Title: Confessions Lead to Strange Bedfellows
Author: Kimberly21570
Fandoms: Guiding Light / All My Children
Pairings: Olivia and Natalia / Lena and Bianca
Disclaimers and other Assorted Ramblings: The characters of Olivia and Emma Spencer, Natalia and Rafe Rivera, Doris and Ashlee Wolfe, Beth Raines, Phillip, James, and Alan Spaulding, Daisy and Frank Cooper, and Jane the nanny are owned by CBS/TeleNext and Proctor & Gamble. The characters of Bianca Montgomery and Lena Kundera are the property of All My Children, ABC/Disney and Prospect Park. The Magic Treehouse Series, and the related characters of Annie and Jack, are the property of author Mary Pope Osborne, and Random House Publishers. The original characters of Jennifer, Tracy, Jacob and Dylan Jackson-Morgan and their extended family, Detective Sargent Langston Malloy, Attorney Danika Kováč, Judge Bennett Thomas, Judge Perry Carson, Patricia Carson, and Diane and Toni Martin are the property of this author, and any resemblance to fictional characters, or real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No copyright infringement intended with regard to Guiding Light, CBS/TeleNext, Proctor & Gamble, ABC/Disney, Prospect Park, Random House Publishers, or any other entity. With the exception of a brief mention of Emma's seventh birthday party, which aired on 10.29.2007, and the episode that aired on 2.15.2008, where Natalia played with Emma while Olivia was sick, the dialogue, settings, and story content in these scenes are original. Written for fun, not profit. All other standard disclaimers apply.
A great big thank you to my pal, MoniRod for the edit. I appreciate you, and I owe you—BIG TIME! And thank you to all who continue to read and/or comment. I hope you all know how very much I appreciate you. I promise I will be back to respond to all of your wonderful feedback as soon as I'm able. The past couple of months have been difficult, as I don't have a reliable internet connection at my house anymore, and I've been too busy at work to spend much time online. At any rate, thank you all so much for your continued interest in this story. I appreciate it, and you.
Rating: Chapter 14.17 is rated… Why isn't there something between PG-13 and R? There are some sexual situations in this update that I wouldn't want my 13 year-old niece to read, but I wouldn't consider them worthy of an "R" rating. Sigh…
Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy the update.
Thank you to all who sent me Holiday greetings, both here in this thread and through PM or on Facebook. I appreciated hearing from each of you. Happy Kwanzaa to those who are celebrating! Wishing you all a very Happy and Prosperous New Year!
Much Love,
Kimberly
Confessions Lead to Strange Bedfellows
Copyright May 2009
"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3 because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. 4 Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. 5 If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you. 6 But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. 7 That person should not expect to receive anything from the Lord. 8 Such a person is double-minded and unstable in all they do."
— James 1:2-8, the Bible, New International Version (NIV)
"God promises a safe landing, not a calm passage. If God brings you to it, He will bring you through it."
Unknown
Chapter 14.17 – Trials and Tribulations:
Thursday, June 18, 2009… Judge Bennett Thomas's Chambers—6:15 p.m. Central Daylight Time
"I was surprised to hear from you." Bennett Thomas's tone was cool, even, as she eased back into the thickly-padded black leather of her desk chair. She had been summoned to her office at the Springfield Municipal Building by an unexpected telephone call, and reluctantly, she left Doris asleep in her bed, a simple note of explanation and a single red rose on the nightstand beside her.
Bennett's steely-gray gaze scraped over the man who stood opposite her, as she gestured toward the guest chair. Despite the lateness of the hour, he was impeccably clothed and coifed in his usual stylish way—a perfectly pressed designer suit, starched white shirt and silk tie, and freshly polished wingtips, not a single hair out of place. "It's been a long time."
"Too long," the man said with apology in his tone, as he unbuttoned his suit jacket and lowered himself into the proffered armchair.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Bennett gently prodded. She was rather curious, especially given the happenings of the past day and a half.
"I have information that might be of benefit to you," the man divulged. "But no one can know where it came from—and I don't want to know what you do with it."
To say that she was intrigued would be an understatement. He had managed to garner her full attention, but she didn't allow her face to reflect the intensity of her interest. Instead, casually crossing her legs, she folded her hands in her lap, as she met his warm blue gaze. She smiled to herself at how much it reminded her of his sister, before releasing the conversation into his hands. "I'm listening…"
Thursday, June 18, 2009… The Jackson-Lombardi Residence—6:30 p.m. Central Daylight Time
"I should get home to the boys," Jen murmured against Tracy's ear as they lay together on the bed in Tracy's childhood bedroom. Her hand lightly stroked Tracy's hip, as her mouth grazed Tracy's neck. "I'm sure Olivia and Natalia will be there to get Emma soon." She didn't need to say that she thought Jane would welcome the reprieve from all three of the children. After the last thirty-six hours, it was understood.
"I hate the thought of being separated from you all tonight," Tracy commented, as she pulled Jen more firmly against her body. Her knee easily slipped between Jen's thighs, as a hand caressed Jen's lower back. Finally having managed to steal a few moments alone after dinner with Tracy's family, neither of them really wanted to give that up just yet.
"I know, Honey. Me too," Jen sympathized. "But Dani said they're working a lead, so maybe something will change by tomorrow." She tried to sound hopeful, as her fingers tangled in the dark curls at the base of Tracy's neck.
"God, I hope so," Tracy sighed, as she gazed into the warmth of Jen's blue eyes.
"If nothing else, at least Preston will be neutralized by day's end," Jen noted.
"I'm so grateful for that."
Delivered on a sigh of relief, Tracy's comment resonated with Jen on a level so deep she could barely articulate it. "Yeah, me too," she managed, before falling into a comfortable silence with her fiancée.
