Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap by Cynthia Hamilton Page A

and Los Angeles—hopefully—she got up and availed herself of the complimentary coffee. Once she got that brewing, she took a quick shower and got herself physically and mentally ready for the long day ahead of her.
    Had she been thinking more clearly, she would’ve grabbed more impressive clothing from the main house, outfits that would subtly announce her station in life. But she had brought more serviceable pieces—black slacks, boots, cashmere sweaters for layering. She put on the pants and a cream-colored sleeveless sweater and a long, open-front cashmere cardigan with bell sleeves. It was all elegant, expensive attire, but it made her feel drab. And forty. And almost divorced.
    As she was putting on her diamond studs, it hit her she had bags of new finery perfect for transforming her look. Hurriedly, she grabbed the shopping bags from the closet and rummaged through them until she found what she was looking for. She pulled off her boots and slipped her feet into the zebra-striped pony hair Manolo slingbacks.
    “Now we’re talking,” she said, as she admired her enhanced ensemble. “The necklace!” she remembered as she contemplated her reflection from the waist up. She rooted around the piles of tissue paper until she found the small box with the silver chain and pendant. “Perfect,” she declared, admiring the way it pulled everything together. She grabbed her Prada tote bag, gave herself one more look for courage and left the room.
    As she strode through the lobby to the front door, the day manager hastened to catch up with her.
    “Mrs. Ridley? Hi, I’m Jeff Bowen,” he said, extending his hand. Madeline, puzzled and a little annoyed by the interruption, was slow to shake it. “If I might have a word with you, in my office,” Mr. Bowen said, his voice just above a whisper. His cautiously discreet manner was like a blow to Madeline’s solar plexus, but she covered it with an air of pragmatic efficiency. She nodded for him to lead the way.
    “We tried to process the card number we got from you yesterday, and we received a message to call the issuer of credit immediately. They told us the card was reported stolen last night,” Jeff Bowen said from his side of the desk.
    “That’s not possible. I’ve had it in my possession the whole time, and I certainly didn’t report it stolen,” Madeline said, as she removed it from her wallet to prove this was all some sort of mistake. The way Mr. Bowen’s eyes were glued to the card caused Madeline to retract it from his reach.
    “Since Burt Latham made the reservation for you, we contacted him first thing this morning. He explained that you are going through a divorce and that it’s becoming rather acrimonious.
    “Because of our relationship with him, and our regard for our clientele, I have to tell you we were ordered by the creditor to seize your card. If you can pay the balance of your bill in full by another means, I’ll tell them we were unable to retrieve the card. But if you try to use that card again, it will be confiscated. Just a word of warning,” Mr. Bowen said.
    He was trying to walk the tightrope of bearer of bad news and welcoming host, not an easy thing to do. Madeline almost felt sorry for him. She put the now useless card back in her wallet and took out her new debit card, which she handed to him without a word.
    “Thank you. I’ll be just a minute,” he said as he excused himself, leaving Madeline to fume in private.
    This humiliation had chased away the last bit of doubt and naiveté. Steven was going to systematically beat her down; that was obvious now. But he had already blown her out of the water by demanding a divorce; why was he wasting his time with stunts like this? Just to prove he’s in the driver’s seat? Maybe it was to make himself so odious to her that she’d back off her claim that she’d never stop loving him.
    “I’m sorry for all the unpleasantness, Mrs. Ridley,” Mr. Bowen said as he came back into his