4. Charlie
Charlie
M y proposal was the ultimate mic-drop moment—Tess’s eyes went wide with disbelief, her shock almost tangible.
Before I started the conversation with her, I hadn’t planned to bring up the subject of all four weddings until she agreed to attend at least one, but I decided to just go for it.
I could almost see the resistance in her expression, the silent protest against the idea, but I hoped she’d eventually warm to it.
When I threw in the stroke of brilliance about helping her get a new job, I knew she was a goner. She was just going to have to give in now.
I almost feel bad for a moment until considering what I’m asking her to do: put on a fancy dress, drink a bunch of expensive alcohol, and eat some amazing food. Most women would jump all over the opportunity.
But, of course, Tess is not most women.
“So, you could really do that?” Her tone drips with incredulity.
A confident smile tugs at my lips as I reply, “Of course I can.”
Truth be told, I’m not entirely sure if I can pull it off. I do have powerful connections at the symphony, and that will certainly help, but I have no idea if I can land Tess a job. I figure the odds are about fifty-fifty. But I keep that uncertainty locked up tight.
She fixes her gaze on my face, studying me intently as though she might be able to detect a bluff. Little does she know that I am a master of deception—like the countless poker nights with my buddies, where I’d perfected my unflinching poker face.
I sense victory when her tone shifts, and she speaks again, this time with a playful resignation, “You’ve presented me with an offer I simply can’t refuse.”
I chuckle softly. “I’m glad I could sway you. And just for playing along, I’m throwing in a bonus offer.” I pause for dramatic effect before adding, “Free Emerald City coffee for an entire year.”
She shakes her head in amusement. “That’s a generous offer, but I’ll have to decline—I don’t drink coffee.”
My eyebrow arches in exaggerated surprise. “You’re kidding, right? How can you not drink coffee? Did someone drop you on your head as a baby? Honestly, coffee is the nectar of the gods.”
Her laugh rings out, light and teasing. “It’s so bitter. I’ve never understood why people love it so much.”
“Because it’s incredible,” I counter, taking another sip of wine. “Have you ever tried my coffee? I’m extremely proud of our beans—I source them from the Bahia region of Brazil. They’re the best you can get.”
“I’m sure I’ve had it at some point,” she admits, “but it’s been ages. Each time I’ve tried coffee, I end up hating it more, so I’ve just given up.”
“Then consider it a fresh start,” I say with a warm smile. “I’ll be sending a bag over to your house tomorrow.”
She tilts her head in contemplation. “I don’t actually have a coffee machine, so a bag of beans isn’t very useful to me. But I really do appreciate the gesture.”
I make a note to bring her a freshly brewed cup of Emerald City coffee soon.
After finishing the last of her wine, Tess sets her glass down carefully. “I’ve got to run. I have an early lesson on Oliver tomorrow.”
“How’s the beast doing?” I asked jokingly but with genuine interest.
Her expression softens into a gentle smile. “He’s a perfect gentleman at the barn—a world away from the show craziness. No bucking, no bolting, not even a hint of trying to run over someone.”
“I had a little chat with him last weekend about his behavior at shows. When I was cooling him out after your class. I think you’ll notice a change in him moving forward.” I can barely keep a straight face.
“I certainly hope so. That reckless stunt last nearly got me kicked out of the show. Someone needs to talk some sense into him. Lord knows I’ve tried.” She’s holding back laughter.
“I know you need to run. Let’s talk soon about these weddings—the dates, the locations, and any details you need to know.”
“Sounds good. Do you have my number?” she asks, her tone casual.
“Of course,” I reply. “I must have gotten it from Jane at some point.”
“Alright then. Just let me know what works for you. I’m pretty flexible right now—especially since I’m not even sure I’ll be going back to work.”
I see a flicker of panic in her eyes, though I can tell she’s trying to mask it. I resolved then and there that I will keep my promise to get her a new job, no matter what it takes.
“What does this number for business travel include? It’s higher than it should be, Charles.”
My stomach sinks as I see my dad’s steely gaze scrutinizing every expense. His knack for unearthing even the smallest irregularities is legendary.
Dad and I are going over the quarterly profit and loss sheet today, and I should have anticipated his hawk-like eye zeroing in on the inflated figures.
“It’s the cost of traveling to South America three times a year, Bill,” I explain, trying to keep my tone even and nonchalant.
But he continues to push. “This number is still too high. What other trips are you slapping on as business travel? How about those trips to Hawaii or Fiji?”
I take a slow breath before clarifying, “The trip to Hawaii was business-related. I went there to meet a guy who’s pioneering some innovative ideas—ideas that have already proven quite profitable for him. We’d been in discussions over the past year, and it just made sense to meet him in person.”
“That may be, Charles,” he interjects sharply, “but how long did that meeting take?”
“He gave me a tour of his facility, and then we spent some time discussing a couple of new processes,” I explain, trying to sound as factual as possible.
“And how long did that conversation last?” he presses on, his tone unyielding.
“About a day,” I admit, accepting defeat at this point.
“And how long was your overall stay in Hawaii?”
I hesitate before replying, “Around five days, I believe.”
He leans in, his eyes narrowing. “And how much of that trip did you bill to the company?”