Several minutes later, Jen broke the silence. "You have a game with the girls tonight?" It was Tracy's usual night for basketball with her friends.
"Yeah," Tracy sighed. "But I'm not sure I'm going."
Lazily rolling her head to the side, Jen studied Tracy's expression for a moment. "I think you should," she opined. "I'll be good for you to work off some of the stress."
Tracy smirked. "I can think of a lot better ways to work off stress," she commented suggestively.
A soft laugh fell from Jen's lips. "So can I," she agreed. "But none that are feasible at the moment."
"Oh, I think they're completely feasible," Tracy countered, as she shifted onto her side, facing Jen. "Why don't we put my theory to the test?"
Leaning closer, Jen brushed her mouth against Tracy's in a brief kiss. "As much as I'd love to say yes," she bandied aloud, "I think you need to work it off on the court."
Tracy arched an eyebrow. "That's not what you said last Thursday."
Jen's face held a stern expression. "Last Thursday, we weren't lying in your childhood bed, in your parents' home."
"Touché," Tracy sighed, defeated. How could she really argue with that?
And so they fell silent again, each of them contemplating, their gazes locked, as their hands continued a mutual caress. These were the moments when their connection was the strongest; where they gathered strength from one another to carry them through. Neither of them was fool enough to take that for granted. Even in their silence, they understood.
"I wonder who she's working with," Jen commented offhandedly, a few minutes later.
"Who?"
"Your attorney," Jen answered.
"Oh—" Tracy's tone was passive. Her mind had been far removed from the counselor, and more focused how much she already missed Jen and their boys. "Probably that hot detective," she added with a teasing lilt.
A playful grin toyed at the corners of Jen's lips. "You think that detective is hot, huh?"
An eyebrow arched as Tracy met Jen's gaze. And then she pressed a kiss to Jen's mouth. "I'm committed, Babe, not dead."
A soft laugh fell from Jen's lips. "She is kinda hot," she had to admit.
"I'm just sayin'…" Tracy noted with a light chuckle. She paused for a moment, thinking. "There's something between the two of them," she said offhandedly.
"Between whom?" Jen asked distractedly. Tracy's hand had stealthily slipped beneath the old Point of Grace t-shirt Jen was wearing, and was doing a decent job of driving her a little mad with want.
"The hot detective and my attorney," Tracy said. "Keep up, would ya?" she teased, giving Jen a playful jab in the side for her obliviousness.
Jen laughed, and then groaned, as Tracy's hand cupped her right breast, her thumb lightly grazing a nipple through the thin, lacy fabric of her bra. Reluctantly, she reached up, halting Tracy's hand. "If you don't stop that, I'll never get home to the boys."
A roguish grin tickled at the corners of Tracy's mouth. "You could go home after..."
Rolling her eyes, Jen shook her head. "I am not having sex with you in your parents' house," she said sternly. Willfully, she untangled herself from Tracy's body, sitting upright in the bed.
Playfully, Tracy grabbed her and pushed her back down, effortlessly pinning her to the bed. Once subdued, she climbed atop Jen, straddling toned thighs. She looked sexy as hell, her lower lip caught between her teeth in determination, dark waves falling into her face, as she leaned over Jen like that.
Jen was already painfully erect from Tracy's earlier kisses and caresses, and when Tracy's hand cupped her between her thighs, a thumb lightly thrumming Jen's erect clitoris through her jeans, Jen was powerless to stifle the low groan that slipped from her lips, unbidden.
Bending down, Tracy lightly nipped at Jen's neck, just beneath her earlobe. "You're already hot and hard. I can feel you." Her thumb grazed against Jen's clitoris again, effectively proving her point.
Jen whimpered in response.
"You don't even need to take off your jeans," Tracy murmured, as her tongue traced the outer shell of Jen's ear. "Just let me taste you."
The promise in Tracy's tone nearly became Jen's undoing. But gathering her last bit of willpower, she rallied, and declined. "I want you like crazy," she whispered. "But not here, okay?"
"Why not?" Tracy whimpered. She wanted it as much as she knew Jen did.
Blue eyes, clouded with want, met Tracy's desire-filled gaze. "We'll have the rest of our lives once this nightmare is over."
"Fine," Tracy sighed in resignation. "I'll just focus all this energy on my attorney… and that hot detective," she said in a tone intended to torment. "I haven't figured out what's going on between them, but I will."
Tracy's tone of voice told Jen that she was sexually frustrated, but not angry. She smiled in response. "You never could resist a good mystery."
Leaning down, Tracy kissed Jen lightly. "You know me so well."
"Yes, I do," Jen readily agreed. She kissed Tracy in return before sitting upright in the bed again, with Tracy still straddling her thighs. Wrapping her arms around Tracy's waist, she pulled her taut against her own body, savoring the heat of her against her belly. "And that's exactly how I know the sex will be absolutely phenomenal if I make you wait."
Tracy was still laughing as she pulled Jen out of the bed and into a full-bodied embrace. "Yes, my love," she said softly. "Yes, it will."
Jen melted into her arms, allowing Tracy to hold her for a lingering moment. And then Tracy kissed her again, taking full advantage of the privacy of her old bedroom before reemerging into the chaos that had become their life.
And when finally Tracy released her, she walked Jen out to say goodbye to their family, and then escorted her out to their car, where they finally said goodnight—at least in person. They would talk on the phone later that night, of course, but these were the moments they would treasure most, because they were moments where Jen was nestled safely in Tracy's arms—the place she felt most safe in the entire world.
Thursday, June 18, 2009… Springfield P.D. Surveillance Van—7:00 p.m. Central Standard Time
"I can't believe I let you talk me into this."
