Park Avenue Secrets: Marriage, Manhattan Style

But it hadn’t.

And now she had no children, no career, and potentially no husband.

She pictured Reed, wondering what, or who, he was doing right now. Then she banished the vision, remembering Hanna’s advice instead. It wasn’t reasonable to assume he was having an affair.

It was reasonable, however, to wonder if he was coming home for dinner. She pressed the on button on the phone and dialed his office number.

It rang four times before Devon picked up. “Reed Wellington’s office.”

“Hi, Devon. It’s just me.”

“Oh. Hi, Elizabeth.” Was there something in her voice? “He just left for a dinner meeting.”

A dinner meeting? Was that suspicious? Was he with her? “Do you know which restaurant?”

Devon hesitated. “I …”

Damn. It was suspicious. “Never mind. I know I wrote it down this morning,” Elizabeth lied. “I think it was Reno’s … maybe The Bridge …”

“Alexander’s,” Devon put in.

“Oh, yes. Alexander’s. Thanks,” Elizabeth said as cheerfully as she could manage, then she hung up and pulled a business card out of her blazer pocket.

Reasonable or not, she dialed Joe Germain’s cell phone.

“Might as well make yourself useful,” she mumbled while it rang through. It was impossible to get a parking spot near Alexander’s at this time of day.

Joe was at her door in less than a minute.

“How’d you do that?” she asked, letting him into the foyer while she slipped on a coat.

“Do what, ma’am?”

“Get here so fast.”

“I was in the lobby.”

“Lurking?”

One corner of his mouth flexed. “Pretty much.”

She hooked her purse over her shoulder. “Is that what you do?”

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

The door closed behind them, and she pulled out her key to lock the dead bolt. “When you’re not driving. Do you simply lurk in the lobby?”

“Sometimes I wash the car.” He followed her toward the elevator.

“And shoot the bad guys?”

He reached out and pressed the elevator button but didn’t answer.

“I know you have a gun,” she told him.

“I do have a gun, ma’am.”

“Call me Elizabeth. Why do you have a gun?”

“Because this is New York City.”

The elevator car arrived, and he gestured for her to go first.

“I know you’re not a driver.”

“I am a driver, ma’am.”

“Elizabeth.”

He gave her a look that said her first name wouldn’t be passing over his lips anytime soon. “Mrs. Wellington.”

“I know you’re my bodyguard.”

Again, he didn’t answer.

“I take it you can neither confirm nor deny you were hired as my bodyguard?”

They started across the lobby.

“Where would you like to go?” he asked in a cool, professional voice.

“I’ll pretend I don’t know,” she offered. “But I think you and I should be straight with one another.”

“Am I taking you to dinner? To run errands?”

“Isn’t there some kind of special bond? Bodyguard and protectee? One that calls for complete honesty? Considering you may be throwing yourself in front of a bullet for me?”

Joe gave a small sigh. “Visiting a friend?”

“Spying on my husband.”

Joe stopped dead.

She took two more steps and then turned and fluttered her lashes. “Is that a conflict of interest for you?”

“No.” He started walking again.

“Good. Alexander’s Restaurant, please.”