Chapter 4
Lark
—From Lark’s Christmas to-do list
"You got the job?" My sister’s eyes widen on the phone screen.
After the interview, I walked over to the HR manager and completed the paperwork needed so I could be put on the payroll. Tomorrow. Which will be my first day at work as executive assistant to the CEO.
Then I walked out in a daze and sat in the nearby public park. I stared at the scenery trying to process everything. I got the job. OMG. I got my dream job. It feels like a dream.
When Raya called, I automatically answered the phone.
"Apparently, I did." I take in the people sitting on the nearby benches. Most are enjoying their lunch break and taking advantage of the rare sunshine. As it gets closer to Christmas, we’ll begin to lose light earlier.
"You sound…surprised?"
"I am…bemused. I didn’t think I would get the role. Not after I wore my new Christmas pullover to the interview.”
There’s silence, then she screeches, “You did not.”
“Now, you sound like my new boss.” I roll my eyes.
“He wasn’t a fan of your Christmas look?” She chuckles.
“Worse. He hates Christmas.” I slump a little.
“Oh no.” Her eyebrows draw together. “But you love the festive season.”
“I do. Also, I must insist that my sweater is very tasteful. You can hardly see the Christmas motif.” I angle the phone so she can take in the front of my pullover.
“It is…very discreet,” she concedes.
“Right?” I roll my neck, getting rid of the last vestiges of tension left over from the interview. “Now that I have the role, I’ll have to find a way to change his mind about the holiday season.”
“Ooh, that sounds smart. I’m sure your boss will love your campaign to change his opinion about Christmas.”
I frown. “When you put it like that…yeah…maybe it’s not a great idea. But I’ve gotta try. It’s Ch-r-iiii-stmas after all.”
“For someone so practical, you go full delulu the moment you smell those first holiday lattes brewing.” She rolls her eyes. "The grumphole aside, you’re excited about this position?”
I brighten. “You should see my office; it has an amazing view.”
Especially since it adjoins Brody Davenport’s, and I can see him through the glass wall that separates his office from mine. It’s a distraction. But that’s nothing I can’t handle, right?
I’m going to be so busy, I probably won't have any time to notice him.
Also, I'm totally engaged, and I'm totally planning a wedding so, like, why would I look at my boss?
"I can pay off my student loans and credit card debts, and help mom and dad with theirs too. I could support you with your living expenses.”
“No. Absolutely not.” She scowls. “I make enough from my part-time job to cover my living expenses.”
I’m sure she’s right. But it’s only the two of us in this country, and I am the older sister. And really, because I can afford to do so, I feel duty bound to help her.
“This new job pays five times what I used to earn,” I coax her.
"Five times?" Her gaze widens. "What kind of a job is this?"
"It’s with Davenport Capital."
"The Davenports?" Her gaze widens. “Skylar Davenport owns The Fearless Kitten. She’s married to one of the Davenport brothers.”
The Fearless Kitten is the boutique coffee shop where Raya works as a barista. When she’s not studying at the Royal Drawing School, where she got a scholarship to attend, she works there to pay for her living expenses.
"Right. My boss is Broody—I mean, Brody Davenport."
"Broody?" She chuckles.
I roll my eyes. "He is the Grinch personified. I’ve never met someone who hates Christmas so much. Unfortunately, he’s also my boss. My very sexy, very annoyingly macho boss.”
“Ooh.” Her eyes grow wide. “He’s a hottie?”
“Verrry.” My lips curve before I can stop myself.
Her answering smile is wicked. “Oh, oh, is there trouble in paradise?”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
“You do not sound like a woman who’s engaged to be married soon.” Her tone softens.
Guilt pinches the back of my throat. She’s right. I shouldn’t be reacting to my bosshole at all. I shouldn’t notice the way he fills a doorway or how his voice feels like being dragged into a warm bath I didn’t ask for.
I definitely shouldn’t feel my stomach flip every time he looks at me like I’m some kind of puzzle he intends to solve.
I swallow hard and lift a shoulder.
“It’s nothing like that. I’m his employee. And I’m keeping things strictly professional. I’m not screwing this up. This is my chance, Raya. The job I’ve worked toward since my MBA.”
Her expression softens. “I know how you push yourself.” Her eyes shine with pride. “You deserve this, Lark. Truly.”
“Thank you.” My heart warms at her words.
"Bet Keith’s excited too?”
I hesitate.
I want to say, yes, he is. That he was the first person I called after getting the job. But I didn’t even tell him I was applying for this job. I didn’t want to disturb him. Which is strange. He is my fiancé after all.
I firm my lips.
"I haven’t had a chance to catch up with him. He’s been traveling for work for the last three weeks." I tamp down the rising disquiet.
He wants to be with me. I mean, he proposed, didn't he? So what if he makes me feel two feet tall? He's marrying me. That must count for something, right?
Is it odd that I don't miss him?