Scowling at her unwelcome cohort, Detective Sargent Langston Malloy lowered her muscular frame into the cramped seat in the back of the Springfield P.D. Surveillance Van, and forcefully shoved the well-used headset down on her own head. Against her better judgment, she had allowed herself to be cajoled into having a partner along for a stakeout on the Jackson case. The sting of regret had bitten her the moment she gave in.
"Talk you into what?" Stifling an amused grin, criminal defense attorney Danika Kováč feigned total unawareness.
Casting her that look, Langston merely sighed.
"No," Danika prodded, ignoring the look she knew so well. "What?"
"You shouldn't be here," Langston said. It was true for more reasons than one. She adjusted the headset she had haphazardly settled on her head—a futile attempt at ignoring the maddening woman who was sitting mere inches from her.
"Why not?" Danika dared inch a little closer.
"You know why not," Langston answered vaguely.
"What, because you can't stand to be in such close proximity to me?" Danika artfully queried. She leaned impossibly closer, her breath hot against Langston's ear. "We've been in far tighter spots than this, Detective Malloy," she whispered suggestively.
Langston felt the slightest prickling of desire stirring deep in her belly. Rather than please her, it pissed her off. Willfully tamping it down, she leaned forward, adjusting monitor settings that didn't need adjustment—an effort to remove herself from temptation. "And that's exactly why you shouldn't be here," she said, unconvincingly.
"Why do you fight it?" Danika asked bluntly.
"Fight what?" It was Langston's turn to feign obliviousness.
Danika reached out, lightly touching Langston's arm. It was a bold move, she knew, but she couldn't help herself. "The connection between us," she whispered. "The passion that I know still lurks beneath your anger."
Even through the fabric of her jacket, Langston could feel the heat of Danika's touch. Turning toward her, ice-blue eyes met Danika's warm brown gaze. "Would I like to fuck you right now?" she said rhetorically. "You'd better believe I would." God, it had been so long! And truth was, she wanted it so badly she could taste it. "But we can't go there anymore. Not after what you did."
"Langston, please," Danika pleaded. Gently, she touched the detective's face. Her touch burned through Langston's flesh, but it wasn't enough to melt the pain.
"You betrayed me, Danika," Langston said icily, as she pushed the counselor's hand away.
Immediately, they both felt the loss. But Langston refused to give in to that feeling. "When I needed you the most," she said, with anguish evident in her tone. "You betrayed me. And you never gave it a second thought."
"That's not true, Lang," Danika gently protested.
"Save it," Langston snapped.
"If you would just listen…"
Holding up a single hand, Langston halted Danika's pleading. "I'm done listening, Dani," she said harshly. "At least to you. Now either shut up so I can hear what's going on in there, or get the hell out. I have work to do."
Defeated, Danika removed herself from Langston's personal space. It was torture, being so close to her and not being able to touch. But at least she was allowed to be close again, if only for a little while. That was certainly progress. She would take it, and not complain. For now…
Thursday, June 18, 2009… Judge Bennett Thomas's Chambers—7:15 p.m. Central Daylight Time
"How dare you summon me like some sort of fucking lackey!"
Judge Perry Carson's voice boomed in the silence of the empty courtroom, as he stormed into Bennett's chambers. The heavy wooden doors echoed as he slammed them closed behind him.
Secretly amused by his histrionics, Bennett stifled a smile. Once she was apprised of his involvement in the Tracy Jackson mess, all bets were off in terms of her staying out of the investigation. With what she already had on him, she could easily discredit him, and ensure that Jen and Tracy would get a fair ruling, even without her—if Preston Morgan somehow managed to maintain a position that would allow him to seek custody once she was finished with him, of course. And that was highly unlikely, given his current state of affairs. "I take it you're not exactly welcoming of my invitation."
"Don't be coy with me, Thomas," Carson snapped. "What the fuck do you want?"
"Answers," Bennett said forthrightly.
Legs crossed, she leaned back into the comfort of her desk chair, pressing the tips of her fingers together as she slowly surveyed him with her cool, dark gaze. He was dressed casually, in gray, pleated chinos, a designer polo, and black loafers, his grayish curls still damp from a shower.
"I haven't heard any questions yet," Carson said sarcastically.
"Why did you sign an arrest warrant on a woman named Tracy Jackson?" Bennett cut to the chase.
"Who?" He moved across the room, distancing himself from her watchful gaze. He knew this would come back to bite him in the ass.
"You heard me, Carson," Bennett said commandingly. "There wasn't a single piece of evidence against that young woman. I can't even believe the D.A.'s office pursued it." Her tone was an amalgam of bafflement and incense.
"And yet they did," Carson interjected, smugly.
"Yes, they did," Bennett granted. And she had someone else addressing that situation as they spoke. "But that still doesn't explain why you signed it."
He turned toward her, leveling her with a sharp glare. "Why do you even care?"
"Because I'm an officer of the court," Bennett answered squarely. She was clearly unaffected by his attempt to silence her. "It's my job to care about justice. Last time I checked, it was your job too."
"How dare you call my judgment into question," Carson snarled in protest. He didn't dare mention his oath of office.
"Someone should," Bennett said, coolly.
"You're out of line," Carson seethed.
"No, Carson," Bennett disagreed. "You are. And I want to know why."
"I had my reasons," Carson dodged. And they were none of her business.
"The case isn't even in your jurisdiction," Bennett argued. He was a family court judge, not criminal.
"Jesus Christ, Thomas! She's nothing but a fucking little predatory dyke," Carson proclaimed. "Whether she's guilty of this or not, at least she won't be out there recruiting any more straight women into that… lifestyle."
