Millionaire's Women Part 43

"But what if your family depends on you to work to make money?"

She frowned. "Your sister and niece depend on you financially?"

"Not exactly. I'm speaking more hypothetically."

"Every situation is different. Everyone must make their own choice." She twirled a bite of torte in raspberry sauce. "I just think sometimes people end up regretting their choices."

"Hmm," he murmured noncommittally. "Tell me more about your family."

She doubted he was really interested, and she didn't want to get drawn into talking about her grandfather and the messy details of their estrangement, but she went ahead and told him about her uncle Rodrigo and aunt Alma and their six children. The three older were all married with children of their own.

"Then comes Martina, then Roberto, then Alyssa," she continued. "Alyssa is about the same age as your niece-she'll be fourteen in March."

"How long have you shared an apartment with Martina?"

"About a year. Ever since I moved to Chicago. I was broke and there aren't a lot of high-paying jobs for art history majors-"

"You have a college degree?"

"Yes, a master's. Why do you look so surprised?"

"No reason. Is your cousin Roberto still in high school?"

"No, he graduated last year." Just in time to get himself thrown in jail. But she wasn't going to tell Garek that. "He's very sweet. Sometimes he takes his machismo a little too seriously, but he has the kindest heart of anyone I know. He'll play cards with Grandma Pilar for hours, even though she cheats and can't always remember his name. He can be a little impulsive sometimes, but he always means well. He's very protective of me."

"Do you need protecting?"

"No, of course not. Although Robbie thinks so. Probably because of..." She paused, vexed with herself for talking too much.

"Because of Rafe?"

She straightened. "How do you know about him?"

"Martina said I was a 'vast improvement over Rafe.' Your ex-boyfriend, I take it?"

"Mmm." She was definitely going to have to have a talk with Martina. "I brought him to Chicago to meet everyone. Martina and Robbie didn't like him. And it turned out they were right."

"Rafe broke your heart?"

"No, he just toughened it up a bit." She felt his gaze on her face. Afraid he would ask her more questions, she added lightly, "Everyone has to have at least one failed love affair. Even you, I'll bet."

He had to think for a while. Either he'd had so many, he couldn't remember, or he'd never been in love. She wondered which it was.

"There was Monica Alexander," he finally said. "I was madly in love with her."

"What happened?"

"She dumped me when my father died and his business declared bankruptcy. I had to leave college to sort out the mess."

She grew still, watching him from wide eyes. "How terrible."

Garek looked amused. "It wasn't a huge tragedy. In fact, it was probably the best thing that could have happened to me. I was able to focus all my attention on the business."

"But you must have been terribly hurt-and at a time when you needed her the most."

He shrugged. "I survived."

Obviously. But at what cost? Was that when he'd acquired the air of cynicism that marked his features so strongly now? Was that when he'd begun to have so little faith in people-especially women?

The meal finished, he drove her home and walked behind her up the outside stairs to her apartment. "The Inst.i.tute of Art is having a private opening of their new exhibit tomorrow night," he said. "I've arranged for tickets. I'll pick you up at seven."

More networking, Ellie thought, stopping in front of her door. And more time spent with Garek Wisnewski. "Wasn't the symphony enough?"

"I thought you would like going to the art show."

She would love love to go, despite a slight lingering doubt about his motives. Once again, how could she refuse? "Okay. Thanks." She smiled at him. to go, despite a slight lingering doubt about his motives. Once again, how could she refuse? "Okay. Thanks." She smiled at him.

His gaze narrowed a bit and drifted over her.

"What?" she asked, her smile faltering.

"You've got salt on your coat. Hold still."

Glancing down, she saw him brushing at a gray mess on her side. She must have grazed against the spray of salt and ice on his car, she realized.

She swayed a little, and he put his hand on her shoulder, holding her firmly as his gloved fingers swept along her hip, removing the last traces of dirty salt, his touch brisk, efficient, impersonal. When he finished, he released her, said good-night and left.

She watched him until he got in his car and drove off.

An uneasy feeling curling in her stomach, she went inside.

Chapter Six.

