natalie almost laughed, or maybe she almost cried. She’d never forget New York. Gage in school, at class all day, bent over his books half the night. She, working at the restaurant where the grease on the griddle probably dated back to pre-history. The little walk-up apartment on Eighth Street, where the water always gurgled in the pipes and the thin walls that transmitted every sound from the apartment next door.
And the joy. The happiness. The wonder of being Gage’s wife, of being able to begin each day seeing his face, of ending each night wrapped in his arms…
“Nat?”
She looked up, her vision hazed by tears. Gage had come closer. He was only a breath away. He smiled and lay his hand lightly against her cheek.
“Do you remember New York, Nat?” he said.
Natalie stared at him. Oh, he was so transparent. Did he think he could do this forever? A soft word. A smile. A gentle touch. And she was supposed to succumb, to go into his arms, to pretend that she meant more to him than an ornament. Because that was all she was. An ornament. One he could drape with jewels and place in a glowing setting.
Once, she’d been a woman of flesh and blood. Gage’s wife. A whole person, the one he discussed things with. Planned with. Chose to be with, above and beyond anyone else, instead of jetting off at every opportunity to meet with Important People, to be photographed at the opening of the latest Baron resort with some nubile young thing breathing down his neck, Miss Samoa or Miss Pittsburgh or—or Miss Minnie Mouse, for all she knew or cared…
Natalie jerked back.
“I remember,” she said coldly. “That ratty apartment. The water that shook the pipes. The noise from next door, and the stink of old grease in my hair. You’re damned right, I remember. How could I ever forget?”
Gage’s eyes went flat.
“I see. The bell rings for round one.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
His smile was tight and unpleasant. “Come on, babe, don’t give me that innocent look. Half your girlfriends have been divorced. Round one, in which the much-put-upon little woman lays out a list of all the sacrifices she’s made for hubby.”
Natalie’s chin lifted. “What an excellent idea,” she said sweetly. “I’ll be sure to mention it to Jim.”
“And I’ll be sure to tell Grant that he’d better help me figure out a way to lock up the valuables.”
“You do that,” Natalie said through her teeth.
“Damn right,” Gage said through his. “Now, was there anything else you wanted, or can I finish getting dressed in the privacy of my own room?”
Natalie fluttered her lashes. “Your own room?” She looked around slowly, then at Gage again. “Your own room, my dear, almost-ex-husband, is waiting for you at your club. Or at your hotel. One of your hotels, anyway.” Her smile glittered. “But it certainly isn’t here. As you so carefully pointed out, this is round one. That means the house is the least of what I expect to get.”
Gage slapped his hands on his hips.
“You’re joking.”
Natalie slapped her hands on her hips, too. “Do I look as if I’m joking?”
His eyes narrowed. “It’ll take a court order to get me out of here, babe.”
“I’m sure Jim will provide me with one.”
Natalie turned away from him and sauntered towards the door. It was crazy, but the sight of that stiff, slender back sent Gage’s blood pressure soaring again.
“And I’m sure Grant will know what you can do with your court order,” he said, his voice rising.
She swung to face him, her hand on the doorknob. “I hope so,” she said politely. “I hope, too, that your Mister…Landon? I hope he’s able to do such things, here in Florida.”
Gage blinked. “What?”
“He practices in New York. Isn’t that what you said? And this is Florida. I just hope, for both our sakes, your dear old pal can hang out his shingle in another state because I’m telling you right now, Gage, I don’t want this thing dragging on forever.”
Gage strode towards her. “It won’t. Oh, it won’t.” He grabbed Natalie’s shoulders, drew her up to her toes, lowered his face until they were nose to nose. “Because I’m telling you right now, babe, you can forget about a divorce.”
Natalie turned white. “But you just said…”
“I know what I said!” He let go of her, yanked open the door, and she stumbled backwards into the hall. “I know exactly what I said, dammit.” He slammed the door shut and glared at it. “And I meant every word,” he muttered. “Every mother-loving word.”
Enraged, he kicked the wall, welcomed the sharp pain the thoughtless action sent shooting through his bare toes.
“Every word,” he said, and buried his face in his hands.
CHAPTER THREE
GAGE pushed open the double glass doors that led to the main offices of Baron Resorts. Carol, seated behind the reception desk, gave him her usual sunny smile over the mug of steaming coffee she held in her hands.
“Morning, Mr. Baron.”
Gage glared at her.
“It’s after nine,” he snapped. “You’re supposed to be working.”
Carol’s smile faded. “I am working. I mean, I’m just—”
“You want coffee, wait until your break.” Gage marched past her. “Let’s have a little efficiency around here, if you don’t mind.”
“No, Mr. Baron. I mean, yes, Mr. Baron. I mean—”
He pushed his way through the next set of doors and strode towards his office. His secretary rose to her feet as he swept past her desk.
“Good morning, Mr. Baron. Mr. Folger called. Mr. Okada, too. And there are several faxes from—”
“No calls,” he snapped. “No faxes. No interruptions. Understood?”
Rosa’s dark brows lifted. “Certainly, sir. No interruptions. But—”
Gage