"Oh, get off it, Carson," Bennett snapped. "I know you're a homophobic asshole, but even you wouldn't stoop this low. Not unless you were forced. What the hell does Morgan have on you?"
The mere mention of Morgan's name stopped Carson in his tracks. How the hell could she know? He fell silent for several moments, his fingers raking through a headful of thick, graying hair, as he contemplated. There was no use denying it. Clearly, she already knew enough to do damage, or she never would've dared accuse him. "It doesn't matter what it is," he sighed. "It's enough to destroy my career."
Delivered on a choked whisper, Perry Carson's vague confession was enough to give Bennett the opening she needed. "Give into him once, Carson, and he'll own you," she contended.
Carson knew it was true. Morgan had owned him for quite some time, in fact. But he was afraid to admit it. Instead, he chose the distraction of the gradually setting sun, its final rays filtering through the windows in Bennett's chambers, as it sank toward the distant horizon.
Turning in her chair, Bennett methodically surveyed the man again. His usually confident, almost arrogant posture—those habitually straight shoulders—now sagged, and that rigidly erect spine, had turned almost jelly-like, crushed. He was as if only a shadow of his former self. "I've known you a long time, Perry," she said, not ungently. "We may not see eye-to-eye politically, but I know you're a decent man. Tell me what he has on you. Let me help you, before it's too late."
"I can't," Carson insisted. "I'll lose everything."
"You'll lose everything anyway," Bennett argued fittingly.
Carson fell silent again, deliberately contemplating her assertion. "Yes," he finally sighed, sounding defeated. "I suppose I will."
He turned to Bennett then, tears glistening in his hazel eyes. "Promise me you'll try to protect Patricia and the kids?" His tone begged the question.
An outpouring of empathy washed over Bennett as she considered the man with whom she had so often clashed, even on the most fundamental of issues. And without a second thought, she found herself nodding. "Of course," she promised.
Taking a seat opposite her desk, Judge Perry Carson leaned forward, and planting his elbows mid-thigh, he buried his face in his hands. He was tired of being a pawn in Preston Morgan's twisted games, and with the promise of protection for his wife and family, he was finally ready to ease his conscience, and bare his soul. "It all started…"
Thursday, June 18, 2009… Mayor Doris Wolfe's Office—8:00 p.m. Central Daylight Time
Across the Springfield Municipal Complex, Doris Wolfe eased back into the comfort of her thickly-padded leather chair, and took a long, slow sip from a steaming mug of coffee. And then cupping the mug in her hands, she peered over the edge at the man who sat opposite her—Assistant District Attorney Carl Cox; delighting in his obvious discomfort. "You didn't answer my question, Mr. Cox," she said authoritatively. "What did Preston Morgan offer you in exchange for filing those bogus charges against Tracy Jackson?"
So much for us staying out of it, Doris thought, as she awaited his response. She had awoken to find Bennett's note settled beneath the blossom of a single perfect rose, but before she had a chance to even read it, her cell phone was ringing. She smiled when she saw the caller ID, and lifting the rose to draw in its fragrance, she answered the call.
"You're not running out on me already, are you?" Doris teased into the phone.
Bennett laughed softly; pleased that Doris could feel safe enough to joke about something like that, despite their history. "Not a chance, Darling," she answered in promise. "I got called into the office unexpectedly, and I didn't want to wake you."
"Well, what if you'd woken me now?" Doris playfully countered, as she scanned the note Bennett had left behind.
"Did I?" Bennett asked. "I'm so sorry…"
"No, no, relax," Doris chuckled. "I was just sitting here, enjoying your rose." She drew in another whiff. "It's beautiful. Thank you."
A soft smile played on Bennett's lips. "You're welcome," she whispered. "It's the first of many I intend to leave for you."
"So… I should get used to waking up alone?" Doris queried, only partially joking.
"Not at all," Bennett quickly clarified. "At least… not if I have anything to say about it."
"You have plenty of say," Doris assured.
"I'm glad," Bennett murmured. "And maybe we can talk about that more tonight. But right now, I could really use your help."
Surprised, but not unpleasantly so, Doris quickly agreed to whatever Bennett needed. And that agreement was what led her to her office where she now sat, impatiently awaiting a response from A.D.A. Cox.
The Mayor had already been grilling him for more than forty five minutes, and it was clear that she was growing impatient. Given that fact, Cox realized that he wasn't leaving until he produced a believable answer. He sighed in defeat, and buried his head in his hands. "It's not so much what he promised me," he finally said. "It's what he threatened."
Doris arched an eyebrow, her interest piqued. "You didn't receive any sort of payment, monetary or otherwise, for filing those charges?"
"No, Ma'am," Cox answered nervously.
He ventured a glance at her as he answered, and quickly withdrew his gaze. The woman was formidable enough in public, but being trapped behind closed doors with her was downright terrifying.
"Then why did you seek out a judge's approval on an arrest warrant without any tangible evidence?" And more importantly, why had the judge signed off?
Swallowing fretfully around the lump in his throat, Carl Cox slowly lifted his head, seeking the Mayor's gaze. "Because I was ordered to," he answered.
"By Preston Morgan?" Doris supplied.
"No, Ma'am," Cox denied.
"By whom, then?"
"I'm afraid this goes far deeper than you realize, Madam Mayor," Cox warned. "Some would say it's knocking on your own back door, so… are you sure you want to know?"
The fear in his eyes told Doris that his warning was real, and she realized that this situation held the potential to unravel many of her tightly wound political alliances.
Regardless, an innocent woman had been separated from her family, and was facing a very real possibility of jail time, and a future branded as a sex offender. If she didn't pursue this, justice would be sacrificed for her own selfish pursuits, and that simply wouldn't do. Not anymore. Not after having witnessed the transformation of Olivia Spencer—a transformation that had ignited Doris's own resolve to change. Not after that newfound resolve had helped her to be honest with Ashlee, and given her the relationship she had longed for with her daughter. And certainly not now, with the second chance she had been given with Bennett.
