Chapter 14 #2
She leans her forehead against the wood. Her shoulders slump. She stands there for a long minute, breathing.
Then she straightens up, puts the mask back on, and goes inside.
I close the laptop with a snap.
I can't be here. I can't be there.
I pick up my phone and call the one person who might understand, even though he will definitely punch me.
"Mark," I say when he answers. "Are you in the city?"
"Brooks?" Mark sounds surprised. "Yeah, Laurie and I just got back. Why?"
"I need a drink."
"It's Sunday afternoon."
"I know."
Mark sighs. "Okay. Meet me at The Avery. What's wrong? Did the deal tank?"
"No," I say, loosening my tie. "Everything's fine. I'm the disaster."
An hour later, I am sitting in a dark booth at The Avery, staring into a whiskey I haven't touched.
Mark is sitting across from me. Mark, the man whose wedding I tried to ruin. Mark, who looks happier and more rested than I have ever seen him.
"So," Mark says, leaning back in the leather booth. "I hear congratulations are in order. My mother called me this morning. Apparently, the grapevine says you're engaged to our bridesmaid, Ivy."
I wince. "News travels fast."
"In this tax bracket? It travels instantaneously." Mark swirls his scotch. "But you have the girl. You have the deal. Why do you look like you just kicked a puppy?"
"It's fake, Mark," I say. "The engagement. It's fake."
Mark doesn't look surprised. He just nods. "I figured. You're engaged to the woman who tackled you at my wedding. It was either hate or lust, and you usually handle lust with NDAs, not jewelry."
I freeze. I stare at him. "You saw that?"
"Brooks, I was the groom. I was standing ten feet away facing the congregation. I saw everything."
"But... you didn't stop the ceremony."
"Of course I didn't," Mark says calmly. "You stepped forward and took in a breath. You had that look on your face, the 'I'm about to say something logical and destructive' look. I knew you were going to object."
I look down at my drink, shame heating the back of my neck. "I was."
"I know," Mark says. "You've been weird about Laurie for months. I knew you thought she was a gold digger."
"I was trying to protect you," I mutter.
"I get it," Mark says. "And that's why I didn't stop it when she hit you. One second, you were about to destroy the happiest moment of my life. The next second, a blur of cream silk took you out at the knees."
He takes a sip of his drink, suppressing a smile.
"I saw her drag you behind the fern. I saw her check your pulse.
I knew you weren't dead, so I said, 'I do,' kissed my wife, and walked back up the aisle.
I stopped by the ER on the way to the airport while Laurie was changing.
The nurse said you were concussed but stable and that a 'very intense woman' was handling everything. I knew you were in good hands."
I shake my head, rubbing my temple. "I can't believe you knew."
"When I saw you stepping up to the mic, I was terrified. Honestly? Ivy Sullivan is the hero of that story. We hired a professional bridesmaid to make sure things went smoothly, and she did her job."
"She gave me a concussion," I remind him.
"She saved you from being the asshole who objected at his best friend's wedding," Mark says pointedly. "And you got it all wrong, anyway. Laurie is the one with the money."
"I know," I say, staring at the amber liquid in my glass. "Ivy told me."
Mark pauses, brows raising. "Well, she's right. Laurie's family is loaded. She has a trust fund that makes my salary look like pocket change. She didn't need my money, Brooks. If anything, I'm the one marrying up."
I sigh, defeated. "I know. I was... wrong."
Mark watches me for a moment, tilting his head. "Okay. So you were wrong about Laurie. And Ivy knocked you out. But that still doesn't explain the ring. How do you go from 'she gave me a concussion' to 'she's my fiancée?' How did you even get her to agree to this?"
"It started as blackmail, mostly," I admit. "I needed a fiancée for the board. After the hospital incident, they thought I was unstable. A fiancée would prove I was settled, reliable. She needed to not be sued for the concussion. It was a transaction."
"Okay. So it's a transaction. Why the long face?"
"Because last night..." I trail off. I take a drink of the whiskey. It burns, grounding me. "Last night, we crossed the line. We slept together."
Mark raises his eyebrows. "And?"
"And it was... it wasn't fake."
"Okay. That sounds like good news."
"It's terrible news," I snap. "I have four weeks left.
Then she leaves. That's the deal. If I let myself want her.
.. if I let myself need her... what happens in September?
She walks away with a charity check and a waiver, and I'm left in an empty house with a victory that feels like a consolation prize. "
"So what did you do?" Mark asks.
"I panicked," I say. "I told her it was a mistake. That she needed to focus on the job."
Mark stares at me. He blinks slowly.
"You're an idiot," he says.
I don't argue. I can't.
"Brooks, look at me," Mark says. "You think you're protecting yourself. You think you're holding the line. But you're not. You're just ensuring she leaves."
"She was always going to leave," I insist. "She's Ivy. She's wild. And we're from two different worlds. She's only here because I forced her. Once the contract is up, she'll run."
"Different worlds?" Mark scoffs. "Brooks, she's a high-end bridesmaid for hire. She manages crises for the one percent. With her job, she lives in your world more often than you do. And honestly? She handles it better."
He leans forward.
"You pushed her away this morning?"
"Yes."
"And she's still there?"
"She's back at the cottage. She had tea with my mother this afternoon."
Mark shakes his head, smiling a little. "She's tough. I'll give her that. But Brooks? Resilience has a limit. You keep pushing her, and eventually, she won't push back. She'll just go."
He finishes his drink.
"Go home," Mark says. "Apologize. Grovel. Buy flowers. Do whatever you have to do to fix it. Because if you lose a woman who can handle your mother and your baggage? You are the worst investor in New York."
I stare at my whiskey.
She's resilient.
She's a fixer.
I stand up.
"You're right," I say.
"I usually am," Mark says. "That's why I'm the happy one. You owe Ivy, Brooks. Big time."
I throw a hundred-dollar bill on the table and walk out.
I need to get back to the Hamptons. I need to fix this.
But as I drive back toward the tunnel, traffic building, the sun setting, I can't shake the feeling that I might have broken something that can't be fixed with an apology.
I told her it was a mistake.
I have to convince her, that the mistake wasn't sleeping with her.
The mistake was thinking I could ever let her go.