Capital Wives (10 page)

“Good.” Marisol kissed him again, then stood up and left her husband's office. She didn't know what had sparked Bryce's sudden jealousy, but she did not intend to dwell on it. She knew she had to prepare herself to come face-to-face with her in-laws in a week, and she also had to select an appropriate gift for a forty-fifth wedding anniversary.

B
ethany sat in the small, cramped office occupied by her former mentor.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen,
she thought, staring at Nathan Nelson as he shifted through stacks of papers and unopened letters.

He'd been her mentor at the television station, but that didn't exclude him from being a bully
and
a tyrant. When she was first assigned to the D.C. affiliate he had taken her under his wing and protection, but what Bethany hadn't known was that he'd also wanted to get into her panties. She'd resisted sleeping with her bosses to get a promotion, and it was no different with Nate. What she'd come to respect about the man was that he took rejection well. To him, no meant no, and after he'd dealt with that he'd slipped fluidly back into the professional journalist who had been responsible for the network earning a string of awards during his tenure. Earlier in his career he'd won a coveted Pulitzer for uncovering the CIA's involvement in the overthrow of a Central American president, replacing him with a U.S.-backed puppet. Now in
his late sixties, he sat in an office in a less-than-desirable D.C. neighborhood that was smaller than her kitchen, dwarfed by stacks of old magazines and newspapers. His eyes were rheumy, breath smelling of alcohol, and his rumpled shirt and pants looked as if they hadn't seen an iron since leaving the factory. His mussed gray hair was oily, which meant it needed washing, and the stubble on his chin was sparse and scraggly.

Bethany, sitting on the edge of the cracked leather chair, met dull gray eyes. “What happened to you, Nate?”

His chin wobbled slightly. “My world fell apart after my wife left me and I hit rock bottom. She had a barracuda for a lawyer who just about cleaned me out, and when the head of the network gave me my pink slip because I couldn't get up and come to work on time I dropped out of life for a while.”

She waved her hand. “What do you call this?”

Nate looked at the young woman who appeared as if she'd just stepped off the set for a Ralph Lauren photo shoot. Ten years ago she'd been a fresh-faced ingenue looking to make a career in television reporting, and now she was the wife of one of the most influential men in Washington, D.C. He'd always known she was ambitious, but thought that ambition was directed at her career, not landing a much older and very wealthy husband.

He affected a lopsided smile. “It's my office.”

Bethany wrinkled her nose. “It's not much better than a hovel. In fact, it's a pigsty.”

“It's my motherfucking hovel,” he snapped.

Bethany stood up as if jerked up by a taut wire. “Talk to me like that again I'm going to walk out of here.”

Nate waved at her like he was swatting fly. “Sit down and don't take yourself so seriously. You've heard and said worse than
motherfucker
and you know it, princess.”

Bethany sat down again. Nate was right. “I try to monitor my language now because I have kids.”

Nate sucked his teeth, and then opened the top drawer in the desk to retrieve a toothpick. “How old are they now?” he mumbled, picking his teeth as Bethany averted her gaze.

“Abby is eight and Connor turned five in January.”

“Who do they look like?”

She smiled. “They look me, but have Damon's eyes.”

Nate returned her smile, validating he hadn't seen a dentist in a very long time. “You know they used to call you the blonde Liz Taylor because of your violet eyes. Just watching you onscreen used to make me hard. Sorry about that,” he said when spots of color dotted Bethany's pale cheeks. “You told me you wanted a job.”

“I need a job, something to do in my spare time.”

“How much spare time do you have?”

“A lot,” she admitted.

Nate ran a hand over his face. “I just put out my last edition of a paper I was doing for several local churches in the area, and I've been mulling over the idea of putting together a tabloid geared to who's who and who's doing who in D.C. Fortunately, I still have a few contacts in the capital district that are willing to dish on their enemies. If I decide to go through with this, then I'm going to need someone on the inside. You, Bethany, would be that inside reporter.”

Her eyes opened wider. “You want me to spy on people?”

“It wouldn't be spying. It would be more like listening in and reporting back what you hear. Not at any time would we print names, because that would make us to liable to lawsuits.”

Bethany shook her head. “Did I just hear the pronoun
us?
”

“They would sue me and the paper.”

“That's better.”

“You're married to a Washington insider, so it should be easy for you to get dirt on some of the women who have shunned you. Yes, Bethany. Don't look so shocked. I told you I still have my contacts. I know you attend fundraisers with Damon, but not the more private functions because the wives of his business associates still look down on you as the woman who destroyed Damon and Jean's marriage.”

