Chapter 5 - Chicago Meets His Future Wife
Desmond waited until Adrian left.
He did not confront him.
Not yet.
Five years earlier, Desmond might have.
He would have stepped from the shadows, demanded answers, and forced the situation into the open.
Beatrice had changed him more than either of them realized.
Now he understood the value of patience.
He returned to the Lincoln Park townhouse shortly after midnight.
Beatrice was waiting beside the stairs.
“You took too long.”
“I’m fine.”
“I didn't ask if you were fine.”
“You were worried?”
“No.”
“That sounded convincing.”
She folded her arms.
“Did you find anything?”
Desmond handed her the note.
Beatrice read it twice.
Then a third time.
Her face slowly lost color.
“He wrote this.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Inside the false panel.”
Her thumb moved across her father’s handwriting.
“He knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That somebody might come looking.”
Desmond hesitated.
“There’s more.”
Beatrice looked up.
“Adrian was there.”
Silence.
“What?”
“He entered your apartment after me.”
“What did he do?”
“Went directly to the jewelry box.”
Beatrice sat down.
For months she had chased theories.
Now one of them had become frighteningly real.
“Did he see you?”
“No.”
“Then he thinks the note is still there.”
“Probably.”
“That helps.”
Desmond stared at her.
“You sound remarkably calm.”
“I’m not.”
“You hide it well.”
“So do you.”
He sat opposite her.
“Tomorrow night is the Hayes Foundation gala.”
“You’re canceling.”
“No.”
“Desmond.”
“If Adrian and Michael are working with Rourke, canceling tells them we know something.”
“Then attend without me.”
“That tells them you’re missing.”
“I am missing.”
“Not anymore.”
Beatrice frowned.
“What are you planning?”
Desmond had spent the drive thinking about exactly that.
Rourke believed Beatrice was vulnerable because of her connection to Desmond.
Adrian knew she had access to the Dominion archive.
Michael believed she had disappeared after an argument.
Three assumptions.
Desmond intended to destroy all of them.
“You’re attending the gala.”
Beatrice laughed.
“No.”
“With me.”
“Still no.”
“As my fiancée.”
Silence.
Beatrice stared at him.
Desmond waited.
Then she blinked.
“Your what?”
“Fiancée.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Possibly.”
“You want to announce that we're engaged?”
“Yes.”
“We're not dating.”
“People don't know that.”
“People also have eyes.”
“We spend twelve hours together most days.”
“Because I work for you.”
“There have been rumors for years.”
“That is not helping your argument.”
Desmond almost smiled.
“If Rourke thinks you've chosen me publicly, he’ll panic.”
“Or kill me.”
“He won’t.”
“You sound very certain.”
“He needs what you know.”
Beatrice paced.
“This is ridiculous.”
“It puts you beside me in public.”
“I can already stand beside you.”
“Not with the same level of protection.”
There it was.
The real reason.
Beatrice stopped.
“You’re trying to protect me.”
“I’m trying to control the situation.”
“That wasn't what I said.”
Desmond met her eyes.
“No.”
Something softer passed between them.
Beatrice looked away first.
“And when this is finished?”
“We end the engagement.”
“Publicly?”
“Quietly.”
“People will think you broke my heart.”
“Why mine?”
She looked offended.
“Obviously you'd be the one getting dumped.”
“Obviously?”
“You're difficult.”
“So are you.”
“Yes, but I'm charming.”
Desmond laughed.
A genuine laugh.
Beatrice looked almost startled.
She had heard him laugh before.
Rarely like that.
For one strange second, the war outside the townhouse disappeared.
Then Desmond became serious again.
“I won’t announce anything without your agreement.”
Beatrice studied him.
That mattered.
She knew the reputation attached to his name.
Powerful.
Controlling.
Feared.
Yet here, behind locked doors, he was giving her the decision.
“What exactly would you say?”
“That we are engaged.”
“And what would I have to do?”
“Stand beside me.”
“That's all?”
“Wear a ring.”
“Absolutely not one of your mother's.”
“I wasn’t planning to use my mother’s.”
“You have one ready?”
“I own jewelry.”
“That sentence sounds sinister.”
Desmond ignored it.
Beatrice walked toward the window.
“If we do this, I decide when physical contact is necessary.”
“Agreed.”
“No improvising.”
“Within reason.”
“Desmond.”
“Fine.”
“No kissing me because photographers are watching.”
His eyebrow rose.
“You've thought about this.”
“I am establishing boundaries.”
“So am I.”
“What boundary?”
“No stepping on my foot if you're angry.”
She stared at him.
Then laughed.
Despite everything.
Twenty hours later, the Grand Palmer ballroom glowed beneath crystal chandeliers.
Chicago’s wealthy, powerful, and curious filled the room.
Politicians.
Executives.
Judges.
Celebrities.
And men who preferred not to explain where their money came from.
Desmond entered wearing a black tuxedo.
Beatrice walked beside him in a champagne-gold gown.
Conversations stopped.
Cameras turned.
Every person in the room knew who she was.
Desmond Hayes’s famously private executive secretary.
But tonight her hand rested lightly through his arm.
And on her left hand glittered a diamond ring.
A reporter called, “Mr. Hayes! Miss Gallagher! Is there something you want to announce?”
Beatrice’s pulse hammered.
Desmond looked at her.
One final chance.
She gave the smallest nod.
Desmond turned toward the cameras.
“Yes.”
The room quieted.
He placed his hand over Beatrice’s.
“Beatrice Gallagher is my future wife.”
The reaction was immediate.
Gasps.
Whispers.
Camera flashes.
Beatrice smiled perfectly.
Then her gaze moved across the room.
Michael Trent stood near the east entrance.
His face had gone pale.
Adrian Kessler was beside the bar.
For the first time in Beatrice’s memory, the older attorney looked genuinely shocked.
And near the staircase stood a man she had seen only once before.
Carter Vane.
Rourke’s representative.
He raised his glass toward her.
Then mouthed four words.
You just signed his death.
Beatrice's smile never moved.
But her fingers tightened around Desmond’s arm.
He felt it immediately.
“What?”
“Don't turn around.”
“Who?”
“Carter Vane.”
Desmond kept smiling for the cameras.
“Where?”
“Staircase.”
“I see him in the mirror.”
Of course he did.
“What did he say?”
Beatrice maintained her public smile.
“That I signed your death.”
Desmond's expression remained charming.
His voice was barely audible.
“Then let's make sure he regrets attending our engagement party.”
May you like
And across the ballroom, Carter Vane smiled as if he had been waiting for exactly that response.
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