Stacy Hatfield, the a.s.sistant Garek had a.s.signed to work on the foundation, was bright, enthusiastic and very young-barely eighteen. Ellie would have enjoyed working with her if it weren't for one thing-the girl had a huge crush on Garek Wisnewski.

Ellie's own feelings were growing more and more confused. During the last week and a half, he'd taken her to the art show, several dinners, a play and a basketball game. She kept reminding herself that their relationship was purely business, but sometimes, for a moment or two, she would forget. She'd lain awake all night thinking about him, her thoughts going round and round in circles, until she swore she wasn't going to think about him at all. But that was difficult to do when Stacy talked about him constantly.

At the gallery, Ellie tried to escape the girl's chatter by going upstairs to the framing studio, but Stacy merely packed up her laptop and followed.

"Mr. Wisnewski's the best employer I've ever had," Stacy said, her fingers flying over the keyboard. "Actually, he's the only employer I've ever had, unless you count Mrs. Bussey, whose kids I babysat when I was fourteen-she had a nervous breakdown after she had her fourth child in six years-but everyone at the company agrees that Mr. Wisnewski is the best. He is so generous. I told him he was paying you way too little, and he said to double your salary."

Startled, Ellie looked up from the long, thin piece of oak she was pretending to inspect. "Stacy! I can't accept that!"

"Of course you can. You deserve it. You've been working like a dog."

It was true-she had had been working long hours. But accepting a raise didn't feel right. If Mr. Vogel had given it to her, she wouldn't have objected. But Garek... been working long hours. But accepting a raise didn't feel right. If Mr. Vogel had given it to her, she wouldn't have objected. But Garek...

"Did you have a good time at the game?" Stacy asked. She had an amazing ability to talk and type at the same time at a combined speed of approximately eight hundred wpm.

Ellie sat down at the miter box with the piece of oak molding. "It was very nice. We had courtside seats, we ate catered food in a private box at half time, and the Bulls won." She'd enjoyed herself at the game. Afterward, though- "Are you going out with him on Sat.u.r.day?" Stacy asked, her fingers flying across the keyboard. "It's his birthday, you know. He's going to be thirty. Kind of old, but he's so gorgeous, I almost don't care."

Ellie hadn't known. Why hadn't he told her?

"How is the catalog for the silent auction coming along?" she asked, hoping to divert the girl.

"Fantastic. The pictures the new photographer took of the art turned out great. He also took a picture of Mr. Wisnewski and Mrs. Tarrington, Mr. Wisnewski's sister, to send to the newspapers to help publicize the event. I was surprised Mr. Wisnewski agreed to that. He hates any kind of publicity."

Ellie usually subdued any impulse to question Stacy about Garek, and she tried to restrain her curiosity now. But somehow, she couldn't stop herself from saying, "Oh?"

Stacy needed no further encouragement. "Ever since being named Most Eligible Bachelor he's been hounded by women," the girl said. "I read in the Chicago Trumpeter Chicago Trumpeter that a woman waited for him in a parking garage, then jumped on the hood of his car and started kissing the windshield. She left red-lipstick imprints all over the gla.s.s before he could get her off. Another woman broke into his house and stole all his underwear and put it up for sale on eBay. The police caught her and arrested her, but not before she'd sold a pair of boxer shorts to a woman living in a Florida retirement community. He threatened to sue the that a woman waited for him in a parking garage, then jumped on the hood of his car and started kissing the windshield. She left red-lipstick imprints all over the gla.s.s before he could get her off. Another woman broke into his house and stole all his underwear and put it up for sale on eBay. The police caught her and arrested her, but not before she'd sold a pair of boxer shorts to a woman living in a Florida retirement community. He threatened to sue the Chicago Trumpeter Chicago Trumpeter and they've backed off for the last month or so, but we still get women calling or coming to the office on some pretext, hoping to meet him." and they've backed off for the last month or so, but we still get women calling or coming to the office on some pretext, hoping to meet him."

Ellie bent over the miter box, the whine of the saw ringing in her ears as she remembered Garek's surliness when she'd b.u.mped into him on the sidewalk. What had he said in his office the next day? So you managed to track me down. So you managed to track me down.