“Their marriage was over even before I'd entered the picture. Dear sweet Jean Paxton was a whore. She slept with any man who came through her front
and
back doors, and that included the pool boy and deliverymen. The only one she wouldn't sleep with was Damon.”

“Do you know this for a fact?”

Bethany nodded. “Yes.”

“Can you prove it?”

She nodded again. “Damon waited for Jean to take their daughter with her when she went to visit her mother, then he had the house wired with hidden cameras. Once he'd recorded hours showing Jean in bed with different men, he showed it to his attorney. When Jean was shown the footage she had no reaction. They had a quickie divorce, Damon gave her the house and a sizable settlement and three months later I married Damon.”

“Do you know the names of the men she slept with?”

“Some of them. But I'm not going to tell you. What I do know is the names of her friends who were also cheating on their husbands.”

“Are they still married?”

“Yes.”

Lacing his fingers together, Nate leaned forward. “How would you like to get even with the bitches?”

“I don't know, Nate. I don't believe in an eye for an eye.”

“What do you believe in, princess?”

Bethany lowered her gaze. “Karma.”

“What if we speed up karma?”

She crossed her legs and angled her head. “What exactly do you want?”

“I want to sell newspapers. And nothing sells like tabloid gossip. Go online and people are blogging and tweeting. Turn on the TV and all you see are reality shows with out-of-control parents, children and elected officials. I'm sixty-eight years old and I'm barely making ends meet after paying rent on my apartment and this place. If it wasn't for my pension and social security, I'd have to move my bed here and cook on a hot plate. I haven't seen my grandkids in five years because my daughter says she doesn't want her children to know their grandpa is a drunken bum. Yeah, I drink, but it helps me forget what I had and lost.”

Opening her handbag, Bethany took out her checkbook. “How much do you need?”

“I don't need your money as much as I need dignity. And selling newspapers will do that for me. Come on, princess. Help an old man out.”

Bethany stared at the broken man who'd made it possible for her to rise quickly as a television journalist at the D.C. affiliate. She had been slated to become a weekend anchor if she hadn't given it up to become Mrs. Damon Paxton. “Okay, Nate. Tell me what you want.”

He gave her a wide grin. “I want you to accompany Damon to as many parties and fundraisers as time allows. I'm certain your husband will be pleased to show off his beautiful wife. Keep your eyes and ears open for anything you think will sell copies. I'll create a column and an anonymous byline for you. I'll also tie it into the internet with a blog.” Nathan paused. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It's ludicrous.”

“No, it isn't, princess. The column will be titled ‘Fact or Fiction, Real or Rumor?' You can be as creative as you want with the column that will become the catalyst for the
Daily Dish
.”

“What's the
Daily Dish?
”

“It's your blog.”

“I don't blog, Nate.”

“You'll learn. I also plan to set up a Facebook page for the paper, and between blogs and tweets we'll be back in business. Everything will be done online, so you won't have to come to this upscale neighborhood and my posh office,” he drawled facetiously.

Bethany thought about Nathan's proposal. There was no doubt she would help him out financially, but what was in it for her? “What's in this for me?” She'd spoken her thoughts aloud.

Leaning back in the creaking antique executive chair, Nate laced his hands over his protruding belly. “I can get you a part-time position with the station editing copy. What do you say?”

She was hard-pressed not to show her excitement. “I thought you were persona non grata.”

Nate winked at Bethany. “I still have a little juice with some folks in HR.”

Bethany appreciated Nathan putting in a good word for her, but she was still ambivalent about gathering information and dishing on people who'd unfairly judged her. She wasn't proud that she'd slept with a married man, but she hadn't experienced any guilt, either. However, Damon's reluctance to out his wife had made Jean a martyr and Bethany a pariah. When she'd spoken to Damon about it his response was that he didn't want Paige to know about her mother's sexual escapades.

“Do you mind if I think about it?” What she didn't tell her former mentor was that Damon didn't want her to work until Abigail and Connor were older.

“I do mind, but I suppose I don't have much of a choice.”

“Let me sleep on it, Nate. I'll call and let you know tomorrow. Now, if I don't write the column will I still get the job at the station?” Bethany had to know whether Nate was stringing her along just to get her to write for him.

“Of course, princess. Have you ever known me to go back on my word or break a promise?”

She shook her head. “No.” Bethany picked up her handbag, shaking it to make certain she hadn't picked up an insect. “Clean up this office and clean up yourself, Nate, because underneath the trash and dirt is your dignity.”

