Chapter 4
Chapter Four
HUDSON
Not looking forward to today.
Not only do I have to find a solution to being short a bridesmaid and an assistant, but I have to tell Jude that I fired his sister.
Not ideal.
To make matters worse, I didn’t get a lick of sleep last night because all I could think of was what Sloane told me, that she wanted to ease my tension in a way that—I hate to admit—I’ve thought about several times.
Hell, I thought about it yesterday when I caught a glimpse of her in that skirt.
How easy it would be to slip off her underwear, bring her to the couch, and have her hover above me.
I pinch my brow.
What a fucking nightmare.
The elevator dings, and I head down the hall, nodding and putting on a smile for some of the early risers in the building. Since we began the co-op, we’ve been able to bring on fifteen employees, which is huge considering we just started a few months ago. The Cane brothers have assisted with the hiring and even moved some of their employees in Los Angeles up here to help train. I know for a fact that if it wasn’t for the assistance of Cane Enterprises, we wouldn’t even be close to where we are right now with our business. We would probably still be investing in a single idea and that’s it. But now…hell, we have our hands in everything .
Hardy is in charge of our agricultural department, focusing on our almond farms and expanding distribution.
Maggie and Haisley are working closely together on the event and wedding business: Maggie with planning, Haisley with vacation rentals that are geared more toward bachelorette weekends.
Jude is heading up construction and engineering with the Canes.
And now we’re moving into expanding the low-income housing projects that Cane Enterprises started here in San Francisco.
Not to mention Brody, Maggie’s boyfriend, is opening pop-up shops in old storefronts around the city, giving another life to worn-down spaces.
It feels…fuck, it feels good to know that we have made meaningful and significant changes and so quickly. So why does it feel like such a nightmare walking into my office this morning?
I should be proud of everything we’ve accomplished and the plans we have in the works. But yesterday…yesterday felt like a giant leap backward, leaving me to schedule an awkward conversation with my brother-in-law/friend/business partner who, in all honesty, kind of scares me.
Jude is built different. Hardy and I are tall, muscular—in a swimmer’s body kind of way—and we could hold our own if we needed to, but Jude…he’s…he’s as if J. J. Watt and Gaston from Beauty and the Beast had a baby together. Massive. Intimidating. But also has a real heart, which makes him extremely protective of the ones that he loves. Which I appreciate, since he’s married to my sister, but something I don’t appreciate when I have to tell him I fired his little sister.
Huffing out my frustration, I walk down the hall, making a note to DoorDash my green drink—which apparently has a lot of sugar—and when I reach my office, I open the door only to be greeted by Sloane, holding my green drink and smiling as if nothing happened yesterday.
“Jesus fuck,” I say, startling back. “What…what the hell are you doing in here? ”
She glances at her watch and then back at me. “You’re later than usual. That’s okay, sometimes we need that extra sleep.”
Umm, what?
“Good thing I waited until the last minute to get your green drink, or else it would be warm.” She hands me the drink, and I stare at her as if I’m in some sort of twilight zone.
I…I fired her, right?
I did that yesterday?
That was real…wasn’t it?
“I already warmed up your computer for you and checked your schedule. It seems as though you don’t have any meetings today, which is surprising, given what a busy bee you usually are.” She nudges me toward my desk, and because I’m so fucking confused, I follow her direction.
“But not having meetings is a good thing because I saw your inbox, and you have a lot of emails you need to sift through.” She pulls out my desk chair for me, and I take a seat, right before she pushes me into my desk.
What the hell is going on?
This is not normal.
I mean, the green drink is normal.
But the chattiness.
The maneuvering.
The…wait, is she wearing pants?
I glance at her outfit, taking in the power suit sheathing her body. She’s never worn a power suit. It’s always dresses and skirts. I should know because I’ve averted my eyes from her legs at all costs every single day she’s been in the office.
Yeah, this is not normal. Something is up.
