15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
C ARLY
The next few hours are spent solving the mess that Micah has put me in while doing my best to ignore his presence.
I head to his bedroom to be away from him for a while, just until I calm down.
Because I have to calm down. As much as I want to wallow in my anger and sulk for the rest of this trip, I can’t afford to not do my part.
Micah has given me a way to solve my financial problems, and maybe even build a life away from my family. I’m not going to let anything get in the way of it, not even my pride.
Besides, it’s probably good that Micah is behaving like this, and showing me who he really is. The sex we just had was intense. It wasn’t like the other two times when it was just us having fun. This was… more. I can’t put my finger on exactly how, but it was unlike any other sexual encounter I’ve ever had. And paired up with an entire day spent with him buying me things and making me laugh, it was scarily easy to forget that all this was an elaborate ruse.
So his immediately being an asshole after sex allows me to maintain perspective and re-erect the much-needed emotional distance between us. I remind myself that Micah isn’t my boyfriend. He’s not even really my friend. He’s my business partner-slash-hook-up buddy. That’s it.
Realizing that makes it easier to let go of my anger. I only hold on to the lesson I learned today, a lesson I’m very familiar with thanks to my family.
Don’t trust anyone else to care about your personal goals or ambitions. Expect most people, especially Micah, to act on their whims without consideration of how it would affect anyone but themselves.
The only exceptions to those rules are goodhearted people like Mrs. Peach, Emma, and her grandfather.
Definitely not someone like Micah Landing.
I don’t think Micah is intentionally malicious, but he’s selfish at heart and seems to lack the ability to see things from any perspective except his own.
I could tell from the second he told me the story about his dad and painted the older man in such a wholly villainous light. Not to say that his dad is perfect, but he at least seems to care about Micah’s future and Micah didn’t see that as a good thing.
I guess I’m not the best judge of parents though. I didn’t have the best example, so my assessment is likely skewed in that regard. I mean, the very fact that Micah’s father seems to care whether he’s alive or dead puts him leagues ahead of my folks.
But that’s all beside the point. The thing is, I decide to let go of my bitterness because it’s essentially pointless to be angry at Micah. I need to accept who he is and behave accordingly.
So, I immediately email Emma, telling her that I’m out of town and won’t be able to cover my shift tomorrow. Emma is, of course, overly understanding and tells me not to worry about it, but I email Yule too, so he can make sure I’m added to the roster on my day off. And then, I email my professors to let them know I’ll be unable to attend tomorrow’s classes. Luckily only one of the classes has mandatory attendance and I’m currently doing well in it, and have a great rapport with the professor. She emails me back instantly, informing me that she won’t mark my absence against me, but adding that I shouldn’t make a habit of it. I send her a message assuring her I won’t.
With that done, I return to the living room, where Micah is receiving a brown paper bag from a delivery man and placing it on the table, where two glasses of wine already sit.
“Done with what you need to do?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I respond, then gesture to the bag in his hand. “What’s that?”
“Chinese food. Emma told me that was your favorite.”
“You asked Emma what my favorite food was?”
“Yeah. Right after she threatened to cut off my balls if I ever hurt you.”
My eyes flare open and then I sigh. I should have known. Even though I got her to back down on the tuition, it was probably too much to ask Emma to stay out of my relationship with Micah completely.
Micah doesn’t look bothered by her involvement though. On the contrary, he grins. “She explained it in detail too. Told me she watched a video on quartering bulls and she knew her way around garden shears. And then right after that, she told me about your particular fondness for soup dumplings. I got a bunch today.”
I shake my head, allowing a weak smile. “Thanks. For the dumplings that is. I was afraid you would order disgusting rich people food to test my taste buds.”
“I thought about it, but I think maybe I’ve tortured you enough.” He places the bag on the table, no longer looking at me when he adds, “Besides, I also wanted to apologize.”
That shocks me. “You did?”
“Yeah. I should have asked you if you had plans tomorrow, and I meant to, but it kind of slipped my mind.” He sends me an apologetic look. “I also didn’t think to ask what you wanted the money for either. It’s for college?”
The words are a peace offering, an invitation for me to share my story with him. But a part of me can’t forget what he said.
“Maybe to prove that you would still like me anyway.”
Ass. He’s likely right because despite his asshole nature I still can’t stay mad at him. Still, he doesn’t have to rub it in my face.
I should have known he would gloat and throw money in my face eventually. The rich and powerful can’t help it sometimes, and he probably felt the need to show me the gap between our socioeconomic statuses after losing control so thoroughly in bed.
I smile at the memory. Well, at least that’s one win for me. He looked so disheveled after we had sex, discombobulated and confused by his own loss of control.
I made him like that.
Little old Carly Huntley reduced the great Micah Landing to a one-minute man.
It’s probably why he was so acerbic after because he felt the need to reestablish his superiority. Whatever. I don’t care. I’ll suffer through all his attitude just to get the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Even go to a stupid party full of elite snobs who will probably look down their nose at me.
