Chapter 12
Lark
Test all Christmas cookie recipes twice. (Only for quality control of course.)
—From Lark’s Christmas to-do list
“Drop me off at the office then take Ms. Monroe to wherever she wants to go.” He tells the chauffeur before raising the separation between the front and passenger seat.
We’re on our way home after that disastrous meeting with Arthur.
“Uh, actually, I’d prefer to get dropped off at the nearest tube station.” I place my bag in my lap.
He shoots me a disbelieving look. “Just have the chauffeur drop you off, will you?”
“I—” I want to protest again, mainly so I don’t have to spend the trip to the office with him. But I take in his granite hard features and realize, it’s best not to debate this.
So, I subside and pretend to look out the window.
I am shaken, to be honest. So, it will be nice to get dropped off, rather than try to navigate the trains.
It was so embarrassing to have to tell them I was engaged and then lie about my lack of a ring. And of course, my fiancé is absent. And when he sends me flowers, I’m sure it’s to cover up something he’s done, something which he knows is going to upset me.
I’ve been so focused on creating my perfect life, I didn’t realize I don’t give off the vibes of an engaged woman.
I glance at my boss and, finding him engrossed in his phone, I pull mine out. I pull up Keith’s social media handles.
There are pics of him at a hotel gym, by a hotel pool, at an airline lounge, in a meeting room, of him in different cities around the world. They show off his traveling lifestyle. There are no pics of me. Or of us. Or of him showing off his fiancée.
I tighten my lips; pull up my social media. In contrast, mine have no pictures at all. I’ve been too busy working to share anything about myself online.
There is nothing tying the two of us together in the virtual space.
As for in real life? I glance at the bare ring finger on my left hand. It seems to mock me back.
I don’t have an engagement ring. Or spend evenings with my fiancé. We don’t live together. In fact, I haven’t even been in the same city as him for months.
I don’t remember the last time he took me out on a date. Or made love to me. I cringe. Worse, he’s never made me orgasm. There. I’ve acknowledged it to myself for the first time.
I had convinced myself it didn’t matter, but in light of Arthur’s, no-doubt, thorough investigation concluding that I was single. Unwanted. Unclaimed. Definitely not engaged. I’m beginning to wonder if I really am?
I glance at my messages in the hope that Keith has texted me since our phone call, but nope, there’s nothing.
I need to do something to convince myself I’m doing the right thing. That I’m getting married. And I have a fiancé. That the perfect life I was headed for is within reach.
So, I message Keith.
Me: Don’t forget to send me your RSVP list.
Pathetic. That the best I can do? Where’s the passion? The heat. The messages declaring how much I miss him. And that I can’t wait to marry him.
I’ve been reduced to the role of a wedding planner in my own wedding.
No worse. Because of course, the message remains unread.
That familiar hurt tightens my guts. I slide the phone back into my purse and lock my fingers together. I’m trying so hard to manage the wedding, and this new job, and keep my spirits up in this festive season. I’m trying so hard to believe in us.
Why can’t my fiancé make half the effort to be the kind of person I want him to be? He must, surely, want me if he proposed to me. Right?
I’m not unwanted. Or unclaimed. Contrary to Arthur’s team’s findings. I am engaged. I am.
And if my fiancé is missing? Well, I’m going to try my best to track him down.
I’m not a quitter.
I need to kick up my wedding planning and do better on the job. I need to ignore my attraction to Brody because that gives off the wrong vibe. I need to recommit to my fiancé and my upcoming marriage.
Yes, that’s the best way forward.
Mind made up, and because I need a diversion from my own problems, I decide to focus on my boss’s issues instead. He pulled me into this situation which, I’m sure, gives me permission to ask him a personal question.
I turn to him. "What I don’t understand is how you’d leave such an important decision to your grandfather."
Brody loosens the tie around his neck. “Getting married didn’t feel like a big enough deal for me to take time out of my busy schedule to focus on it.