“Damn, princess. You really know how to hurt a guy.”

“I'm serious, Nate.” Reaching into her bag, she took out her wallet and dropped a handful of bills on the paper-littered desk. “I'll be back in a couple of days. If I walk in here and this place looks the same, then you'll have my answer.”

Nathan waved his hand. “I can't clean this up in a couple of days.”

Bethany pointed to the large bills. “I gave you enough to hire someone. All of this paper is a breeding ground for rodents and insects. There's also enough money for you to get a haircut and a professional shave. Please don't make me regret working with you again. And another thing.”

“What's that, princess?”

“Cut down on the booze and make an appointment to see a dentist.”

He saluted her. “Aye, aye, ma'am.”

“I'm serious, Nate.”

“Okay,” he said, sobering. “When are you coming back?”

“Friday morning. That will give you four days to get your act together.”

“We're going to be a helluva act, princess.”

Bethany smiled. “We'll see about that.”

She replayed all that had happened on the return drive to Falls Church. Nathan Nelson wanted revenge and he wanted his fight to become her fight. Bethany knew if she'd been warmly accepted as Damon Paxton's wife her free time would've been filled with charity events and social luncheons. She was thirty-five, and like fifteen-year-old Paige she didn't have one close friend.

Thinking of Paige reminded Bethany that the girl would turn sixteen before the end of the school year. She'd never had a sweet sixteen because her parents couldn't afford it, but that was not the case with Paige.

Bethany wasn't certain if her stepdaughter would accept the idea of having a sweet sixteen with all of her classmates present to help commemorate the all-important milestone birthday, but she would present it to Damon first and get his feedback before asking Deanna to plan the celebration.

B
ethany lay facedown on the massage table, reveling in the magical touch of the masseur kneading the knots in her shoulder blades. She'd kept her promise to herself to work out with her trainer three times a week, limit her intake of wine, increase the servings of fruits and vegetable and protein intake and cut back on red meat. The result was she'd lost eight pounds in three weeks. She'd managed to drink six to eight glasses of water a day, which had eliminated the puffiness under her eyes, while a Botox treatment had erased the tiny frown lines between her eyes.

It was the last week in March, and the evidence of spring was apparent with blooming flowers, budding trees and much warmer daytime temperatures. Spring was a time of renewal, and Bethany Collins Paxton felt renewed. She knew she'd surprised Nathan when she told him she would do the column and blog, and had shocked Damon when she announced she would accompany him to a party hosted by the CEO and several board members of a major pharmaceutical company.

Whenever Damon received an invitation to an event he'd always asked whether she wanted to go with him, and her reply had always been no. This time she'd said yes, because if she was going to glean information for her column and blog, then as a good reporter she had to be there.

The soft background music, dim lighting, scented candles and the walls covered with gauzy fabric added to the surreal setting as Bethany willed her mind blank and she fell asleep under the relaxing ministrations of the incredibly talented masseur.

“Wake up, Mrs. Paxton. You're going to have to turn over.”

Eyelids fluttering, Bethany moaned in protest. Holding the sheet to her breasts, she turned over and immediately closed her eyes again. The reason she frequented the spa was because it was a one-stop beauty establishment. The services included facials, massages, hair and makeup, manicure and pedicures. After the massage she would shower and have her hair styled, and the makeup technician would make up her face. In order to save time returning home, she'd brought the dress, shoes and accessories she'd planned to wear with her. She'd also called a car service to pick her up and drive her directly to the hotel.

 

Damon had lost track of the number of times he'd looked at his watch as he waited for his wife to walk through the doors to the Four Seasons. His expression brightened when he saw her. She was stunning in a gown that was an exact match for her magnificent eyes. A front slit showed off her long legs with each step. Closing the distance between them, he pressed a kiss on her moonlit hair pinned off her face. There was something about her pale, delicate beauty that called to mind a young Grace Kelly. The magnificent
tanzanite-and-diamond drop earrings were a gift he'd given her following the birth of their son.

“You look amazing,” he whispered in her ear.

Lowering her eyes, Bethany affected a demure smile. “Thank you, sweetheart. You look handsome, as usual. I hope I don't have to shank a few of these bitches tonight for coming on to my man,” she whispered.

Pulling back, Damon stared at his wife as if she were a stranger. He'd never known her to exhibit a modicum of jealousy. “Why would you say that?”

“I know I rarely go out with you, so I don't know if you're being hit on.”

