Chapter Nine
Hayden
Ihad shook free of Priscilla’s grip once.
She’d grabbed at me again, which meant I was in the process of taking the gold hoops out of my ears, but that was as far as I had gotten before Darcy entered the dining room, grabbed my hand, and strode out of the Weatherby Estate with me in tow.
I had tried to break free of his hold, but Ren was there to walk closely behind me.
After he had placed a firm hand on the small of my back and had shoved me forward, I complied.
Mostly because Ren Sato was touching my back, and I was enjoying every moment of that.
Now, we arrive at the car, and Darcy slides into the driver’s side while Ren walks me around. Before he opens my door (what a gentleman!), he looks me dead in the eyes.
“Hayden, consider Darcy’s offer of marriage. I know he isn’t the most pleasant man to get along with at times, but he has a heart of gold. Once you break through his walls, that man will love you with a ferocity unmatched.”
I swallow the lump in my throat at his words. “He told you?”
“Of course. And seriously, consider it. I think the two of you would be a perfect match.” Ren winks, then says, “I also think you have the capacity to fall in love, but don’t tell him I said that.”
Hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Um, thanks. I–I will think about it.”
Ren nods, then he opens the door for me. I scurry inside the vehicle, anxious to get away from Ren’s talk about loving Darcy.
Gah! It was stupid of me to let my emotions win. I saw Darcy in a painful-looking predicament that tugged on my heart strings. I had marriage and relationships and love on the brain from his “proposal,” if he was even serious about that.
What if he was? Ren seems to think so.
The car jolts into motion, and we are off toward Darcy’s mansion, the beginning of the journey quiet and a tad awkward, if I’m being honest. Ren’s words replay in my head.
Could I work well with Darcy? We work well as a manager and candidate.
Could husband and wife work well, too? I choke the words down like swallowing a bitter medicine as Darcy breaks the silence, asking if I’m okay.
I nod and then take a few breaths to ground myself.
I recall the events of the night and feel anger rise at the thought of what Priscilla did to Darcy.
It was clear that she and Marcus were seeing each other behind Darcy’s back.
She cheated, and there’s no way to hide that now.
To be frank, it ticked me off. No one deserves to be cheated on no matter how prickly they are.
And what was with Marcus’s casualness toward Darcy as if he wasn’t a part of the deception?
“I could have taken her, you know,” I mumble aloud, gazing out the window of the passenger seat in Darcy’s Mustang. He had sent Bennie home with Lionel earlier in the night so that he could drive the car home.
Beside me, Darcy scoffs. “Priscilla has trained in MMA since she was seven years old.”
“Yeah? I can fight, too,” I whisper under my breath. With a hefty sigh, I lean my head against the cool window.
“If you smudge the window, you clean it,” he barks.
I wave him off. “Whatever.”
My stomach is queasy, which I don’t dare tell Darcy. From the heavy food, stress of the night, Darcy’s maniacal driving, and the huge question looming over my head, my stomach can’t seem to relax.
“Why did you try to fight her, anyway?” Darcy’s voice is softer than usual, and it beckons me to glance at him. His shoulders are slightly slumped, and his typically sharp eyes look heavy and tired under the glow of the passing street lights.
Why did I try to fight Priscilla? It’s not like Darcy is mine to protect or anything. I barely even like the man. Plus, Priscilla did absolutely nothing to me. But it was that one tiny glimpse into his sadness that so vividly mirrored my own…
Camaraderie. That’s why I tried to fight Priscilla. But he doesn’t need to know that.
“I had enough of everyone looking at you like you were a wounded puppy. That sympathetic stare they kept giving you rubbed me the wrong way. I figured she was the cause, so she was the one who needed the punishment for hurting you. When you left the room, I started to come after you. Priscilla ran around the table and grabbed my wrists, saying something to the effect of you needing to be alone to process. I told her you were no longer her concern and shook free of her. Then, Ren ran after you and she grabbed at me again, so I thought I would take care of Priscilla while you dealt with… whatever was going on.”
I watch him as he sits, soaking in my words. Is that a smile I see tugging at the corner of his lips? No, just a trick of the passing light in the dark. To further confirm that indeed was not a smile, Darcy grunts.
“You don’t physically assault people because you don’t like what they are doing or saying. Besides, she didn’t hurt me.”
