Park Avenue Secrets: Marriage, Manhattan Style

“That’s because it is an intervention,” said Hanna.

“Well, I don’t need one.”

Hanna let out a breath. “Oh, my darling …”

Elizabeth lifted the succulent sandwich. “I don’t know why I should take your advice anyway. You were the one who insisted I seduce him last week. And that sure went to hell in a handbasket.”

“That’s because you did it wrong.”

“I did it perfectly. I rocked in that red negligee. Reed was the problem. He was about to be arrested. How can a man concentrate on passion when he’s about to be arrested?” Point well made, Elizabeth took a bite of her sandwich.

“You need a job,” said Hanna.

Elizabeth swallowed. “Trust me on this. The one thing I don’t need is more money.”

Hanna waved her pickle. “It’s not the paycheck. It’s the getting out of the penthouse, exchanging opinions and ideas with other adults, hanging out with people who have absolutely nothing to do with your husband or with getting pregnant.”

“And you don’t think that will drag us further apart?”

“It’ll give you something interesting to talk about when you get home.”

Elizabeth was about to protest that they already talked about interesting things, but she stopped herself when she realized how hollow that would ring.

Reed was pretty much a workaholic, and he refused to discuss Wellington International with her. He seemed to think business problems would stress her out as much as SEC investigations. But if she introduced her own business issues, especially if there were problems, she was willing to bet he’d engage in the conversation.

Hmm. Getting a job. Developing an identity. The idea kind of appealed to her. In fact, she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before.

But there was a glitch. A big glitch.

“Who’s going to hire me? I haven’t worked since I graduated from college.” She paused. “With a degree in musical theater.”

“We’re less than five blocks from the theater district,” Hanna offered.

Elizabeth couldn’t picture herself as a script girl or a gofer. It would be silly for the wife of a billionaire to take an entry-level position. Not to mention embarrassing for Reed.

“He doesn’t have to like it,” said Hanna, guessing the direction of Elizabeth’s thoughts.

“Wouldn’t that pretty much defeat the purpose?” She was trying to save her marriage not alienate her husband.

“What do you want?”

Elizabeth suddenly felt tired. “Raspberry cheesecake.”

“And after that?”

“A baby. My marriage. To be happy. I don’t know.”

“Bingo,” said Hanna.

“Bingo what?”

“Get happy. Get yourself happy. Independent of Reed or a baby or anything else. Make your own life work. The rest will have to sort itself out around that.” Hanna paused, her blue eyes going soft along with her voice. “What have you got to lose?”

It was an excellent question. There was little left to lose. If something didn’t change drastically and soon, she wouldn’t have a marriage. She certainly wouldn’t have a baby. She wouldn’t have a life of any kind.

Hanna was right. She had to get out there and get a job.

A job?

Through the open door of the en suite, Reed watched Elizabeth rub scented lotion onto the smooth skin of one of her calves as she got ready for bed.

“You mean you want to sit on a charity board?” he asked. There were any number of worthy organizations that would be happy to have her support.

“Not a seat on a board,” she answered. “I mean a real job.”

Reed was stymied. “Why?”

She shrugged, putting the cap back on the bottle. “It’ll get me out of the house, into the community, help me meet new people.”

“You can get out of the house anytime you want.”

This was New York, and she had an unlimited budget. There was no end to the things she could get out of the house and do, and no end to the people she could meet while doing them.

“Shopping doesn’t give me the same sense of satisfaction.”

He searched her expression, trying to figure out what was really going on. “There’s more to life than shopping.”

“Exactly.” She stood up, replaced the bottle and selected a small jar of cream.

“The Hospital Foundation would be thrilled to have you on board.”

“My degree is in theater.”

“Then the Arts Board. I can make a call to Ralph Sitman. I’m sure one of the committees—”

“Reed, I don’t want you to make a call. I want to type up my résumé and get out there and apply for a job.”

“Your résumé?” he asked with disbelief. She was a Wellington. She didn’t need a résumé.

“Yes.” She turned to the mirror and rubbed the cream onto her forehead.

“You’re planning to schlep around the theater district with a copy of the classifieds under your arm?”

“That’s how it’s generally done.”

His voice went dark. “Not in this family, it isn’t.” If he was lucky, people would think she was eccentric. But some might actually think she needed the money. Like he was some miser who wouldn’t see to her needs.

Elizabeth stepped back into the room, her diaphanous gown backlit until she shut off the en suite light. “Excuse me?”