Setting her resolve, she squared her shoulders, and met his gaze in an unwavering show of fortitude. "If I were you, Mr. Cox, I would start talking," she firmly advised. "And don't leave a single thing out."
Nodding, Cox swallowed hard again. "Yes, Ma'am," he said courteously, stalling for a moment as he garnered his courage. And then, as his story began to unfold, Doris found herself ensnared in a predicament she never would've fathomed. Not in her wildest dreams. But in the end, she didn't regret, even for a moment, the decision she had made to seek the truth.
Thursday, June 18, 2009… The Farmhouse of Love—8:00 p.m. Central Daylight Time
"It seems a little strange not having date night tonight," Natalia noted, as she and Olivia lounged together on the sofa in the den. A light classical mix streamed in the background, serenading them in the quiet of the evening. And as they quietly conversed, Emma lay on the softly carpeted floor in front of them, her chin cupped in her hands, lost in a book she had gotten from the library when Jane took them that afternoon.
After picking Emma up from Jen and Tracy's, reluctantly, Olivia had asked if Natalia would mind staying in for the night, given that Emma had already spent so much time in Jane's care throughout the week. She hated to disappoint Natalia, but Emma seemed out of sorts, and Olivia surmised that it was due to lack of connection with her mothers. Olivia, of all people, could understand that, and she never wanted her little girl to feel as though she weren't supremely important.
Though admittedly disappointed at the thought of sacrificing their time alone, Natalia had been more than agreeable—Emma was one of her most precious priorities, and there was no question that they should make up for time lost with her.
And so here they were, quietly enjoying their evening together, after a dinner of Emma's favorites—pepperoni pizza with breakfast bacon and banana peppers, and mint chocolate chip ice cream, with a little salad on the side, to placate Natalia's need to look after Olivia's health.
It wasn't important to Emma that she wasn't interacting with her mothers. The simple fact that they were there was enough to satisfy her need for connection. And so she had been in roughly the same position since depositing herself on the floor shortly after dinner, as she allowed herself to become engrossed in the world of Annie and Jack, two siblings who discover a magical treehouse filled with books that take them on adventures far and wide.
Lightly, Olivia pressed her lips against Natalia's temple. "You sure you don't mind staying in tonight?" she queried for the umpteenth time. "I know we had big plans."
Turning her head, Natalia met Olivia's gaze. "As much as I'm looking forward to those plans the first moment we have the opportunity, this is exactly where I want to be right now," she declared. "We need to be with Emma tonight. We've been away far too much this week."
Olivia offered a slight smile. "I agree," she said. "Thank you for understanding."
Natalia kissed her lightly. "Of course, I understand," she said. "I love our little Jellybean as much as you do. And I've missed her as much as you have."
"I know, Honey, and that makes her a very lucky little girl," Olivia said, as she kissed Natalia again; this time on the cheek.
"I think I've loved her since the first moment I met her," Natalia quietly noted.
"I can believe that," Olivia conceded, as she remembered Natalia's presence at Emma's seventh birthday party nearly two years prior. She couldn't believe how much had changed since that day, but she found herself eternally grateful for the path their life had taken.
Lightly, she traced a fingertip along Natalia's jaw. "I remember the way you were with her when I was sick. The way you always played with her. You were so genuine, so loving with her, despite being so angry with me."
"She didn't need to see all of our adult drama," Natalia commented. "She just needed to know that she was loved, no matter what."
"Thank you for that," Olivia whispered. "I'll never forget what you did for her—for us. The sacrifices you made."
Natalia skimmed her lips across Olivia's in a brief kiss. "Everything I did, I did for love," she whispered. "Even then."
Olivia offered a slight smile. "I don't doubt that for a moment."
"Are you guys talking about me?" Emma said, popping up from her seat on the floor.
"Why, yes we are, Jellybean," Natalia said in a chipper tone, as Emma climbed into her lap. She pulled their little girl close, kissing her forehead as she hugged her tightly. "We were just talking about how much we love you."
Emma beamed. "I love you too, Mama."
Natalia's heart melted at the sound of Emma calling her Mama. She smiled at her daughter, and playfully tweaked her nose.
"Hey, what about me?" Olivia feigned offense, and Emma giggled.
"I love you too, Mommy," she said.
"Now that's more like it," Olivia announced with satisfaction.
"Can we watch a movie?" Emma pleaded.
Natalia smiled. "Sure, Sweetie, but it'll have to be a short one," she regulated. "We need to be in bed by nine thirty."
Emma scrunched up her nose, preparing to wage a protest, when Olivia raised a hand to halt it. "Yes, I know it's summertime," she acknowledged. "But your Aunt Lena and Auntie B are coming tomorrow, so we need to get to sleep early."
Emma's eyes widened in surprise. "Are Jordan and Lexie coming too?" She sounded excited beyond measure.
"They sure are, Em," Natalia chuckled. "And you'll get to play with them all weekend."
"Yay!" Emma exclaimed, hopping up from Natalia's lap. "I don't wanna watch a movie anymore. I need to go get my room ready to share with them." And with that, she was off like a shot.
Olivia and Natalia laughed, as they watched their daughter bolt from the room, a little woman on a mission. "So much for family time with our Jellybean," Olivia commented with a chuckle.
"We'll have family time tomorrow evening, for Rafe's birthday," Natalia declared. "I'm making his favorite for dinner—pasteles."
"I've heard those are delicious," Olivia commented. "I can't wait to try them."
A pleased grin fell across Natalia's face. "It's tradition for his birthday," she noted. "You're in for a real treat."
