Chapter Six
Darcy
The perfect candidate for Mrs. Darcy Marshall has been under my nose—and under my skin—this entire time. She’s the woman I need for the position, but I’ve been too annoyed by her sunshine-complex to even consider the possibility.
After Priscilla left me, I realized two things. The first realization was that I did not need love. I only needed respect, loyalty, and trust. The second realization was that I needed a woman who would be my sidekick and who understood the world I lived in. Maybe even understand me.
Hayden Bennett is capable of taking over the world.
I’ve seen her in action dealing with the press, managing my team, and the million other things she does on a day-to-day basis for this campaign.
But the way she confidently stood up to me for admittedly being extremely rude to her opened my eyes to the possibility of so much more.
She could be a real confidant. There is no fear of heartache.
I don’t particularly like her, much less love her.
But I do trust and respect her.
Will making her my wife for my office tenure, if elected, be a thorn in my side?
Of course. However, it could also be a strategic move.
There’s no rule, among countless election rules, saying your fiancée or wife can’t manage your campaign.
Though we get under each other’s skin, and she’s one of the loudest women I know, she’s also the most qualified candidate for the job of being my wife and possibly becoming First Lady.
We work pretty great together, if the success of this campaign so far is any indication. We are nearing the end of March, and my poll numbers have never been higher than they—
A tap on my shoulder pulls me from my thoughts.
Hayden’s doe eyes stir something in my stomach. “We’re almost there. Should I stay in the car tonight, or…?”
“Come in with me.” I swallow the lump in my throat at the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. Who cares that she’s sad? I’ve made her sad plenty of times.
No, not sad. I’ve made her mad. She’s cute when she’s mad, but seeing her sad makes me… sad.
Wait, no. She’s not cute. It just doesn’t bother me as much when she’s mad because it’s usually over something small and insignificant.
The quiet is all encompassing; the only sound is tires on gravel as we enter through the gates of Weatherby Estate.
Before long, the car halts in the circular driveway, and Ren jets out before Lionel can open the door for him.
Lionel looks back at me, and I wave him out of the car.
Now, it’s only me and Hayden. The silence and tension is sharp enough to slice through the atmospheric energy around us.
I look Hayden over. She’s pretty, in an unconventional way. She’s untamed, one could say. But she’s smart and would make the perfect Mrs. Darcy Marshall… with a little polishing, of course. “You mentioned you were only here to get me elected, correct?”
She nods her head slowly. “But Mr. Marshall, I am so—”
“Say no more. You’re here for one job? Here’s a job for you: Be my wife.”
Hayden is a statue, frozen in time with her mouth hanging open from speaking before I interrupted her umpteenth attempt at an apology. A few long moments pass before she even blinks.
“Oh, you’re trying to get me back for my outburst.” Hayden forces a laugh, interrupting my thoughts. “Good one. I thought you were serious for a moment there.”
“I am serious,” I state. Hayden opens her mouth to speak again, but I cut her off. “Be my wife.”
She is silent again, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. What part of this does she not get? I’ve already made up my mind. She needs to get on board with my decision. I’ve should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.
I continue speaking. “Of course, I will compensate you for your time handsomely. How does two-hundred grand a year sound to you?”
Instead of looking impressed like I imagined in my head, Hayden looks like she might pass out.
Correction. She vomits.
Right into my lap.
The stench is immediately suffocating, and I do what any reasonable person would.
I shove the door open and lean out of the door frame just in time for my stomach to empty itself.
“Mr. Marshall,” Hayden exclaims through a sickly groan. From the sound of her door opening, I imagine she’s doing what I’m doing, which is getting the heck out of this puke mobile.
Though I can’t see her because my back is to her, I hear her heels click on the gravel driveway, drawing closer to me. I wipe my mouth with my jacket sleeve—it’s already ruined—and stand up straight.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Marshall. It must have been the—”
I hold a finger in the air, effectively silencing her. I can feel her eyes boring into my back, but I refuse to turn around. If I did, I would most likely be arrested for murder tonight.
Another crunch of the gravel tells me she is coming closer.
“Mr. Marshall.”
I continue staring into the darkness of the night around me. Hayden’s stomach contents coat my pants and shoes. My favorite Armani suit. A growl rumbles through my throat.
Did she honestly find me that repulsive? She laughed earlier at the idea of marrying me, but to be quite frank, I thought it was mere shock at the statement. Now, I’m realizing that she might honestly not find me the least bit husband material.
Which is another reason to make sure she says yes to me. How can she think that I am not worthy to be a husband? Much less hers?
I will prove to her that I can be a dang good husband, even if it’s just a fake one. I won’t be like my father. Ever.
A petite hand rests on my shoulder, and I stiffen.
“I’m so, so sorry. Let me pay for your dry cleaning.”
A breath escapes my pressed lips, creating a puff of fog in the cool night air.
“No need. I’ll recycle the suit and get a new one.” Even if it was my favorite. I turn around, and Hayden drops her hand to her side. Warmth lingers where her fingers had rested.
She bites her lip and looks away from my gaze. An unfamiliar feeling arises in my stomach, a warm feeling that makes my pent-up anger threaten to melt away, though I’m not quite ready for that yet.
“How did you manage to not get a drop on yourself?” There is a dry coarseness to my voice, creating a positively growly and grumpy effect.
Regardless of my tone, she laughs. “I’m a woman of many talents.”
With a frustrated snort, I run a hand through my hair. How can she laugh at a moment like this? But then again, I’m standing in front of my ex-fiancée’s father’s house, proposing to my campaign manager while coated in her vomit. What have I sunk to?