"Gosh, must be tough with him traveling so much, and so close to the wedding.” There’s curiosity in her voice, but her eyes are soft.
I rub at my forehead. “It hasn’t been easy. But I’m organized, and that helps me deal with the chaos of wedding planning.”
She scoffs. “That’s putting it lightly. You love your to-do lists, and your organizational skills are unmatched. I bet you have a dozen spreadsheets to help you track everything.”
I flush. “It helps me stay on top of things.”
She chuckles. “He’ll be back soon, and we can pick a new date for a family catch-up with him and our parents on video call.”
“I’m sorry he canceled the last one.” I wince.
Only because he was called away on a business emergency.
And then, he emailed my parents and my sister to apologize. He shared how happy he was to be marrying me and becoming part of the family.
My parents were impressed.
My sister was noncommittal. I get the impression she isn’t too impressed with him. Of course, she’s only met him once. And briefly, at that.
“I realize, he’s been elusive, but that’s because of the demands of his job,” I feel compelled to add.
“Hey, you don’t have to defend him.” She raises a shoulder. Then her expression turns wicked again. "Of course, with a name like Keith…" She shrugs. "I don’t know. I'm not sure I can get past that."
“You’re going to hold his name against him?” I throw up my hand.
She bursts out laughing. “Damn woman, I was kidding.”
“Raya, seriously? You’re so annoying,” I huff.
“Comes with the territory of being the little sister.” She sobers. “I didn’t mean to be unkind. I want you to be happy."
“I am happy,” I say firmly.
But am I? Since I agreed to marry him, my fiancé seems to have become MIA.
He’s spending more time on work trips. He hasn’t even paid for any of the wedding arrangements.
Sure, when he suggested that, instead, he could provide the down payment for the apartment we want to buy, I jumped at the chance.
And he did negotiate the reception at the pub. Still, it would have been reassuring if he’d offered to, at least, share the costs.
Besides, it’s tradition for the bride’s family to pay for the wedding. Only I have no intention of asking my parents to do so.
They worked hard to make sure we didn’t lack for anything. We weren’t poor. But we also weren’t rolling in money.
Instead, on top of my student loans, I’ve maxed out my credit cards to pay for the wedding arrangements. But with this new job. I’ll be able to pay it off in no time.
“It’d be easier if Keith showed a little more interest in the wedding planning,” I admit.
She lifts a shoulder. “I suppose, it’s normal for men not to care about these organizational details.”
Which is true. Many men are that way. Right? I’ve been with Keith for two years, which should be more than enough time to commit to marriage.
Only, I'm beginning to wonder how well I know him.
“What I don’t get is why you asked Tiffany to be one of your bridesmaids. Now Harper, I understand. She’s one of your true friends. But Tiffany?” Raya snorts. “She’s a fair-weather friend, and you know it. Sometimes, I want you to put your foot down and demand more from your relationships.”
I stiffen. “Are you saying I settled when I agreed to marry Keith?”
“No, not at all.” She exhales slowly. “I wasn't even talking about him."
Why did my brain immediately go to him when she suggested I should demand more?
She sighs. "You’re a perfectionist, Lark. You hold yourself to impossible standards.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I ask, genuinely puzzled.
“You don’t hold anyone else to the standards you hold yourself to. You forgive too easily because you want everything to stay perfect.”
Her expression turns serious.
“You give so much of yourself. You’re so busy being amazing that you don’t give people a chance to be amazing for you. Then you end up surrounded by people who don’t step up for you.”
The words hit harder than I expect.
I think about Keith. About the way I let his absence slide. I never call him out for not messaging or calling me back. I’ve been so understanding that he’s missed venue visits, or the menu tastings. I told myself it was because of his job. That he was busy.
But deep down, maybe it’s because I didn’t want to face the answer.
I lower my chin. “You’re not wrong.”
“I’m not?” She looks flabbergasted.
“I am ambitious at work, but in my personal life… I give in too easily. I say yes when it might be in my best interest to say no."
Is that what I did with Keith? No, I'm not going there.
"I want to be a good friend. And I want our parents to be proud of me. To do that, I often avoid conflict. I’m always chasing the best version of myself, no matter if it seems impossible.”
She groans. “Great. Now I feel like a terrible sister. I wasn’t trying to send you on some soul-searching, self-flagellation spiral.”
“You’re not. And you totally did.” I laugh.
She winces. “Because I care. You know that, right?”
I nod. “I know you’ve always got my back.”
“Even if I sometimes want to shake a little sense into you,” she says, crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue like she’s five again.
I burst into laughter. Some of the tension loosens in my shoulders.
Someone calls to her from off-screen.
“I gotta go, Sis.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “And do not let the broody hottie get in your head, okay?”
Before I can reply, she disconnects.
I huff, half-amused, half-exasperated. She is far too cheeky for her own good.
I drop my phone in my handbag and rise to my feet. I turn and gasp. Racing straight toward me, is a very familiar, larger-than-life dog.
"Tiny?" I blink.