And when Arthur said he’d find me a bride, I figured, why not?
It kept the old man off my back. And gave him something to do.
Which meant, he wouldn’t have the time to meddle in my work. ”
I pick up my jaw from where it’s dropped. Is this guy for real? "Marrying someone who could be your life partner, who you’ll see every morning and last thing at night, someone who could influence the course of your life, does not seem important?" I manage.
He shoots me a sideways glance filled with pity. “Our definition of marriage must differ."
"Please, tell me how you see it." No sooner are the words out of my mouth than I grimace.
What does it matter to me how this man views marriage? He’s my boss. I work for him. I should restrict my discussions with him to the job. That’s it.
"You know what, forget I asked. It’s of no importance to me."
"On the contrary." He fixes me with those steely eyes. "Since you asked, and since my grandfather, for some reason, seems very taken with you, you should know that I intend to marry to claim my inheritance.”
“So, the marriage will be in name only?”
He hesitates. “This will be the only time I get married. And I want children. I assume I’ll come to feel something for my wife over a period of time.”
I rub at my temple. "That seems cold."
"As opposed to?"
"As opposed to finding someone who you love and appreciate, and marrying her? That, after all, is the reason for the condition Arthur has imposed, isn’t it?"
And is that why I’m pushing through with marrying my fiancé? I mean, I think I love him. And I think he loves me, in his own way.
Yet based on how he’s treated me, does he really love and appreciate me?
Somehow, I’m not quite able to convince myself of it. A disquiet squeezes my chest, but I shove it aside and focus on my boss.
He looks incredulous. Like falling in love is up there with finding out Santa Claus is real and double-parked outside.
"It has been known to happen," I murmur.
He sneers. “I don’t believe in love. I’d rather keep my life clear of such entanglements."
"And what about when you have kids? Are you planning to steer clear of entanglements when it comes to them too?"
"Of course, not. That's different."
I shake my head, trying to make sense of what he’s saying. “So, you’ll marry for the wrong reasons?”
“They’re the right reasons for me. Whoever marries me will not want for anything.”
“Except love.”
He gives me a disbelieving look. “The money will more than make up for it.”
“Money is important. But a marriage without love? You realize how pitiful that sounds?"
He reels back. "What do you mean?”
I realize, I’m lashing out at him. It’s more to do with how I’m feeling about my own engagement right now. And how emotionally upset I am that I don’t have the answers to the very questions I’m asking him. Yet I can’t stop myself.
"You’ve ruled out all the important experiences that make you human."
"It holds no value for me." His features are set. His voice is hard. Yet there’s something in his eyes.
Doesn’t take a shrink to figure out that this man had something happen to him which resulted in him withdrawing from the idea of love.
"Who hurt you?" The words are out before I can stop myself.
I immediately regret it.
His features close. The vein popping at his temple seems ready to burst.
I slide further toward my door, as much as my seat belt will allow me. "Forget I asked. It’s none of my business."
"You’re right, it isn’t." His voice is remote. "And for the record, I decided a long time ago there was no place for love in my life. It’s why I trusted Gramps to pick the right woman for me to marry. Only, he seems to have picked wrong.”
“It does seem that way.” I lower my chin.
Until I met Brody, I was perfectly happy marrying my absentee fiancé. I was confident everything in my life was as I had planned it.
I'm confident that marrying my fiancé is what I want. I am. Right?
Keith loves me. He will make me happy. He’s the one who proposed to me, after all. And he does desire me.
So does Brody. I know that, based on the chemistry that hums between us.
And I?
It’s only after I met Brody that I realize how it feels to be truly drawn to someone. To want to physically be with someone with an urgency that makes my chest hurt and my pussy quiver.
An intensity that I haven’t felt with my fiancé.
Not in the way that a mere glare from Brody makes me want to drop my clothes and climb him like he’s a sturdy pine tree.
Am I making a mistake marrying someone who doesn’t make me feel desired?