“I wouldn't know it if I was being hit on.” He ran a finger along her jawline. “I promised you the day we married that I'd never cheat on you, and I haven't.”

Bethany met his eyes. “And I believe you, Damon.”

Taking her hand, he tucked it into the bend of his elbow over the tuxedo jacket. “Let's go in now.” It was the cocktail hour, a time when Damon was able to reconnect with those he knew and a few he'd planned to get to know.

Bethany held back. “I need to check my wrap.”

“Don't worry about that. I'll get someone to take it for you.” He gestured to a familiar bellhop. “Please put this in coat check, and then bring me the ticket.” Damon handed the man Bethany's black silk, hand-beaded shawl and surreptitiously slipped him a large bill.

“No problem, Mr. Paxton.”

Bethany pressed her bare shoulder against Damon's silk-and-wool jacket. “That was easy.”

“I've always told you it's not what you know in this town, but who you know. I make it my business to know the right people regardless of what they do for a living. It's not who owns the hotel, but those who run it that are important. What
if a bellhop delivers your luggage with important documents to the wrong room, or the concierge neglects to inform you that something you're expecting is at his station? One mistake could make or break a deal.”

“Why is it always about the
deal?
” Bethany asked softly.

“That's the only four-letter word that's music to my ears. When I'm able to get some elected official to agree to vote for something my client wants, and we shake hands and say ‘it's a deal,' I quickly forget about the asses I had to kiss to make it a reality.”

“I don't envy you, Damon.”

Reaching for a flute off the tray of a passing waiter, Damon handed it to Bethany, then took one for himself. “I don't envy me, either.” He touched his glass to his wife's. “Here's to many more nights out together.”

Nodding, she took a sip of the bubbly wine. “I've neglected you for long enough. The people in this town should know that we're still a couple.”

Damon smiled. He hadn't married Bethany because of her beauty and intelligence, but because he'd actually fallen in love with her. Although he was old enough to be her father, he'd never thought of her as a daughter. She'd been twenty-four when he saw her in person for the first time, and he'd found himself slightly off balance when she'd approached his table and handed him her business card with a request she would like to interview him for a news feature she was working on for her station. He waited a few days, then called her. They had dinner in an out-of-the way restaurant in northern Virginia, talking about everything but what she wanted in her interview. They met several more times, and the night Damon made a reservation to eat at an inn several miles from Leesburg it had changed them and their relationship. Bethany had offered him the best sex he'd ever had in his life. Once he
slept with her he'd forgotten any other woman existed—and that included his estranged wife.

Jean had cheated on him before they were married, but he had forgiven her when she claimed it was the first and only time. When she'd come to him months later with the news that she was pregnant, Damon did the right thing and married her. He was approaching forty and he was ready to settle down with a wife and children.

The year Paige celebrated her third birthday Jean moved out of their bedroom. She claimed she didn't like sex and sleeping with him made her physically sick. It wasn't until a year later that he'd found telltale signs that she was sleeping with another man. The condoms her lover had discarded in the trash had come in neon colors, something he hadn't and would never use. Damon hadn't wanted to believe his wife had made love to another man in their home.

He'd sought out other women to take care of his physical needs, and once he met Bethany he knew he had to end his sham of a marriage. On the advice of his lawyer he had the cameras installed, and when Jean and her attorney viewed the footage all agreed divorce was imminent. Damon knew he probably would've still been married to Jean and sleeping with other women if he hadn't met Bethany Collins.

Bethany was a good wife and mother, and he knew she was having a rough time with Paige, but he prayed the two would eventually declare a truce where they could tolerate being in the same room at the same time.

Bethany tapped his shoulder. “There's Deanna and Marisol, the two women who helped me get it together at the Red Cross dinner.”

Damon pressed a kiss to her pale hair. “Go talk to them, baby. I'll come and get you when it's time to go into the ballroom to eat.”

He watched the gentle sway of her hips in the body-hugging gown. If he'd felt an iota of guilt sleeping with other women while married, it had vanished like a wisp of smoke once he met Bethany. Damon paid a private investigator to delve into the former beauty queen's background. She had no criminal record—not even a traffic ticket. During the eighteen months she'd worked as a recurring character on a top-rated daytime soap Bethany had dated a few Hollywood actors. The tabloids never reported her involvement with alcohol or drugs, so she was touted as the good girl who loved bad boys.

She finally got her big break when she landed a job with an Indianapolis news station. A year later she transferred to Washington, D.C., as a political correspondent. Ratings soared whenever she was on camera with her beautifully modulated voice and hypnotic eyes. When Damon saw her in the restaurant he'd known immediately who she was.