In any case, I can’t let myself forget who Micah is, nor can I forget he’s playing a game. And I have to hold my cards to my chest too.
“It’s okay,” I say to end that conversation. “So now what? More sitting lessons?”
He hesitates, appearing a little taken aback by my abruptness before he answers. “Yup. And we’re also going to talk about conversation starters, and what to not do at tomorrow’s gala.”
I sigh. It sounds like it’s going to be a long night.
And the following day is a whirlwind of activity as well. Breakfast is at an upscale country club where he teaches me proper table etiquette. Then after, we visit a woman who teaches me how to walk and wave like the queen. It doesn’t sound like much, but there’s a whole lot of things to remember.
And then comes the moment of truth.
The night of the governor’s gala.
“Don’t be nervous,” he tells me as the limo pulls into the front of a hotel. There’s a legit red carpet rolled out with limos lining up at each side, releasing their inhabitants. Elegantly dressed patrons step out in suits and long sparkly dresses. One by one they laugh and go around to meet each other, showing off outfits and jewelry with enough dazzle to rival the stars.
And they’re all dressed tastefully too. Not too much skin, nor too much bling. Everything is done exactly right.
I’m suddenly grateful for Micah’s stylist who put together my outfit for the day. I wouldn’t have felt confident walking out otherwise.
“Shall we?” Micah says as the two valets open our limo doors.
I inhale deeply. “Here goes nothing.”
The Silver Dais Hotel exudes luxury, a neoclassical building stretching high into the sky, with a grand entrance bordered by large stone columns. Numerous stairs lead up to the sweeping arches and each has intricate detailing on the sandstone. As we slowly ascend, I try to remember all my lessons all at once, so I don’t make a fool of myself.
“Micah!” a woman screams from afar, and before I can examine where the voice is coming from, I’m hit by a gust of wind and Arabian-scented perfumes as a short woman jumps into Micah’s arms.
The strawberry blonde woman hugging Micah wears a shorter, pretty A-line dress with a sweetheart neckline. As she steps back, I take in the intricate detailing at the hem. “I didn’t know you were coming!”
“I didn’t know I was coming either, short stuff,” Micah laughingly responds as she pouts.
“You know I hate it when you call me that.”
“I know. That’s why I do it.”
I feel slightly out of place, but then Micah wraps his arm around my waist again, physically and metaphorically dragging me back into the conversation. “Sweetie, this is Ally, an old friend from boarding school. Ally, this is my fiancée, Carlette.”
I nearly snicker at the name. Micah thought that Carlette sounded a lot fancier, and while I agree, it also has a ridiculous ring to it.
“Just Carly is fine,” I tell the woman. “Only my enemies call me Carlette.”
The woman gapes at us for a full ten seconds. “Shut up. You’re getting married?”
“It seems so.”
“Oh, God. Jamie isn’t going to believe this. Jameson, get over here! Micah is getting married.”
Jameson happens to be a larger bear of a man, who’s also Ally’s husband. He’s a lot quieter than his wife but smiles pleasantly as she chatters along, telling me all about Micah’s past misdeeds in every single relationship he’s ever had.
“Seriously,” she says. “I never thought he would keep a steady girlfriend much less get married. How on earth did this happen?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure myself. The whole thing feels a little bit like a whirlwind.”
Micah smiles. “Sweetie, don’t do that. You’ll make my friends think you don’t actually want to marry me.” There’s a warning sharpness in his voice.
“I do,” I respond. “It’s just… hearing all about your past does give me pause.” I figure that to sell this story as well as possible, I have to act as realistic as possible. And any reasonable woman will likely have reservations after hearing all those stories.
And his friends don’t even attempt to defend him.
As Micah raises an eyebrow, Jameson says, “She’s smart.”
“No kidding.” His wife echoes. “I like her.”
I grin. “I think I like you too.”
“Yay!” Ally laces her arm through mine and continues on the story as I try to maintain my stiff, elegant walk. Thankfully, we soon get to the top of the staircase and enter a grand ballroom that puts the Pink Hotel to shame. Seriously. One wall seems to be solely dedicated to intricate glasswork, there are large windows covered by silk damask curtains, and the white marbled floors sparkle under the crystal chandelier.
The minute we get to the foyer, I make a beeline to the bathroom. I’m not sure if it’s the nerves or the dress I’m wearing but I suddenly really need to pee.
I turn a corner following the signs when I hear the sounds of commotion.
“Are you kidding me? Just what kind of trash do they have working here, huh?”
In a near-empty hallway, a shorter balding man in a suit is screaming at what looks to be a server, with a tray and broken glass at her feet. “Do you have any idea how much this costs?”
“I’m sorry, sir!” She wrings her hands, seemingly distraught.
“Sorry? Sorry! You think sorry is going to fix this mess.” He has a mildly European-sounding accent. “You stupid, stupid girl.”
And then he does something shockingly infuriating. He draws his hand back as though to hit her.
I immediately step out into the hallway. “Don’t you fucking dare touch her.”