She still couldn't really excuse his rudeness to her. But she could understand it. She even sympathized with him in a way-she hated the press, also.

She didn't want to like him. She didn't want to be aware aware of him. But it was hard not to be. At the art show, she'd been conscious of his hand at the small of her back as he guided her from painting to painting, his bulk protecting her from being jostled by the crowd. When he took her to dinner, she was conscious of his hands on her shoulders as he helped her off and on with her coat. At the play, a comedy, she'd been distracted several times by his deep, rather rusty-sounding laugh; that had been bad enough, but then afterward, she'd neglected to b.u.t.ton her coat before they went outside. Greeted by a blast of icy cold wind, she'd started to tug off her gloves, but he'd grabbed her hands and pulled her into a sheltered doorway. "I'll do your coat up for you," he'd said, and proceeded to fasten each b.u.t.ton from her throat to her hemline. of him. But it was hard not to be. At the art show, she'd been conscious of his hand at the small of her back as he guided her from painting to painting, his bulk protecting her from being jostled by the crowd. When he took her to dinner, she was conscious of his hands on her shoulders as he helped her off and on with her coat. At the play, a comedy, she'd been distracted several times by his deep, rather rusty-sounding laugh; that had been bad enough, but then afterward, she'd neglected to b.u.t.ton her coat before they went outside. Greeted by a blast of icy cold wind, she'd started to tug off her gloves, but he'd grabbed her hands and pulled her into a sheltered doorway. "I'll do your coat up for you," he'd said, and proceeded to fasten each b.u.t.ton from her throat to her hemline.

She'd tried not to let his closeness affect her. She'd tried to ignore the increasingly familiar curling sensation low in the pit of her stomach. Just as she'd tried, a few days later, at the basketball game, not to notice the way his hair grew to a point at the nape of his neck; the way he listened silently, intently, to what she said; the masculine scents of wool and leather that clung to him; and the amusing contrast of the floral scent of his hair.

A gift of shampoo from his niece, he'd said when she impulsively asked about it last night after inviting him into her apartment for coffee. Sitting next to her on the couch, he'd immediately put down his cup and leaned over to sniff her hair.

"Mmm, strawberry, I think." He lifted a strand of her hair and ran it through his fingers.

Her entire scalp p.r.i.c.kled at his touch. He continued to stroke her hair, his fingers gradually weaving their way deeper and deeper into its thickness until he was cradling her head, holding her completely still as he stared down at her mouth with a dark, intense look in his eyes.

Her heart pounded against the wall of her chest as if trying to get out. She knew she should pull away. She knew letting him kiss her was opening the door to all kinds of trouble. But the feeling inside her didn't respond to arguments. The feeling wasn't logical. It wasn't sensible. It was just there. Hot and needy and demanding. One kiss, it told her rational self. Just one kiss...

"Ellie? Ellie? Is something wrong with the frame?"

She came out of her trance to find Stacy staring at her. "The frame?" Ellie repeated stupidly before she remembered. She looked at the angle she'd cut into the oak. "Oh, yes. I mean no. It's fine. I'm sorry, I wandered off for a moment there."

A knowing smile appeared on Stacy's face. "I understand. I'd be in a daze too if Garek Wisnewski was in love with me."

"Stacy, please!" Ellie felt her cheeks heating up. The girl was too romantic...and too naive. "Garek Wisnewski isn't in love with me. He and I are just friends."

She bent over the miter box again, with another piece of molding. Friends...she tested the word in her head. How else to describe their relationship? It wasn't just business, anymore, she couldn't deny that. But they weren't really dating, either. If they had been, surely he would have kissed her last night when she'd made no move to stop him.

But instead, he'd released her and headed for the door. She'd felt bereft, confused. Had she misread the look in his eyes when he looked at her mouth? She'd never liked her mouth. In school, the other kids had teased that her lips were "upside down." Maybe he stared only because of their odd shape...

He'd paused by the door and looked down at her, frowning. "I'll pick you up at seven on Sat.u.r.day." Then, as suddenly as he'd abandoned her, he'd pulled her to him and had pressed a hard, swift kiss against her mouth, before striding out the door.