I was insecure, thinking that if I turned him down, I might not find someone else to marry. So, I said yes to his proposal.
My motivations might be different, but my willingness to marry someone I don’t truly love is not that different from Brody’s.
Ugh. Enough. Remove Brody from your mind. Focus on anything else. A thought strikes me.
“If you don’t marry, you won’t inherit,” I feel compelled to point out.
“That’s true.”
“You don’t seem concerned.” I turn to face him.
“I’m sure, I’ll be able to find a woman who can marry me. Better yet, I could shortlist a few and have Gramps choose from them. It’s only a matter of time before I come into my inheritance.”
Of course, he’ll find another way. The man is resourceful. And when he makes it known he’s looking for a wife, there’ll be a list of women a mile long waiting to marry him. My stomach sinks. My heart wilts. Damn, why does that make me feel depressed?
Speaking of… “I hope I can keep my job after this debacle.”
He seems taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“Your Gramps thinks I’m the woman you should marry. But clearly, that can’t happen now. In a sense, we are going against his wishes, and Arthur seems like the kind who doesn’t take kindly to being disobeyed.”
“Arthur shouldn’t have involved you with this discussion about my marriage. Of course, your job is safe.” He looks at me intently for a few seconds. There’s a struggle going on in his eyes. Then, as if he’s unable to stop himself, he asks, “The flowers you received that day, were they from—”
“My fiancé, yes.” I tip up my chin.
His throat moves as he swallows. “And the wedding is—”
“In three weeks.”
His jaw hardens. “In. Three. Weeks?”
I eye him with curiosity. The skin stretches across his cheekbones; his jaw seems so tight, he must, surely, have a tension headache. I wonder what’s making him this angry? Did I say or do anything to warrant that reaction? I don’t think so.
I need to distract him from talking about my upcoming nuptials. “The Christmas decorations will be up later tonight. There’s a team coming in to put them up around the office.”
He winces. And predictably, he seems to mentally check out as soon as Christmas is mentioned. I have never met someone who has such a lack of festive cheer.
He picks up his phone and begins to scroll through it.
Guess our conversation is over. It was an entertaining evening, at least. Sort of.
I, too, pick up my phone and start replying to my emails. I mean his emails which continue to be forwarded to my inbox.
When we reach the office, he’s about to open the door to exit the car, then pauses. “By the way, you’ll be leading the board meeting.”
“Me?” I gape at him. “You want me to lead the board meeting?”
“Yes.”
What? What? What’s he talking about “You’re referring to the one n-next week?” I sputter.
“Is there another?” he asks politely.
I shake my head. “But…that’s so soon.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Do you have a problem with that?”
I shake my head. “No. I mean. Yes. I mean—” I rub at my forehead, feeling like I’ve stepped into an alternative reality.
Stay calm. It’s fine. You can work this out.
“I’m new. And I’m your executive assistant.”
“And part of your job description is to lead meetings in my absence.”
“Yes. But—”
“Are you saying you can’t deliver on the demands of this role?”
I frown. “Of course not, that’s not what I mean.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s a board meeting. All senior management will be there. And I’ve never lead one of these before.”
“This would be a good way to start.”
I narrow my gaze on him. Is he being deliberately obtuse?
“I don’t have the kind of experience needed to lead a meeting of this importance.”
He scans my face. I’m sure he’s about to say something cutting. But whatever he sees on my face seems to strike a chord with him. His features soften.
“I wouldn’t be asking you to lead the meeting if I didn’t believe in you.”
“Oh.” Warmth coils in my chest. I feel like I’ve been ejected from my seat and am flying through the stratosphere. I realize, I’m staring at him with what must be a flabbergasted expression, for he frowns.
“You all right?”
“No.” I clear my throat. “I mean, yes. Thank you for this opportunity. You won’t regret it.”
He looks at me closely. Whatever he sees on my face must convince him this time, for he nods. “Don’t screw it up, Monroe.”