I swallow hard. “I wrote off the whole trip.. You can’t just fly to Hawaii and back in a day—you need time to recover from travel.”
“Hawaii isn’t that far,” he counters coolly. “You could have allocated just one day on either end. And I know your so-called ‘travel recovery’ routine all too well—it usually involves lounging poolside, drinking premium alcohol.”
His words sting, but I manage a reluctant nod. “Alright, I get your point. I won’t use company funds for any personal travel in the future.”
“Did you go alone?” he inquires, his tone now edged with suspicion.
“No, I traveled with a companion,” I admit.
“A companion, huh? Let me guess—another one of your blonde floozies?” he asks bluntly.
“It’s really inappropriate for you to refer to my female friends like that,” I snap, the irritation evident in my voice.
Unrepentant, he continues, “Well, that’s just how I see them. Now, speaking of these floozies, who are you taking to these upcoming weddings?”
I carefully choose my words. “I’ve made a decision about that.”
His tone shifts to one of amused curiosity. “Oh really? Please don’t tell me it’s that woman you brought to the Anderson wedding last year—the one who was shamelessly flirting with the groom. Seriously, where do you even find these women?”
I wince internally at the memory of that disastrous date: she was drop-dead gorgeous with curves for days, yet utterly incapable of handling her liquor. I recall how she’d boldly asked the groom for a dance “somewhere private”, a moment overheard by my mother.
Clearing my throat, I finally say, “It’s Tess, actually. She’s coming with me to all four weddings.”
His face immediately brightens into an approving grin. “Well, well, well… that’s an excellent choice. How did that come about?”
“I asked her, and she accepted,” I reply simply, not really wanting to explain any more than that.
His voice softens as he continues, “She’ll fit in beautifully, especially since she already knows so many of the guests.
He continues on with a sharper edge to his voice. “But let me ask you this, Charles—Tess isn’t a romantic interest, is she? I mean, she’s your sister’s best friend. When are you going to settle down, son? You’re almost 40 now. Do you really plan to stay single forever?”
I press my lips together and run my hands through my hair in exasperation, annoyed by the recurring conversation. Before I can stop myself, a boldfaced tumbles out. “Actually, Tess and I are more than just friends.”
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Tess and I are dating,” I lie again.
“For how long?” he demands, his eyes narrowing in a mixture of curiosity and concern.
“Just a few months,” I say, feeling the weight of the lie. “We chose to keep it under wraps until we were both more comfortable. But now feels like the right time—since she’ll be my date for the weddings.”
A genuine smile spreads across his face as his tone softens. “I’m surprised, son. Surprised and, might I add, quite pleased. Tess is a wonderful girl—she’ll make a fantastic wife and a good mother one day. I hope you don’t screw it up.”
Why does he always treat me as if I’m a irresponsible child? “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I manage to say.
“You have always been a bit of a Peter Pan, refusing to grow up,” he says. “I’ve known that for years and always hoped it would change. Now, it seems like perhaps it might finally be happening. This is a big turn of events for you, Charles.”
“It might be, Bill. It’s still only been a few months,” I say, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice.
Dad gives me a pointed look, his eyes narrowing. "Don't screw this up, Charlie. You have a tendency to sabotage good relationships."
"What are you talking about?" I ask, though I already know exactly what he's going to say.
"Remember Olivia?"
I wince at the name. Olivia Lancaster—brilliant, beautiful, and the daughter of one of Dad's oldest friends. We dated for nearly a year, and things were going well. Too well.
Dad leans forward in his chair. "She was perfect for you. Intelligent, accomplished, from a good family. She was ready to settle down, build a life with you."
"I know," I say, trying to keep the defensiveness out of my voice.
"And what did you do?" He doesn't wait for my answer. "You panicked when she started talking about marriage. Took a sudden 'business trip' to Thailand for three weeks. Left her hanging without so much as a proper conversation."
The memory makes me uncomfortable. I was twenty-nine then, and the thought of marriage had terrified me. Not because I didn't care for Olivia, but because I wasn't ready to be the man she needed.
"That was almost ten years ago," I protest. "I've grown up since then."
"Have you?" Dad raises an eyebrow. "Your track record suggests otherwise. A string of meaningless relationships, except for Vanessa, and she wasn’t right for you."
I bite back a retort.
"I need to go," I say, desperate to end this conversation. "I have a meeting with the marketing team in ten minutes."
He nods, gathering his papers. "Fine. But bring Tess to dinner this Sunday. Your mother will be thrilled."
My stomach drops. "This Sunday? I'm not sure if she's?—"
"No excuses, Charles. We want to celebrate this development properly."
After he leaves, I collapse into my chair, the full weight of what I've done crashing down on me. What the hell was I thinking? I just told my father that Tess and I are dating. And now he's invited her to dinner, expecting us to show up as a couple.
I grab my phone, staring at Tess's number. How am I supposed to explain this?
Hey, Tess, funny story. Remember when you agreed to be my fake date for those weddings? Well, I may have accidentally told my father we've been secretly dating for months. Also, we're expected for dinner on Sunday.
I put my phone back face down. This is a disaster. I can picture her face—those expressive eyes widening in shock before narrowing in confusion. She may back out of our arrangement entirely. And I wouldn't blame her.
But if she does, I'm screwed. The weddings start in two weeks, and I need her there.