"I always am when you cook," Olivia complimented.
Glancing at Olivia, Natalia's face held a look of surprised pleasure. "You mean that?"
Olivia smiled. "Of course I do," she affirmed, as their gazes met. She searched Natalia's face for a lingering moment. "You really have no idea how talented you are—do you? In the kitchen, and otherwise." There was nothing salacious about her comment. It was merely truth.
"I didn't, until you started telling me," Natalia answered honestly. "Even now, it's tough to believe sometimes."
Gently, Olivia brushed dark curls from Natalia's face. "I hope someday you'll be able to believe in yourself the way I believe in you."
Natalia smiled and kissed her. "I've learned with us, there's always hope."
"Yes," Olivia agreed. "Yes, there is."
They fell quiet for a moment as they lingered together. "So you think Rafe's gonna be okay?" Olivia asked tentatively, her fingertips tangling in Natalia's thick, dark mane. "Y'know, with Lena and Bianca here for his birthday."
"He'll have to learn to be okay with it, Liv," Natalia answered. "I love him, but I won't put our life on hold waiting for him to catch up."
"I would understand if you did," Olivia said softly.
A contented smile graced Natalia's lips. "I know you would," she said quietly. "Which is why I won't. Just knowing that you would be willing is enough for me. I can still support Rafe, without sacrificing our future."
Never in a million years would Olivia have expected Natalia to transition into a relationship, a life, with her with such ease. And yet, she had. And Olivia felt overwhelmed with gratitude. "I love you, N'talia," she whispered against Natalia's ear in that way that she often whispered it in the midst of their most intimate moments.
Dark eyes glistened, as they gazed in to shimmering jade. "And I love you," Natalia murmured. Her fingertips entwined with Olivia's, as she took her hand, a thumb lightly rubbing Olivia's palm.
Instantly, Olivia's body responded to Natalia's touch. She felt herself growing pleasantly hard and wet. "Are you trying to start something there?"
A self-satisfied smirk hijacked Natalia's lips. "Is it working?" she asked coyly.
"You know it is," Olivia answered, as her mouth lightly grazed Natalia's neck.
Natalia groaned in response, and she tilted her head, giving Olivia better access. "You know, Rafe is staying at the mansion with James tonight," she reminded. "They're celebrating his birthday with Ashlee and Daisy."
"Oh, yes, I'm very aware." The heat of Olivia's mouth engulfed Natalia's earlobe, gently suckling.
"And I was thinking…"
"Thinking what?" Olivia prompted.
"We don't necessarily have to be out, to have a date night," Natalia commented.
"What did you have in mind?" Olivia purred.
"Maybe after we put Emma to bed, we could finish what we started last night," Natalia suggested.
"You mean… me getting myself off for you?"
"Yes…" Natalia hissed. "With that little magic bullet thing. And then maybe we could try… something else."
"Like what?"
"You have lots of options in that drawer, right?"
"Sweetheart, we have our own special toy box," Olivia reported.
"We do?" Natalia sounded intrigued.
"Yes," Olivia confirmed. "We do."
Natalia's mouth met Olivia's in a steamy kiss, drawing a groan from Olivia. "What would it take to get you to open that box?"
A warm tongue glanced over Natalia's own, as Olivia deepened the kiss. "All you have to do is ask."
Smiling against Olivia's mouth, Natalia nipped Olivia's bottom lip, tugging at it in the way she knew would drive Olivia crazy. "Oh, I'm asking, Liv," she purred. "I'm asking."
Thursday, June 18, 2009… Towers—9:30 p.m. Central Daylight Time
In the secluded back corner booth at Towers Restaurant, Phillip Spaulding eased his muscular frame back into the cushioned seat, slowly savoring the after-dinner cognac from his snifter. The smooth amber liquid slid down his throat, coating it like the warm afterglow of victory. A little more than two hours ago he had engaged in a mission, and it had proven more successful than even he had imagined. And a self-satisfied smirk trickled across his lips as he remembered how it had all gone down…
The sound of approaching footsteps lured Phillip from his thoughts, and gingerly, he closed the thin manila file he was perusing. The file may have been small in stature, but its contents packed a punch, and he was eager to confirm the information. But he didn't want to risk tipping his hand. His mark was a wily one. He had learned that very quickly, the last time they crossed paths. But this time he was armed, ready for a battle of wits.
Glancing up at the clearing of a throat, his steely blue gaze met the light green eyes of Diane Martin. They were seedy, almost sinister beneath the surface, but with a deceptive air of warmth and friendliness; reminiscent of a wolf in sheep's clothing. Unperturbed by the dichotomous chill that sliced through him upon first sight of her warm smile, he offered a slight tipping of the corners of his mouth in response, as he quickly unfolded his tall, muscular frame from the seat, and offered a hand in greeting.
"Thank you for meeting me, Mrs. Martin," he said, warmly.
"Always a pleasure, Mr. Spaulding," Diane replied, hungrily. "And please, call me Diane."
"Only if you call me Phillip," he countered courteously. The enigmatic charm was on in full force, as he gestured toward the open booth opposite him. "Please, have a seat."
"Thank you," Diane replied with a confident nod.
"May I order you something to drink?" Phillip offered, as he spotted the waiter swiftly approaching them.
Her eyes quickly scanned the table, gauging the tone of their meeting. "Iced tea with lemon," Diane said, spotting his coffee cup, steam still wafting from its partial contents. It wouldn't do to order alcohol, while he was drinking something so innocuous. Settling into the center of the seat, she set her purse to the left of her, between her thigh and the wall. "Thank you."
Phillip relayed the order to their waiter, advising him that he would let him know when they were ready to order. The unspoken message was that, except for the serving of his guest's drink, they were not to be disturbed until summoned.
