The Trophy Wife by Evie Baxter

Three

It was late afternoon by the time company business was completed. Victoria Belmane had remained mostly quiet today, now that Richard Alder had been removed from the company board of directors. And, in a further turn of events, the disgraced businessman had signed over his voting rights that came with his shareholdings to his son, David.

David Alder had sat by Victoria’s side throughout the day, leaning in and whispering in her ear on occasion, sitting all too close and cosy for my liking. Her behaviour seemed to solidify my impression that the woman was a cold-hearted bitch. The emotionless way she had destroyed her ex-husband had been enough. Now I was being given the distinct impression that her relationship with her former son in law was more than a bit intimate. How had she got the son to turn on the father?

I wanted to reach over the boardroom table and shove the man sideways, out of her sphere. He looked to be about the same age as Victoria and seemed overly concerned for her welfare seeing as how she had potentially put his father in danger of being sent to prison. What was it about her? There was something about her that drew the Alder men like flies.

She was everything I didn’t like in a woman. From the top of her slicked back hair and the carefully drawn wings of her eyeliner, down to her ridiculously high heels. The long, obviously fake, lacquered nails, and the all black outfit rounded out her hard image.

I liked natural women. Women who looked like they didn’t mind getting dirty – in and out of the bedroom. Women who didn’t moan if they broke a nail, or whine if their hair got messed up. I liked women who enjoyed life.

Victoria Belmane didn’t look like she had enjoyed anything in an extremely long time.

So why the hell did she intrigue me so much and why was I getting territorial when I had never even so much as spoken to her? So many damn questions rattled around my brain.

The meeting was adjourned in the late afternoon, and I watched as it looked as if a weight had been lifted from Victoria’s shoulders as the board rose to take their leave. She visibly sank into her chair and the tight hold she had on her posture relaxed. Looking up at David, she said something, and he smiled back at her with obvious affection.

Then I clearly heard him say, “You did it, Tori. Thank fuck, it worked. He can burn in hell now as far as I’m concerned. And, please God, say you can finally move on.”

The two of them stood and David enveloped her in his arms, pulling her in for a tight hug and I caught the glimpse of a smile cross her face. They were celebrating the professional demise of his father, there were no doubts about that. Whatever the vendetta she had against her former husband it apparently had been a valid one if even his only child took her side in the matter.

That smile of hers though. For the first time in three days I saw emotion cross her features and it transformed her. Despite the makeup, her face softened and looked instantly younger, and gave me a glimpse of a completely different woman than the ice queen that she presented to the world.

That was until her eyes met mine across the room, she blinked, and instantly the mask fell back into place. I felt a loss that was at odds to the chill I should have felt as she tried to freeze me with her glare. Her walls were back in place, and higher than ever.

I hung back and watched Victoria and David take leave of each other, with Peter striding over to the new CEO to have a word. Victoria left the room and I followed her out to the bank of elevators, aware that she was scowling at my presence. Despite the fact that I was obviously unwelcome, I revelled in the fact that I seemed to have some sort of effect on her, even if it was of the undesirable kind.

The doors to the lift drew silently open, and we both stepped in. I moved into the far corner, forcing her to remain in my sight. Keeping herself angled away from me, her rigid posture told of her discomfort, her eyes remaining steadfastly straight ahead, facing the doors. Even though we had attended the same meetings for the past three days, she made no attempt to acknowledge my presence and I found this more amusing than irksome.

There was something about her resolute determinedness to ignore me that just piqued my interest further. I was sure there was more to this woman than that what she showed the world. Admittedly, the briefest of smiles that I witnessed, and a vivid imagination, were all I had to support this notion, but whatever. I was itching to break through those walls of hers.

The ding of the bell announced the elevator’s arrival on the main floor, and I exited just one step behind her. My eyes took in the long line of her neck, exposed by the severe way her dark hair was scraped back from her face. I could see the tension she tried to contain revealed in the taut muscles and ligaments of someone holding themselves together by sheer determination.

Victoria Belmane was hiding something. Maybe she was hiding everything.

I reached in front of her when we got to the heavy glass and brass main doors of the office building, pulling one open, and indicating that she could proceed. She thanked me with an almost imperceptible tilt of her head, stepping out into the sunshine. Then pure mayhem ensued.

I had been so wrapped up in my study of this enigmatic woman that I had failed to notice the throng of reporters that awaited at the base of the steps outside. As soon as Victoria stepped into their vision they swarmed forward, shouting questions, jabbing microphones in her face, jostling one another, and Victoria, in the process.

“Hell hath no fury, Ms. Belmane?”

“Were you not content to marry money and take him to the bank in the divorce? You had to destroy him too?”

“What’s it like to bring down Richard Alder? Will you be drinking champagne in celebration tonight?”

“Isn’t it true that it was you who cheated in the marriage, not your husband? Is the title vindictive bitch of the century one you are happy to wear?”

She wobbled on her heels, unbalanced on the edge of the top step, her body wavering before it started to topple forward with a short, sharp cry of shock emitting from those red painted lips of hers. Shoving forward I grabbed for her arm but only succeeded in grasping the sleeve of her coat, her body rotating as her arm pulled free from the garment, her downward descent slowed but not prevented.

In horror I watched as the rabid group of paparazzi stepped back, allowing her body to tumble down several step, the selfish bastards more concerned with getting a photo of her crumpled form on the pavement than in coming to her aid.

“Step back!” I roared. Did these vermin have no code of ethics? They’d let a woman fall to the ground without a flicker of guilt. Fuck me, what was the world coming to?

Forcing the baying vultures back, I crouched over Victoria, shielding her from the milling paps, their cameras held high as they tried to get any shot they could.

“Are you okay?” I queried, even as I lifted her to her feet. One of her shoes lay several more steps down, its spiked heel obviously broken. And as she placed her weight upon the foot that had lost that shoe Victoria gave a very visible wince, even as her words belied her actions and she assured me she was perfectly fine.

I was having none of that. I swung her up into my arms, her slight form causing me little effort in the action. This woman was ridiculously thin.

By now security had appeared from inside the office tower and were holding the paparazzi at bay. While this maddening woman squirmed in my arms, insisting she was fine, I ignored her, strode over to my car, where my driver was already waiting with the door open, and to a chorus of clicking camera lenses, I slid into the back seat with Ms. Belmane still in my arms.

The front pages of the gossip rags would be having a field day with this farce.