4. Carson
Every word on my card was crossed out within the first two speeches while Mallory’s sits, forgotten, with three words remaining as the salad is served. She brushed off the loss when I teased her about my prowess at wedding toasts, but something in her terse dismissal raised a red flag. It wasn’t the fact she lost, although there was frustration in her eyes at that.
No, this was wedding related. But I dropped the subject immediately, her frown cinching my chest tighter than a boa constrictor around its prey. I shook off the bewildering sensation and instead focused on earning back that smile. Which I did with some shameless flirtation and genuine compliments.
The conversation has flowed easily since then, and for a few minutes, as we devoured truffled risotto with sauteed mushrooms and seared salmon with lemon garlic butter sauce, the filet melting on my tongue, I nearly forgot my goal of seducing this knockout. Her company alone has been so pleasurable.
But now that the main course is being cleared, and we’ve both had a few drinks, I’m beginning to regret earning back that smile. Because it’s quicksand. The more she flashes it at me, the more I want to see it.
Although I won our little bet, and she agreed to be our non-work selves this weekend, she’s still trying to keep things professional between us, still trying to keep me at arm’s length. Good thing I’m a patient man. Just ask my grandfather, Carson Bennett, Sr., who’s been clinging to his position as Chairman of Bennett Media Group for years, even though he admits I’m more than ready to step into his role.
“Care for a walk down by the lake?” I ask, brushing my knuckles across the bare skin of her thigh as she checks her phone for the tenth time.
She sets it face down, and her knees press together, but she flicks me a glance. “I’m pretty sure Kelsie and Sawyer still have to pass out those gifts.”
“Gifts?” I follow the dip of her chin to a tableful of gift bags, set off to one side of the patio.
“And I’m holding out for dessert,” she adds, taking a sip of water. “I heard the strawberry torte here is to die for.”
I know something else I’d die for, right about now.
And it’s not my usual goal when it comes to a woman, although I have that in mind, too. But, for some reason, I want to learn more about Mallory. Not what’s made her the poised, articulate, and successful woman she is, but what she loves and why. It’s not my customary mode of operations, but with her, it’s top priority.
But before I can persuade her I have innocent intentions and that slipping away with me is worth a missed slice of strawberry cake, another fork clinks on a glass. This time, it’s Sawyer, with Kelsie at his side and a stack of gifts on the table in front of them, commanding everyone’s attention.
“Told you,” Mallory whispers, turning to face them.
Her triumphant smile is my undoing. I shift, too, because it’s the only way to ease the pressure in my shorts. Plus, it allows me to take advantage of her position and lay my arm across the back of her chair, grazing her shoulder back and forth with my thumb. She shivers but doesn’t move out of reach. Somehow, I feel like the victor even though I’m not in command of whatever this is between us as I follow her gaze to the bride and groom.
Alternating back and forth, the happy couple acknowledge each of their friends and family standing up for them in the wedding party and present a thoughtful, personalized gift. When it’s our turn, Kelsie and Sawyer call us up. I escort Mallory with a hand skating over her low back.
Kelsie begins, and I step back to allow Mallory the spotlight.
“Mallory is one of the most brilliant and composed, loyal, and dependable people I’ve ever met,” Kelsie exclaims as she pulls in her bridesmaid for a side hug. “She’s an amazing friend who’s always been there for me and countless of our sisters. She’s always ready with a willing ear to listen to our man drama or our wedding-planning debates, even though she’s been too busy killing it in corporate America to have her own boyfriend to report on.”
Mallory’s head drops, and my chest tightens. How is it possible that a woman like her—witty, observant, whip smart, competitive, and a downright bombshell—is single and hasn’t even had a steady boyfriend? It blows my mind.
The question of “why” gnaws at me like a puzzle with a missing piece, and I’m determined to get to the bottom of it. I’m a journalist by training, after all.
“Mallory’s basically married to her job,” Kelsie continues, reaching for a gift bag with angel wings on it. “So, I thought the perfect gift to say thank you to Mallory would be something just for her. Here, my friend,” Kelsie says, handing over the mint-green bag. “It’s a weekend spa retreat back in the city, so you don’t have to miss too much work to enjoy it.”
“Thank you,” Mallory says, giving her friend a warm hug. But as she spins back to me, her gaze lifts to mine, as if trying to gauge my reaction. But I don’t have time to react because Sawyer takes the microphone, and my stomach drops. The dirt this man, who’s been my ride-or-die friend for the last twenty-odd years, could share is abundant. Hell, it could fill The United Center.
“Many of you know Carson,” Sawyer starts, pulling me in and tossing his arm over my shoulder. “And his reputation. But, to be honest, he’s one hell of a guy, and I’m proud to call him my best friend. I wouldn’t be where I am now, about to marry the woman of my dreams without him.”
“All lies,” I insist to an echo of chuckles from those close enough to hear.
Sawyer shoots me an amused look but continues. “Carson is sharp and astute. He’s as fun-loving as they come, but what you might not know—what he tries to keep under wraps—is that he’s incredibly generous with his time and money.”
I duck my chin as he continues, clapping me on the back.
“He doesn’t like word of his good deeds to ruin his reputation, but to thank him for being here for me this weekend, I’ve made a donation in his name to the Bennett Media Group Foundation, the non-profit Carson directed the start-up of last year in order to fund a variety of independent initiatives across Chicago.”
Sawyer extends a hand as polite applause echoes among the tables.
“Thanks, man,” I say, pulling him in for a hug. “Really.”
“Anytime.”
Mallory and I return to our seats, but I barely hear a word of the glowing praise Kelsie shares about her matron of honor. Or how Sawyer thanks his brother for serving as the best man. My attention is focused like a laser beam on Mallory’s hands and the way her fingers fidget restlessly in her lap. It’s the only tell she’s ever given that something’s on her mind.
As the crowd claps and the servers arrive with dessert, I can’t help but offer an escape. I want a chance to draw her out, to get to know her better. “That offer for a walk by the lake is still good. After the strawberry cake, of course.”
She turns to study me, her eyes as navy as the Chicago Bears’ away jerseys. She’s debating the offer as if jotting down reasons on a pro-and-con chart. I shoot her a smile in an attempt to tip the scales in my direction, and I’m fairly certain she’s going to say yes. But after a long beat, her lips press together. “I…I don’t think that’s a good idea.”