I take a sip of my drink and immediately cringe.
Smacking my lips, I hold the drink away and say, “What the hell is this? ”
Smiling, she leans forward. “Had them take out the sugar for you.” She taps the side of my head and whispers, “Wrinkle patrol.”
I knew yesterday was real!
I set the drink down, scoot my chair back, and stand. “I fucking knew it,” I say, as if I’ve caught her red-handed.
“Knew what?” she asks, looking confused.
“I knew that yesterday was real.”
“Um…yes, yesterday was real.” She takes a step closer, her perfume filtering in between us, making me feel light-headed. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head or something?”
“No. I’m fine. The question is, are you okay?”
She grips her lower back. “A little sore after I attempted to do a backflip off the couch from a sugar high, but other than that, okay. Why?”
“A backflip?”
She nods. “Stuck the landing, but I didn’t complete perfection without a little bit of a hit to the old lower back. That’s what happens when you get older, not as nimble as we used to be. But you know all about that.”
My nostrils flare, and I take a step back, giving myself some distance from her as I say, “Didn’t I fire you yesterday?”
“I believe that you did.” She nods as if it’s no big deal.
“Okay, so…care to tell me why you’re here, in my office, handing me a green drink with no sugar?”
“I chose not to take part in the firing.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I ask.
And then to my surprise, she plops herself on top of my desk, crosses one leg over the other, and leans back on her hand, the pose incredibly too sexy, especially since the position makes the lapels of her suit jacket pop open, revealing that she’s not wearing a shirt under that blazer. Just a bra.
Christ.
“It means I chose not to be fired.”
“That’s not a thing,” I say .
“Oh, it is. You see, I’ve been taught to seize what I want, to take charge, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. Therefore, I’ve decided that I’m not fired.”
“You can decide that all you want, but that’s not how things work. I’m the boss, you work for me; therefore, when I say you’re fired, you’re fired. There will be no point in coming into the office because I will not be paying you.”
“Says who?” she asks.
I point to my chest. “Says me.”
“And would you say that you’re the one that makes all the decisions?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s what the term boss entails. The decision-maker.”
“And your choice is to fire me?”
What kind of fucking circus is this? Is this some sort of social media trend? Refusal to be fired?
Am I actually old and I don’t realize it?
“Yes, my choice is to fire you; that’s why I did it yesterday: I fired you.”
“You did, but a part of me thinks that you might regret that decision.”
I stick my hands in my pockets and ask, “What makes you think that?”
“Because I have a proposal for you.” She hops off my desk and gestures toward my seating area. “Please, join me.”
Skeptical but also intrigued by the fuckery, I follow her and take a seat on the couch as she does, only about a foot of space separating us, close enough to catch the lavender scent that clings to her.
“What’s going on, Sloane? I have things to do.”
“I know; this won’t take too much of your time.” She places her hands on her lap and looks me in the eyes. “I was thinking about yesterday and everything that happened. And I know the right thing to do would be to come in here and tell you I didn’t mean any of the things that I said, but that would be a lie. I meant every single word.”
Every single word?
Because I remember specifically one thing in particular that she tried to deny saying, but I’m not going to bring that up, not when she’s sitting this close and smells this damn good.
“Okay,” I say.
“And an apology is not why I’m here. I’m here on business.”
“Sloane, I don’t think I can give you your job back.”
“Not looking to be your assistant,” she says, and then, to my surprise, she gets down on one knee in front of me, takes my hand in hers, and continues. “I’m looking to be your wife.”
My WHAT?
“Hudson Mitchell Hopper, will you marry me?”
She smiles up at me. Winks.
Fucking winks…
She’s kidding right?
I look for something, anything, to tell me this is a joke. I glance around the room. Are there hidden cameras in here? Am I on a daytime talk show where someone is going to come out, have a gotcha moment, and say to the audience that I’ve been lusting after my too-young-for-me assistant?
