Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Jameson
I tug a plain white T-shirt over my head and glance in the full-length mirror on the wall near one of the windows.
I saw how Sinclair’s eyes flared when she saw me as she opened the door. I had no idea she would arrive right after I finished showering, but I admit I didn’t mind witnessing the look on her face.
I’ve changed since I left Manhattan.
Sinclair has as well, or I think she has. I don’t know if it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but she’s more striking than the last time I saw her in person. She carries herself differently. It’s as if she’s wrapped in confidence.
I glance around the bedroom that will be my home for the next month.
It’s decorated much the same as every room in this expansive home. The walls are painted white. The carved wooden headboard is a light shade of gray, and all the bedding is white with light blue accents.
Denia liked simplicity and muted colors, as witnessed in every other bedroom and the white chef’s kitchen.
I couldn’t bring myself to open the door to her bedroom.
Even though she passed away at a bed and breakfast in Vermont, I still picture her standing on the terrace off her bedroom. It was the last time I saw her. We hugged goodbye and shared how much we loved each other.
The sound of a rush of paws against the hardwood in the hallway pulls my gaze in that direction.
I spot Dudley race by, quickly followed with Sinclair close behind.
The jeans she was wearing when she arrived are now paired with a light blue sweater. She ditched the red cardigan she had on earlier.
A glance at my phone tells me that dinner should be delivered any second.
“Dudley!” I hear Sinclair call out. “Stop!”
I set out of the room and toward her voice. I find her standing in the main living area staring at her dog. He’s taken up residence on one of the white armchairs.
It’s the one my grandmother claimed as hers.
If anyone visiting her planted their ass there, she’d chase them out with a hearty “move it” and a slap of her hand in the air.
“That’s Denia’s chair,” Sinclair whispers. “He won’t move.”
Surprised that she knows that, it suddenly hits me that I didn’t have to direct her toward the guestrooms. She headed straight for one and disappeared behind the door as if she knew that one should belong to her for the next thirty days.
“How do you know that’s my grandmother’s chair?”
Her blue eyes latch onto mine. “Everyone knows that.”
Not satisfied with that vague answer, I step closer to her. “How do you specifically know?”
Her gaze shifts to where her dog is now falling asleep. “She sat there whenever I visited her.”
What the fuck?
“Whenever you visited her?” I repeat, weighing the words and their meaning. “You used to come here before I left town? Why did you never mention it? Why didn’t Denia tell me?”
With a brisk shake of her head, she sighs. “I came after you ran away.”
Those six words hit me like a hammer in the center of my chest. All the air rushes from my lungs.
“I didn’t run away,” I say because, for some reason, that feels important to clarify. “And why the hell did you come here to see my grandmother?”
Her hands drop to her hips. “Yes, you did, Jameson. You ran away when I said no.”
I knew this conversation was coming. I had no idea it would take place right this fucking minute.
“I left New York,” I stress each word. “When you let me down.”
Her head shakes. “You asked the impossible of me.”
In my eyes, it was far from impossible. My request was simple. “How the hell was it impossible?”
Her hands drop to her hips as fury rages in her expression. “Are you being serious right now?”
“Deadly.”
Her eyes widen. “You asked me to marry you, Jameson. You wanted me to stay married to you for five years.”
I step closer to her. “I’m aware, Sinclair.”
She pokes a finger in the air toward me. “You asked me to put my life on hold so you could inherit Carden.”
“Again, I know all of this,” I say in a low tone.
Her hands fly in the air in exasperation. “Do you not see how ridiculous that is? Who in their right mind would agree to marry someone and stay married to them for five years so that they can inherit a company?”
“Finella agreed to do it,” I point out.
Broken laughter falls from Sinclair’s lips. “How did that turn out for your brother?”
On the surface, it appears that my brother’s marriage went to hell at record speed, but I don’t know the ins and outs of that.
“Asking me to marry you and then offering me two million dollars to stay married to you was wrong.” Her accusatory finger is back, wagging in my face. “How could I agree to that? How could I deceive Denia that way after everything she did for me?”
I rake a hand through my hair as guilt gnaws at me.
When my grandmother sat my brother and me down two years ago, she told us she wanted the company in stable hands before her eightieth birthday.
She made it crystal clear that meant we had to get married within three months and stay that way for at least five years.
To add fuel to the fire, the first one who raced down the aisle became CEO on the spot.
I saw Sinclair as my ticket to get there. My plan was to pop the question and head straight to the city clerk’s office to exchange vows.
We were best friends. I thought we’d do anything for each other, but fake marrying me for millions was where Sinclair drew the line in the sand of our friendship.
“My grandmother said that if I wasn’t married by her eightieth birthday, I couldn’t claim my rightful spot as an heir to the company,” I explain, just as I did on the street corner years ago when I asked Sinclair to be my temporary wife.
“I wanted Carden more than anything, Sin. I wanted to be at the helm.”
“I know,” she says, anger still lacing her tone. “What I don’t know is why the hell you would ask me to be your wife. You were dating… sleeping with other women then.”
I was an idiot.
I was twenty-three and enjoying everything Manhattan had to offer. I was too immature to understand that a string of one-night stands leads to one hell of a big emotional chasm within a man, or at least it did for this man.
“I’ve never trusted a woman the way I trust you,” I confess. “I asked you because you were my best friend.”
Her bottom lip trembles. “That’s why you should never have asked me.”
She doesn’t give me a chance to ask what the fuck that means. Instead, she races to the chair to scoop up her dog before she heads back to the guestroom and softly shuts the door behind her.