That kiss...it had been so brief, over almost before she realized what he was doing. Even so, she couldn't stop thinking about it. Rafe's most pa.s.sionate embraces had never affected her the way Garek's fleeting kiss had.

"I didn't even know about his birthday," she said out loud to Stacy. "I don't really know him that well. And he doesn't know me."

"He knows enough," Stacy said. "And what else do you need to know about him except that he's a hunk?"

What he was thinking. Feeling. What he thought about her. her. "This is a ridiculous conversation," she told Stacy. "This is a ridiculous conversation," she told Stacy.

"I heard him tell his sister on the phone that he wanted to introduce you to her soon-"

Ellie's heart skipped a beat. "You shouldn't repeat things you overhear," she reprimanded the girl, but not with as much conviction as she should have.

Stacy ignored her. "Garek's sister is very important to him. I heard that the necklace he bought her for Christmas cost a fortune. Emeralds and rubies are very expensive."

The girl nodded in a knowledgeable manner, but Ellie barely noticed. He'd bought that necklace for his sister? sister? He hadn't talked about Doreen Tarrington much, but he must care for her to buy her such an expensive piece of jewelry. Granted, he had terrible taste, but still, it had been kind of him. He hadn't talked about Doreen Tarrington much, but he must care for her to buy her such an expensive piece of jewelry. Granted, he had terrible taste, but still, it had been kind of him.

Garek Wisnewski, kind kind?

"Technically, his sister is in charge of this art foundation," Stacy continued. "But her health isn't too good, so he won't let her do any work. She loves art. He started the foundation for her."

The piece of wood in Ellie's hands splintered. "He did?"

"Yes, Mr. Wisnewski's secretary, Mrs. Grist, told me all about it," Stacy said. "His sister told him she wanted to start an art foundation and Mr. Wisnewski agreed to finance it for her."

Ellie remembered her suspicion when Garek had proposed investing in the gallery. Why hadn't he admitted it was for his sister?

She remembered something he'd said. You shouldn't be so quick to judge me. You shouldn't be so quick to judge me.

Ellie picked up a fresh piece of wood. "That was very...kind of him," she said slowly.

Garek was hard at work late Friday afternoon when the phone rang. Impatiently, he glanced up, his eyes burning from reading the small, tight print of a contract. He had a stack of doc.u.ments he needed to go through and sign in order to finalize the terms for financing the prospective buyout of Lachland, and he wanted to finish today.

"Yes?" he said curtly into the phone.

"Mrs. Tarrington's here to see you," his a.s.sistant told him.

Ah, Doreen. He looked down at the contract he'd just signed. The deal with Lachland hadn't closed yet, but the financing was in place. Doreen didn't know it yet, but her ace had been trumped.

Garek smiled. "Send her in, Mrs. Grist."

Doreen came in, wearing a black designer dress with a black-and-white scarf pinned at her shoulder that had the unfortunate effect of making her look sallower than usual. She carried a flat, rectangular box in her blackgloved hands.

"Happy birthday, Garek," she said, kissing the air by his cheek, then settling herself into the leather chair opposite him.

He sat back down and opened the box. "A tie," he said. Mustard yellow, emblazoned with a coat of arms, it was uglier than the muddy green one embroidered with a well-known designer's initials that she'd given him last year. It was even uglier than the putrid maroon-and-gold one she'd given him the year before that, the one she'd accidentally left the half-price sticker on.

"I traced our family tree back to Polish royalty," Doreen said. "This is our ancestral crest."

Garek almost laughed. The Wisnewskis were descended from pure peasant stock and Doreen knew it. But he allowed no trace of his thoughts to appear in his expression. "Thank you, Doreen. How was your cruise?"

She coughed a little and her normal foghorn voice weakened. "The cruise was horrible. We sailed through a hurricane and I was sick the whole time. Karen was heartless-she reminds me of you. She had no sympathy for my illness. She lounged around the pool the whole time, flirting with the crewmen. I complained to the captain about allowing employees to fraternize with the guests...but never mind about that." Her gaze sharpened on him. "I spoke to Ethel this morning. She said she saw you at the symphony with some woman. And at the art exhibit. And at the Cape Cod Room."