I wait a few seconds, and when I realize none of that is happening, I clear my throat. “Excuse me?”
“Look at you, in shock. How cute.” She pats my hand. “Hudson, it’s a simple question. Will you marry me?”
“Uh…” I shake my hand out of hers and slide back on the couch, putting space between us. “Not to sound like an obtuse ass, but why the fuck would I marry you, Sloane?”
She rolls her eyes. “And here I thought you were a smart businessman.”
She gets off the ground and sits back on the couch. She straightens her clothes while I try to comprehend what the hell is happening this morning. This is why I need more coffee in the morning. Forget the green drink, I need a twenty-ounce cup of pure, unfiltered coffee, straight from the goddamn bean.
“I’ll lay it out for you: you need a wife, and I’m the one for the job. ”
“I fail to see how I need a wife.”
“Are you really that dense?” she asks.
“Uh, are you really this delusional?” I counter.
Another roll of the eyes. “Jesus, Hudson. You need to impress Archie’s father-in-law, right? What’s one way to do that? Slip into the Mayfair Club. And what is one of the requirements to get into the club? You must be married.” She holds out her hand and points to her empty ring finger. “All you’ve got to do is put a ring on it.”
Wow.
Okay.
She’s lost it.
I think the conversation I need to have with Jude is going to veer in a different direction than I’d thought. More like I think your sister might need some help .
“You know, not really in the market for a wife at the moment, but thanks for the offer. Now, I think it’s time that you leave.”
She shrugs. “Suit yourself.” She stands and starts heading toward the door. “By the way, your father called this morning. I took a message for you because I thought I might be helpful despite being fired. He said to tell you that he still plans on suing you, but he’s currently working on another investment, so he might be held up at the moment.”
And then she heads out of my office, leaving my skin prickling with irritation.
What the fuck just happened?
New day.
New start.
Today will be better than yesterday because yesterday was an absolute shit show.
After I was proposed to—still trying to understand that entire situation—Sloane told me about my dad and well, that sent me into a tailspin. He knew exactly what he was doing making that phone call. He found out that I was interested in the Wimbach property, which would give us the chance to expand the affordable housing market in the UK, and he’s showing me that he has no problem stealing it away.
A part of me believes that Sloane knew exactly what she was doing by telling me about his message because last night, all I could think was, What if I said yes to her proposal?
Stupid, I know. There is no way I would say yes to marrying Jude’s sister. That is just asking for trouble.
Which is why I’m walking into the office today with a freshly brewed cup of coffee, my head on straight, and?—
“I thought I told you that brown suit is hideous,” Sloane says as I walk into my office.
“Jesus Christ, Sloane,” I say, nearly having a heart attack from her surprise appearance. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Just came to see how you were. I could sense your tension yesterday, and I think you know how I’d help relieve it.” She wiggles her eyebrows, and I swear on my right nut, it takes everything in me to look away and not think about that type of relief.
“I think you should leave.” I move over to my desk, set my coffee down, and take a seat only to be greeted with a photoshopped picture of me and her in front of an altar. She’s in a dress, I’m in a tux, and we’re holding hands. I pick up the frame and flash it to her. “What the hell is this?”
“A subtle reminder of what could be.”
I shove the picture into my desk drawer and say, “No reminder needed.”
“Are you sure?” She walks up to my desk and takes a seat. Today she’s wearing another power suit, but this time it’s a short skirt instead of pants, and I’m pretty sure there’s no shirt under that blazer, just like yesterday. “I could be a good wife, Hudson.” She nudges me with her toe .
I turn toward her, my head tilted. “Why the hell would you want to marry me?”
Because that’s the question I’ve been asking myself on repeat.
How would this benefit her?
“I’m so glad you asked.” She stands up again and gestures to the couch. “Care to join me?”
Not this again.
With a huff, I stand from my chair, bring my coffee with me because I’m going to need it, and take a seat on the couch where she joins me.