I’m not giving up now. Hayden Bennett as my wife still makes the most sense to me in this pressing, time-restrained situation. “Would one of those talents be marrying your boss and possibly becoming First Lady of the United States?”
“You were serious?”
I sigh. Am I ever not serious? What part of this is she not understanding? “Yes, Hayden. I’m very serious. It would be a real marriage in the eyes of the law, but it won’t be real for us. Just think of it as a job promotion with significantly higher pay. And new housing.”
With a small gasp, her eyebrows raise and her mouth drops open. At that moment, the wind brushes across my face, carrying unthinkable smells. Hayden then covers her mouth and nose with her hand, and I instinctively scrunch my nose.
“Let’s move this conversation to somewhere more…sanitary.”
She nods her head, and I pull my phone from the pocket of my black slacks to ask my personal assistant to pick us up in my favorite car—the Mustang.
Spotting Lionel facing away from us with his hands laced behind his back, I walk the slight distance away from Hayden and the car to speak with him.
He rocks back and forth on his toes, humming an unfamiliar tune.
“Lionel,” I say, trying not to startle him with my sudden approach.
“Mr. Marshall.” He turns on his heel and faces me with a nod. “Are you ready for me to park the car?”
“There was an incident. Vomit is now soaked into the floor of the backseat.”
I expect Lionel to flinch or make a disgusted face, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “I will make sure it is cleaned by tomorrow.”
“I will pay you extra for the service. Thank you, Lionel.”
He looks me over, noticing the new additions to my suit. He says, “Should I call someone to pick you and Miss Bennett up?”
“Thanks, but I’ve already called Bennie. He will be here shortly. You can go ahead and take off.”
He nods once and walks determinedly to the car, pausing only to give a slight nod to Hayden, who crosses her arms over her chest and hugs herself. The woman who never gets embarrassed must be dying on the inside right now.
As Lionel drives away, I join a shivering Hayden on the gravel walkway. Not embarrassed, but apparently cold.
I shrug my coat off, but quickly remember it is splashed with unthinkable things.
“It has your…stomach contents on it, but it’s warm.” I hand the jacket out to her. She stares at it as if it’s diseased. Disregarding her look, I step behind her and wrap it around her shoulders. I half expect her to toss it off, but instead, her hands grip the sides and pull it closed around her.
“Thank you,” she whispers. In a louder voice, “You need to call Ren and let him know we are leaving.”
Ren. Right. I forgot about him.
I send a quick text letting him know that I will be leaving. Two seconds later, he calls me.
“Why are you leaving?” I hear laughter in his voice. “Did Hayden put you in your place again and now you need to nurse your pride alone?”
“No,” I bite out. “We just need to go.” Hayden would be highly embarrassed if I told him what happened. I’d hate to do that to her, especially if she is my future wife.
“We?”
“Yes. Hayden and I are leaving.”
“Oh,” he says, his laughing tone shifting to something more incredulous. “Did you two realize you’re in love?”
I growl. “No, Ren. We just have to leave. Are you coming or staying?”
“I’ll stay here. You two kids have fun.” And with that, he clicks off.
“Ren is staying,” I state. Hayden only offers a soft smile.
“Thanks for not telling Ren I threw up on you.” She tucks her chin to her chest and hugs my jacket closer to her. “I know you were looking out for your image, but you saved mine, too.”
I say nothing. There’s no point in countering her accusation. I’ve learned people will always believe what they want to, no matter your intentions.
We stand there outside the entrance to Weatherby's. It’s a cloudy night, so only lights pouring through the windows of the mansion offer a slight reprieve from the darkness. Hayden and I look anywhere but at each other, at least, I assume she is trying as hard as I am not to make eye contact.
The smell has faded in the fresh air of the night, and only a trace lingers when the wind begins to blow.
Silence has always been my strong suit, but there is a massive elephant in the area right now, and I’m not talking about an establishment Republican.
I clear my throat. “Hayden, I was serious about my proposal. I think this could work. We aren’t romantically inclined, so we can think of this as a business proposal of sorts.
Just between us. The rest of the world can say what they will.
Of course, we will have to show small amounts of PDA in public, but I don’t think that will be a major issue since we know in our minds that this is fake.
I will pay you two hundred thousand a year, and it will only last as long as my candidacy, or presidency, lasts.
So, eight years maximum.” I offer a smile, thinking of how it sounded like I was offering her eight years in prison.
She stares at me. Her eyes look glassy, but the crease in her brows tells me she is deep in thought.
“That’s the longest I’ve ever heard you speak without pausing.”
And for all that deep thought, that is what she concludes. A laugh escapes me.
“Mr. Marshall,” Hayden coos. “Did you just laugh?”
I straighten my face out, pasting on my serious look. Well, I guess you could call my serious look simply my look.
She continues, “A smile and a laugh tonight. My word. Who knew you had it in you when not in front of a camera?”
I roll my eyes, feeling like a child. “I have a soul, you know.”
“I did not, in fact, know that.” Hayden chuckles. Her eyes shift away from me as the light banter dies down. “So, how was your meeting today?”
She’s changing the subject, but I’ll bite this time. She obviously needs time to process. “It was fine. The usual.”
“You schedule your further-away meetings on Wednesdays. Why is that?”
With a swallow, I answer. “A mid-week breather from the office.” She doesn’t need to know where I actually go on Wednesdays. It’s my sacred thing.
I hear the roar of the Mustang approaching and my worries fade away.
“Our ride is here,” I grin, anticipating driving my baby. Yes, I’m a car guy. They get all my love.
“Another smile,” Hayden says. “What am I going to do with you?”
With my heightened mood and the rumble of the Mustang approaching, I respond with words that I know will haunt me for years to come.
“You should marry me, Hayden Bennett.”