He went still when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, Damon stared into the light brown eyes belonging to Spencer Tyson. The attorney's face was thinner than it had been during their last encounter.

Damon offered his hand. “How's it going, Tyson?”

Spencer shook Damon's hand. “It's all good.”

Resting a hand on Spencer's back, Damon steered him over to a corner in the crowded room. “Did you take care of that business we discussed? That situation at the Victoria,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer stared at the amber liquid in his highball glass. “Not yet. Don't forget you gave me sixty days.”

“And you intend to take every one of them, don't you?”

“Look, Paxton—”

“No,
you
look!” Damon hissed between clenched teeth. “You're not equipped to play in the big leagues, because it's
apparent some hungry, power-seeking cunt means more to you than a judgeship. She can't be
that
good, or is it you can't see the bench because her double Ds are blocking your view?” Damon leaned closer. “You don't have to stop fucking her because I've just withdrawn my offer. You're on your own…
son.
”

Turning on his heels, he walked away, leaving Spencer staring at his departing back. He didn't want to believe a man as ambitious as Spencer Tyson would forfeit a chance to sit on the bench for a piece of ass.

 

Bethany exchanged air kisses with Marisol, then Deanna. “Y'all look so nice tonight.”

“Careful, Miss Sweet Tater Queen, but your country is showing,” Deanna teased.

Bethany glanced around to see if anyone had overheard her. “Girls, y'all don't know hard it is for me not to sound like a 'Bama. I paid a speech coach a ton of money to help me lose my accent, but every once in a while it comes back.”

Marisol, resplendent in red, rolled her eyes upward. “Don't worry about it.
Está entre amigas,
so you can be yourself, chica. I said you were among friends,” she explained when Bethany gave her a blank stare.

Bethany flashed a two-hundred-watt smile. It was the first time since she'd become Mrs. Damon Paxton that a woman had called her
friend.
“I'm honored to be your friend, chica.”

Marisol shook her head. “Mari or Marisol will do, thank you.”

“I have a part-time job,” Bethany said quickly.

Deanna and Marisol shared a knowing look. “Good for you. What are you doing?”

“I'm writing copy for the television station where I used to work. It's not very challenging, but at least I'm out of the
house a couple of days a week.” Bethany didn't tell Marisol and Deanna that she had also agreed to work for Nathan Nelson. That she had come with Damon with the anticipation of overhearing something she could use to debut her column and blog with the impact of a shot heard around the world.

“How are you getting along with your stepdaughter?” Deanna asked, continuing with her questioning.

Bethany drained her flute, then placed it on the tray of a passing waiter. “We keep our distance. She comes in from school and hides out in her room until it's time for dinner. Damon, unless it's absolutely impossible, always makes it home in time for dinner. Of course she's on her best behavior because she doesn't want to hear her father complaining about coming home to a household in turmoil.”

“Good for him,” Marisol said. “At least he's a hands-on father.”

“It's because his parents divorced when he was young, and he got to see his father during holidays and every other summer. Since his dad has been diagnosed with the early stages of Alzheimer's, they've grown very close.”

“Now that you're working I suppose you won't have time to meet for lunch,” Marisol said to Bethany.

“I make my own hours,” Bethany said, “and I've only committed to two days a week.”

“Business is slow for me right now,” Marisol admitted, “so I'd like to invite you and Deanna over for lunch one day next week.”

Deanna accepted a napkin and speared a tiny Moroccan-style meatball with a toothpick. “Count me in if you're cooking. If not, then I'm not coming.”

Bethany's gaze shifted from Deanna to Marisol. “What's on the menu?”

“Tostones, camarones ajillo, polla asado.”

“This country girl needs you to translate for her.”

Marisol laughed. “Fried green bananas, shrimp in a garlic sauce and roast chicken. And, if either of you aren't dieting, then I'll make either white or yellow rice.”

Deanna gave Marisol a direct stare. “When have you ever known me to diet?”

“Yo no sé.”

“Neither do I,” Deanna countered.

Bethany waved her hands. “Hold up, girlfriends. Y'all are going to have to slow down with the Spanish. I took French in college.”

“Does this mean I can talk about you in Spanish and you won't understand a word?” Marisol teased.

“Not if I don't cuss you out in French first,” Bethany countered, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Her smile faded and her eyes grew cold when she spied a tall redhead with bottle-green eyes. Years ago the spiteful woman had embarked on a campaign to slander her at every opportunity.