Once again, she rests her hands in her lap and looks me in the eyes. “This could be beneficial for the both of us. You need me, and I could possibly need you.”
“Possibly?” I ask. “I doubt someone who has come into the office twice despite being fired would use the term possibly . Looks like you need me.”
“Semantics,” she says, brushing me off. But I can see right through her. There is something she needs, and she’s come up with a crazy-ass plan on how to do it. “Here’s the thing, you want this property deal, right?”
“I don’t discuss business with people who don’t work here.”
“Hudson.” She levels with me, and hell, I like it when she says my name. “Just answer the question.”
“You already know the answer,” I say.
“So then, yes, you want the property. And you also promised Archie and Sheridan a bridesmaid, something I think you’re forgetting about.”
“Trust me.” I drag my hand over my face. “I have not forgotten about that.” That was the reason I woke up at two this morning and couldn’t get back to sleep. I broke out in a sweat over the fact that I’ve gotten myself into a major mess.
“Well, it seems like you’re in a bit of a pickle, and I could help you get out of said pickle. Here is what I propose. I will be the bridesmaid that you signed me up to be, and I will be your bride so you can get into the club. ”
“And what do you want from me?”
Sloane composes herself, swallows, then says, “Preferably, my job back and forty thousand dollars.”
I feel my eyebrows raise because I guess I wasn’t expecting that answer. The job, sure, but the money? She doesn’t seem like someone who is desperate for money. I mean, if she needed anything, wouldn’t she just go to Jude?
“In exchange for forty thousand dollars and my job, I’ll sign a prenup, marry you, do the whole bridesmaid in London thing, and then we can amicably divorce later and be on our way. You’ll have your property, everyone will be happy, and we never have to see each other again—after I find a new job of course.”
“Other than the fact that your brother is married to my sister.”
“Eh, I never cared for family gatherings,” she says with a wave of her hand. “What do you say?”
I take a sip of my coffee and shake my head. “I’m not in the business of buying a bride, Sloane.”
“You’re not buying me. You’re paying me for a service.”
“Yeah, I’m not doing that either.”
I stand and move back to the desk. My shaky legs nearly give out because…it would be a good solution. She gets what she needs, I get what I need—a simple solution to a chaotic few days.
Yet I can’t fathom saying yes, not when I know who I’d be marrying. She’s Jude’s sister, and if he caught wind of the fact that I even considered her proposal for a mere second, he’d have my balls in the palm of his hand.
It’s a good idea but a terrible, horrible one at the same time.
It’s going to be a no for me.
I peek around the door of my office and fearfully look around, scanning for a clingy brunette, most likely shirtless and in a power suit. When I come up short, not even a sugar-free green drink on the desk, I know the coast is clear. I meant to contact security last night and ensure her pass was revoked, but something about that felt so wrong. This is Jude’s sister. She’s not a threat to the security of our company.
Letting out a deep breath, I step inside the office just as the door shuts behind me and Sloane says, “Morning.”
“Mother of fuck,” I yell as I cover my ears and fly into the wall, turning to see her standing there in a pink suit. This one has shorts and a blazer with no shirt. “Fuck, Sloane.”
“Aw, did I scare you?”
“What the hell do you think?” I ask as I straighten up and let out a deep breath.
“You know, I told you I could help you with that tension.”
Yeah…I know.
I tried to assist with the tension this morning in the shower, imagining what’s under that goddamn blazer of hers, and let’s just say my imagination and my hand were lackluster at best.
“The answer is no, whatever you have to say today, the answer is no.” I move toward my desk. “As I said before, I don’t buy brides, and I’m not fucking marrying you.”
“Hudson.”
“What?” I say, exasperated as I look up at Sloane, standing before me, hands clutched in front of her.
A serious expression crosses her face as she quietly says, “I…I need this.” The tone has changed, and I can almost feel her words as she says them.
“You need to marry me?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I need this deal because I need the money.”
