Chapter 14 #2
The words leave my mouth before I fully process them. It’s the second time I’ve done something impulsive, and it’s because of her. Which is interesting. It also tells me I need to protect my emotions around her.
Whittington coughs. “Did you say…your fiancée?”
“What you saw was a difference of opinion between two people who work closely together. The chemistry between us was evident. We’re planning to marry, so there’s no scandal.”
I sound so sincere, I almost convince myself.
Ember as my wife.
In my home.
In my bed.
My heart slams against my ribs. My pulse thuds at my temples. At my wrists. Even in my balls. A strange possessiveness grips me.
One that threatens to break through the barriers I’ve used to keep my reactions in check.
A cold warning spreads through my chest. Even the thought of marrying her makes me feel out of control.
And yet, my instincts tell me this is the only way forward.
I roll my shoulders, forcing myself to relax. “She’s my sous chef. The most promising member of my team. She doesn’t tolerate my domineering ways and doesn’t hesitate to say so. It’s one of the reasons I fell for her.”
The lie slips out easily again. Almost as if part of me believes it.
“Firecracker, that one,” Whittington chuckles. “But a fiancée? You’re sure?”
Marry or lose the inheritance. Margot’s ultimatum echoes in my mind.
As for the viral video? If it becomes known it was a lover’s spat and we’re getting married, that problem would resolve itself too.
A marriage to Harper solves both of my problems.
As for emotional involvement? Nope, I can’t commit to that.
I pause, staring out the window at the trees outside. What if…I ask her to marry me but specify that there’ll be no emotions involved? That way, I can ensure there's no chance of letting my feelings take over. I can protect myself from getting hurt.
Yes, that could work.
And if she refuses?
I remember how fiercely she expressed her opinions in front of others, and to me, her boss. And after I told her explicitly that she can never disagree with me in front of others.
Yep, she’ll have a lot to say about it. She’ll probably refuse right away. I’ll have to soften the deal to get her on board. And use my charm. I’ll try to make her understand how this will benefit the both of us.
I’ve faced down enemies on the front line, but this… I’m not underestimating how difficult this is going to be.
I slide my hand into my pocket and brush my fingertips against the hair tie I carry there. Run my fingertips over the smooth elastic.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
The coldness in my chest recedes. “I am. We’re getting married.”
“When?” he fires back.
“Soon.”
“It needs to be very soon, like next week soon, to avert any scandal, you understand.”
I frown. Am I going to let this prick dictate when I marry? Am I really going to marry Harper? It’s not a real marriage though.
“James?”
“Yeah?” I don’t commit to the exact timeline, giving myself some wriggle room here.
“Does Margot know?”
I square my shoulders. “Not yet. Harper and I wanted to keep the news to ourselves before we told the world.”
In the silence which follows, I can sense his mind working overtime. “Then you wouldn’t mind if I am the first to tell her.”
That’s what I thought. “Be my guest,” I say like my thoughts aren’t racing ahead, trying to figure out how to make this scenario happen.
“Excellent.” His voice carries a thread of suppressed excitement.
The first grandson of the Hamilton family deciding to get married is big news.
He’s sure to earn brownie points when he tells Margot.
Who, no doubt, will think her scheme to get us married one by one by holding our inheritances over us, is already bearing fruit.
Not much I can do about that. Especially when that does play a role in my coming up with this idea.
“And now, I need to work on getting the video down, if you’ll excuse me?”
“Leave it up, I say.”
“Excuse me?”
“You can use it to announce your upcoming nuptials, which is bound to keep the interest alive in the restaurant and only drive bookings.”
“Why, Whittington, you sure are savvy when it comes to PR,” I say dryly.
And he does have a point. If we’re to be married, I could keep the video up and follow up with a short statement about my upcoming nuptials to lend credence to the chemistry on screen.
He harrumphs again. “Just keeping up with the kids.”
“Right then, gotta go. Thanks for the call.” Not. I disconnect without waiting for his response.
Then glance at my watch on my desk. She’s been in there for fifteen minutes. She’s definitely uncomfortable by now. I could give her five more minutes to stew, to mull over what she did. To build scenarios in her head where she imagines me coming in and firing her.
I message Tristan, who’s also my legal counsel, and ask him to draft a prenuptial agreement with Harper Richie. I send it off, knowing he’ll have questions but that he'll do it anyway.
The only thing left is to introduce the plan to Harper. She’ll hate it, of course, but she’ll do it…for a price. Everyone has a price; I just have to find hers.
Then, there’s the fact that she wants this job badly. I could sweeten it further by finally revealing to her that I think she has potential. Enough to be a head chef someday. Surely, that’ll make her want to agree?
I can use this to keep her exactly where I want her: in my kitchen, and one day soon, in my bed. There’ll be no messy feelings involved if it’s a transaction.
It’s a perfect plan.
I’ll save the restaurant, get access to my inheritance, and finally own the one thing I can’t stop thinking about. Her.
Satisfied, I check the time. She’s been in the walk-in refrigerator for twenty minutes. Hopefully, it’s cooled her temper.
I adjust my cuffs, the movement meticulous and calculated. Then, I head toward the heavy steel door of the cold storage.