"Yes, Mr. Spaulding," the waiter politely replied. "Would you like me to top off your coffee, as well?" he offered.
"No, but thank you," Phillip replied courteously.
The waiter nodded. "Very well, Mr. Spaulding," he said. And then he scurried off to fetch the requested beverage.
Phillip turned his attention to the woman who sat across from him, his practiced gaze skillfully assessing her without her even realizing it. Her blondish hair was pulled back, loosely tied at the nape of her neck. And she was dressed in business casual attire, with just enough jewelry and makeup to give her a professional appearance, without being obvious. Given his memory of her, this wasn't what he was expecting. It was an almost pleasant surprise.
"I was surprised you didn't want to meet at your old stomping grounds," he noted nonchalantly, testing the waters with her. He had suggested it, knowing full-well that she had been terminated. Not surprisingly, she promptly declined. She hadn't bothered to tell him that she had been banished from the place, and threatened with arrest if she ever set foot on Olivia's property again. It wasn't necessary anyway. He already knew that too.
"What, the Beacon?" Diane spit the location out like a bitter grape.
Ignoring the message cloaked beneath her acrid tone, Phillip reached for his coffee cup. The fine china clinked against its matching saucer as he lifted it. Peering at her over the rim, casually, he took a sip. "I assume you still have friends there," he said after swallowing. It wasn't a question
"Yes, I suppose," Diane granted. Nervously, she broke open a packet of complementary crackers, the cellophane crinkling in her fingers. "But why would you want to patronize that place? Your ex-wife owns it, doesn't she?" She forged her best effort at feigning casualness, but there was a method to her madness.
"Well, she is my ex for good reason," Phillip granted, emphasizing the status of his relationship with his former wife. His movement was purposeful, as he lowered the coffee cup back onto the saucer, and shifted into a more relaxed position, his right arm casually draped across the back of the booth. "So you make a valid point."
Nibbling on the corner of a cracker, Diane nodded. The crumbs dropped like tiny grains of sand onto the linen tablecloth below. Dutifully, she collected them, settling them onto her bread plate. "But she's also the mother of your child," she pointed out unnecessarily.
"Unfortunately," Phillip granted with an air of indifference he did not feel.
Diane arched an eyebrow in response, the expression on her face begging the question.
"That bitch is keeping my daughter from me," Phillip snarled.
Diane bit back the lecherous smile that threatened to bloom at the corners of her mouth. She was the one nibbling, but he totally took the bait. "That must be… positively maddening," she ventured.
"Completely," Phillip nodded, his angular jaw set firmly. He paused for a beat, once again assessing her. And then, his expression sincere, he treaded lightly as he advanced his position. "But I guess… you might understand… just a little bit about how I feel."
She surveyed him guardedly, her piercing gaze penetrating him through narrowed slits. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, someone tried to take your daughter away from you, too," Phillip said, delicately attempting to forge a connection with her. "Didn't they?" It wasn't a question. Thanks to his private investigator, he already knew the whole story. He just needed to get her to say it.
Her eyes narrowed impossibly further. "How the fuck do you know about that?" she demanded; her tone stone cold as she slouched over the table. She no longer cared about making a good impression.
"I make it my business to know about people with whom I'm considering… partnering," he said coolly.
"Partnering?" Diane sounded cautiously intrigued. She sat upright in the booth again.
"Yes," Phillip nodded.
They were momentarily interrupted by the waiter as he brought Diane's drink, and after they thanked him, a tense stillness fell between them, lingering for several moments.
"So…" Diane said tentatively, remembering Phillip's stated reason for calling this meeting. "You mentioned something about a proposal?" Her tone of voice begged the question.
Phillip's smile was deceptively warm, inviting. "Yes," he confirmed, in a tone as smooth as cognac. "You help me get Emma away from my ex-wife," he wagered. "And I'll help you get back at the woman who destroyed your daughter's life."
"And how will you manage that?" Diane asked coolly.
"By making sure she loses her family, her career, and everything else she cares about in this world," Phillip answered with a sinister grin.
Diane knew that was already in the works, thanks to Preston Morgan, but she said nothing. Instead, she stared at him, unimpressed, and simply waited for him to sweeten the deal.
"Not enough?" Phillip queried curiously.
"Hardly," Diane snapped.
"What else do you want?"
"I want Olivia Spencer, and that little twit she's fucking, to go down in flames right along with Jackson," Diane said coldly. "Business dealings and all."
"That's exactly what I want your help to accomplish," Phillip smirked. "Once I destroy her, Emma will be mine."
"That's really all you want out of this?" Diane asked skeptically.
"She lied to me, Diane. Told me my daughter was stillborn," Phillip said, attempting to play on a mother's sympathies. "And she's been keeping her from me from the moment I learned it was a lie. It's my turn now. I want my daughter, and I want her now."
Diane fell silent for several moments, visibly contemplating. "Well, it is the perfect time to strike," she granted casually. He didn't need to know that she was aware of far more than she was saying.
A wicked smile sprouted on Phillip's face. "Indeed, it is. She's preoccupied right now, with her new lover…" He spat that final word out like rancid meat. "And that bastard Cooper baby they have on the way. And now, with her friends' legal issues to distract her as well, she won't have time to notice what we're up to."
"That's true enough," Diane conceded. "But if you want my help, it's gonna cost you more than just Tracy Morgan, since the rest of it benefits you as much as me," she said cunningly.
"What's your price?" He would've agreed to anything to get her on board.
"A job for my daughter Toni at Spaulding Enterprises," Diane demanded. "Six figure salary, full benefit package, and a guarantee, in writing, that she'll never be fired. No matter what," she added for good measure.