The seriousness in her voice tugs me in as I take a seat at my desk and ask, “Why?”
She looks off to the side and from the droop in her shoulders and her timid expression, I can tell that this is not easy for her. “Stacey and I got a letter in the mail from our landlord. They’re selling the house that we’re living in, and we can either move, or we can rent to own. Rent to own requires a down payment of forty thousand dollars. Stacey and I don’t have anything close to that, which means we’ll have to move out if we don’t find the money and…and we can’t move out.” Tears start to form in her eyes, which of course makes me move around my desk to her. “This was the house that Jude found for us once our grandma passed. It was our sanctuary, our comfort, and we’ve shared so many memories in it, we don’t want to let it go.”
“Have you spoken to Jude about it?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think he has enough capital, and it’s also something we don’t want to do. We said we’d provide for ourselves when he moved out, and we promised ourselves we wouldn’t bother him.”
“He’s your brother,” I say.
“Yes, which means he’d do anything to help us. He was wary of leaving us to begin with when he moved in with Haisley. The last thing we want is for him to worry again. We want to do this on our own because we are not children and don’t need a handout from our brother. That’s why I came up with this idea; that’s why I came to you.”
“Christ,” I say as I tug on the back of my neck and start pacing the room. Well, this puts a much different spin on her proposal, one that I wasn’t prepared for. It has me…hell, it has me thinking. “You think getting married is the solution?”
“It’s the best one I could come up with, and I swear, I’ll sign any prenup you want. I don’t want your fortune or your business or your house. I just need the down payment, preferably my job back until I can find something else, and I’ll help you secure the deal with Wimbach.”
It feels doable.
Like it could all work.
But there’s a small element holding me back: Jude .
Hell, that’s not a small element, that’s a big element.
I shake my head. “No, Jude would kill us both.”
“He doesn’t have to know,” she says, walking up to me. “I promise, Stacey will be the only one that knows on my end. You can tell who you need to tell. I’ll even sign an NDA. Please, Hudson. I know this is crazy, but it could work. And it’s not forever.”
Gone is the sarcastic girl who came into my office two days ago after being fired and in her place is a girl who reeks of desperation, the same sort of desperation I feel when I consider the shitstorm I’ve put myself in.
I pull on the short strands of my hair. Hell, I can’t believe I’m even considering this. It’s dumb.
Foolish.
A really bad idea.
Yet she’s right. It has all the potential to work. It’s only for a few weeks. We can go to London, she can be a bridesmaid, I can secure the deal, and then we can be on our merry way.
Feels simple.
Foolproof.
“You’re thinking about it,” she says, coming up to me and taking my hand. “Please say yes, Hudson.”
In that moment, I do something really stupid, something that cracks me, breaks me, tears down the miniscule wall I had erected to keep her as far away as possible. I look at her, in her eyes, and it’s my undoing.
Because how can I say no when she’s practically begging, when I know that this could help her?
“Shit,” I mumble.
“Is that a good shit or a bad shit?” she asks, tugging on my arm.
“Doesn’t matter; it’s a shit.” I head to the couch and sit down, bringing my fingers to my brow. “You owe me an apology.”
I see hope in her eyes as she joins me. “An apology for the other day? Not a problem. I’m sorry for the way I treated you. It was very immature, and I learned my lesson about inappropriate behavior in the workplace. That being said, I stand by my words about the green drink and the brown suit. The green drink is filled with sugar your machine of a body doesn’t need, and the brown suit does nothing to highlight the contours of your well-carved frame.” She clasps her hands in front of her. “Does that mean you’re going to be my husband?”
Does it?
I look into her stunning eyes. I swear she doesn’t know the power she could have over me if I truly gave in to her. She’s too fucking beautiful. Even when she’s begging me to do something incredibly stupid.
Something that will most likely come back to bite me in the ass, but I can see it.
In this moment, I can see it—I’m staring back at my future wife.