I press the light above us to get a better look at Darcy. His hands grip the wheel so hard they are bleached white. His hair is disheveled and the tie around his neck is pulled loose. I don’t believe him for one second.
“Look at you, Mr. Marshall. She hurt you, all right. What I want to know is why tonight hurt you, but when she called off the engagement, you were okay, just angry.”
The lump in Darcy’s throat moves up and down as he swallows. He reaches up and turns off the light. “I was fine then, and I’m fine now.”
No, you’re not, I think to myself, but I don’t want to push the issue tonight. There’s another issue I need to press him about.
“So, about marrying you,” I say.
“Never mind.”
“Never mind? After all that? Never mind?” My voice inches into a higher pitch the longer I verbally process. “You mean to tell me that I vomited for no reason tonight? That I faked a possible romantic attachment to you during dinner for no reason? Never mind?”
Under the passing streetlight, I see Darcy strip his eyes from the road long enough to look at me with a raised brow. A strand of hair falls in front of his face, and it gives him a youthful look. “Unless you want to marry me.”
I desperately want to put my face against the window again to cool the burning in my cheeks. “I never said that,” I say, my voice lowering to a mere whisper.
“Then never mind.”
“What are you going to do?”
He sighs. “I guess take a go at this campaign as a single man. The reporter was right, culture has changed.”
“Culture may have changed, but you are still on the Independent ticket. Die-hard Republicans and Democrats alike will be wary of you. We at least need the conservative vote from the people who no longer want to associate with the Republican Party if you are going to stand a chance at winning this thing.” I pause to take a breath.
“And that means showing you are a man of traditional values while also being open-minded. That is what the people want.”
I watch his silhouette—a hand reaching up and running through tousled hair.
“I know.” His voice is blank.
“You know I’m twenty-eight, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re thirty-nine.”
“And?”
His voice holds no recognition of the age gap between us.
I smile. “We are eleven years apart.” Darcy still wears a blank expression.
Funny. He doesn’t seem to care about our age difference.
I continue. “You’re my boss. We have completely different socioeconomic backgrounds.
There would be a lot of talk and speculation. ”
Darcy mumbles something that sounds like there is already going to be a lot of talk, but I can’t quite make out his words.
He looks my way again, and my heart constricts at the darkness clouded over his eyes.
“I’ve already said never mind, Hayden. No need to list the reasons my idea was inconceivable. ”
No matter the darkness, I laugh. “Okay, Vizzini.”
Darcy doesn’t laugh. Nor does he comment. But the briefest of smiles glimmers across his face, highlighted by the moonlight pouring through the window.
“You know The Princess Bride? You must not be as uptight as I took you for. I guess I can marry you then.” The words flow freely in the midst of my laugh, but when the last syllable rolls off my tongue, I clasp my hands over my mouth.
Darcy’s hands fall to the bottom of the steering wheel as I stare wide-eyed at his darkened frame.
As we enter the city lights, I notice he cuts his eyes to me then back to the road before he says, “Good. It’ll be easier to spin your little show at dinner if we become an official item in the eyes of everyone. Let’s talk about the job change.”
“That wasn’t a yes!” And I’m back in a sour mood. How does this man have me wanting to throw hands one moment, laughing without a care in the world the next, and then back to wanting to throw hands all in the span of a few minutes?
I need time to think, for crying out loud!
“No, don’t do it!” I yell at the television screen and throw a handful of popcorn for good measure. I hate this part in Fruits Basket, another one of my favorite anime shows, where Tohru practically slaves away in the Sohma house in order to live there. “Just say no to the powerful Sohmas!”
The concept of the show is irritating me a bit more than usual today.
Though I’m sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Darcy Marshall, one of the most powerful men in the entire country—probably the world one day, judging by his brilliant and capable mind—proposed to me last night. And I almost said yes.
Proposal isn’t the right word. More like hired. He wants to hire me to be his wife. As if I am that type of woman. I may have grown up running the streets between group homes and foster homes, but that doesn’t mean I will sell out for a dollar.
Right?
He never responded after I reminded him I never said yes. Instead, he drove with an easy smugness as if he didn’t hear me. I even repeated the sentiment that I never said yes to him, but he didn’t seem to comprehend it as his grin grew cockier with every passing mile to his estate.