"You drive a hard bargain," Phillip noted. If he was surprised that she hadn't demanded anything for herself, he didn't show it. Instead, he simply pledged, "Consider it done."
"And how do I know you won't double-cross me?" Diane demanded. "The Spaulding's aren't exactly known for being above-board."
"I'm not my father, Diane," Phillip defended lightly. "And I don't do his bidding."
"And yet, you're asking me to do something underhanded, to get you what you want," Diane challenged. "Sure sounds like Alan Spaulding to me."
Phillip's mouth twisted into a wry smile. "Touché," he granted. Well played, Mrs. Martin. He was willing to concede small points, because he had the Ace in the Hole, and he knew she had no idea. "The difference is, I don't intend to hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it. Not like Preston Morgan," he ventured, daring to bring the man into the conversation. She needn't know that he had information connecting them. It was well-known that Morgan and his father had deep connections—and most of them criminal in nature.
After hearing about the incident between Tracy and Diane at Company, Phillip managed to put the pieces together—the woman he had met that night in jail was the woman who had attacked Jen's fiancée. It all made sense, given Diane's account of the incident, except for the fact that Diane had blamed the entire thing on Tracy, of course.
Once Phillip learned from his P.I. that Tracy's accuser was Diane's daughter, things began to make even more sense to him. He remembered the day Morgan was at the Spaulding mansion, gloating to Alan about how he was going to take his grandsons away from "that lesbian whore," and encouraging Alan to do the same with Emma. Phillip quickly took care of Alan in terms of any plans he may have hatched with Morgan regarding Emma, and he hadn't thought anymore about it—until the charges were filed against Jen's fiancée.
And then he remembered having a conversation with Beth that same day—with Morgan easily within earshot. He was telling her about the incident at Company, and how he had recently learned that his friend Jake's widow and her new fiancée were the targets of the woman's homophobic attack. He expressed concern for the two of them, and shared that he knew Jake would be disheartened to know that someone would treat his family in such a way.
He had no proof, of course, but his gut told him that Morgan had overhead the entire conversation, and hatched his plan from there. He had no idea how perfectly on-target he was—until he heard from Jen about the charges that had been filed against Tracy.
"Who is Preston Morgan?" Diane feigned ignorance of the man's existence. "And what does he have to do with this?"
"Oh, come now, Diane," Phillips said smoothly. "I can't imagine anyone in this town being unfamiliar with Morgan Financial." He allowed her enough room to wiggle, but not enough to escape.
"Oh, yes. That Preston Morgan," Diane said artfully.
"Yes," Phillip said, dryly. "That Preston Morgan." He surveyed her again. "I hear the two of you have mutual enemies," he ventured.
"Oh, really?" Diane tried to sound intrigued. "Who?"
"The woman who got you thrown in jail," Phillip answered. "And her fiancée."
Diane leaned across the table, as if telling a secret. "They're related, you know—old man Morgan and the fiancée."
Inclining forward, Phillip furtively noted, "So I've heard."
With a sense of pride for having had the good dirt, Diane nodded.
And then Phillip casually leaned back in the booth again. "What else do you know about them?" he asked with a contrived air of disinterest.
The thoughts racing through Diane's head matched her elevated pulse. "I've already said too much," she swiftly backtracked.
It was then that Phillip noted something unexpected in the woman's eyes: fear. His assumption was that Morgan had paid her to do his dirty work. But now he understood completely. Morgan had blackmailed her into getting her daughter to lodge the charges against Jen's fiancée. "You're afraid of him," he posited.
"Afraid of whom?" Diane feigned obliviousness.
"Morgan," Phillip said forthrightly.
"Why would I be afraid of a man I don't even know?"
Phillip ignored her feeble protest, and continued his mission. "Whatever it is he's holding over your head, I can make it go away if you help me get my daughter from Olivia."
"I don't see how that's possible." The moment the words were out of her mouth, she realized what she had just admitted. But it was too late.
"Never underestimate the Spaulding reach, Diane," Phillip said with confidence. He knew he had her now. "Whatever it is he has on you, I have far worse on him." And it was the truth. He had been gathering bits and pieces of Preston Morgan's secrets since the moment he returned to Springfield, and this was as good a time as any to unleash the power of them.
An eyebrow cocked in interest. "You can really stop him?" She honestly didn't give a shit about what happened to Tracy Jackson, but she did care about her daughter. And more than that, she cared about covering her own ass.
"I can, and I will," Phillip said resolutely. And he meant it, too. But there was one caveat. "If you help me."
"What do you need me to do?" Diane asked, finally taking the bait.
"Tell me how the charges against Tracy Jackson came about," Phillip gently pressed.
Diane looked at him with suspicion. "What does that have to do with getting your daughter away from the Dragon Lady?"
"The more dirt I have on Olivia's friends—and their enemies—the better," Phillip said forthrightly.
Diane merely nodded.
"I know that Miss Jackson is responsible for what happened to your daughter," Phillip dared say, though he didn't believe a word of it. "But I don't know much else," he lied. "I'm on your side, Diane. But if we're going to put those bitches in their place, I'm going to need to know the whole story—start to finish."
Taking her time, Diane meticulously surveyed the man who was promising her the world. His hands were calmly clasped in front of him on the table, and his torso was firm, but not taut. She scanned the contours of his shoulders and chest, watching the rise and fall as he breathed without any hint of tension. Scanning further, her gaze met the chiseled, yet relaxed set of his jaw, finally falling into the warmth of his blue eyes.
"Yes. Yes, of course," she agreed, finally convinced that he was being truthful with her. And then she leaned across the table, and sparing no detail, began to spill her tale of woe.
TBC in Chapter 14.18…