“Oh God,” Daphne said with a soft groan as she leaned forward and gave Clover a sympathetic hug. “You fell in love.”
“I think I did.” And there went the waterworks with the very glamorous addition of a runny nose because this was what her formerly very happy life had come to.
Her best friend grabbed a napkin from the stack next to the popcorn bowl and handed it to her. “It’s not the worst thing to have happen, Clover.”
Her hands shaky and her breath coming in tortured gasps, Clover wiped her cheeks dry and blew her nose and yanked back control over her tear ducts. “I won’t marry him because he feels responsible for a baby that may not even exist, but I can’t seem to walk away from him, either.”
“So you wait and see if you’re pregnant.”
Clover stuffed half a cookie in her mouth because if these weren’t the kind of emotions that needed to be eaten away, she didn’t know what kind were. “And then?”
“Then I’ll be here for you like I’ve always been, and I’ll support you in whatever you choose,” Daphne said and held out her pinky. “Promise.”
Barely managing not to start sniffling again, Clover straightened out her pinkie finger and touched it to Daphne’s. A pinky promise was about as good as it was going to get for her right about now and she knew it, but sometimes that was good enough—and right now it had to be because she was still fake engaged to a man she loved for real who didn’t love her back.
…
The next morning with his suitcase in hand, Sawyer took a last look at Clover’s closed bedroom door, clamped his jaws together tight enough to rattle his teeth, and stepped into the elevator. He kept his gaze on the buttons lighting up one after the other rather than his own reflection in the mirrored doors. He didn’t need to look to see the dark circles under his eyes that were minimized if not eliminated by his glasses. Three days of near silence between him and Clover—with most of their talking being at the office about the Singapore deal—had left him feeling like shit.
Neither of them had mentioned the possible baby or his marriage proposal. Was he a chicken shit for letting it lay? Probably. But he’d promised himself to give her space and so that’s what he was going to do. His phone vibrated against his chest and he withdrew it from his inside jacket pocket.
Mom: We need to talk.
That was definitely not going to happen.
Sawyer: Headed off to airport for a quick trip to Singapore. Talk when I get back?
He stared at his phone, half believing it might just explode at any moment.
Mom: Of course.
He let out the breath he’d been holding right as the elevator doors opened. He nodded at Irving on his way through the lobby and made it almost to the doors when his phone vibrated in his hand.
Mom: Is Clover going with you?
His gut clenched and his steps faltered just enough as he walked through the Carlyle Towers front doors that Linus gave him a funny look as he held open the Town Car’s door. Sawyer recovered his stride and got into the car’s back seat. He stared at the empty seat beside him before answering his mom’s question.
Sawyer: No.
Mom: Have a safe trip. Good luck with Mr. Lim.
Finally nailing this Singapore deal should be all he was thinking about right now, but it wasn’t. Instead, all he could think about during the drive to the airport, the walk through security, and checking into the elite class VIP lounge was Clover. What was she doing right now? Was she feeling okay? Was she scared? Was she excited? Did she hate his guts? Was she going to say yes? Was he a complete and total fucking whiny wimp?
Survey says yes. Man up, asshole.
Sawyer grabbed a bag of chips and sat down in one of the lounge’s empty seats. The airport version of the news was playing on a big screen TV and an older man was reading a newspaper in the next seat. A row over, a toddler dressed in a T-shirt with a cartoon pig on it and a tutu skirt wandered from one end of the chairs to another under the watchful gaze of her parents. The kid sang some nonsense song as she patted her hands three times on the chair before moving on to the next one. Whatever game she was playing, it had her entertained.
“How many do you have at home?” the older man sitting nearby asked him as he folded his newspaper shut.
“None,” Sawyer said, his attention still focused on the girl who had hair almost the same shade of blond as Clover’s. “Not yet.”
“You sound hopeful, that’s good.” The old man turned his face and watched the little girl who had added a spin move to her routine “They change your lives, those little ones, and mostly for the better once you get past the sleepless beginning.”
“How many kids do you have?”
The man smiled, pride filling his eyes. “Five. All grown now.”
“That’s a lot of sleepless nights.”
“Well, with the right woman, you barely notice it.” He reached into his pocket and brought out his wallet, flipped it open, and tapped on a photo of a much younger version of the man and a woman in a wedding dress. “You gotta make sure to get that part right first because the kids all eventually leave the nest and then you’re left with yourselves for the rest of forever.”
Sawyer’s vision of forever hadn’t involved Clover or kids or marriage or anything else, and then he’d walked out of his office one day and there she was. He was an idiot for not realizing sooner. He was just relaxing back against his seat when a voice over the intercom announced Sawyer’s flight was boarding.
“That’s my flight,” he said, nodding his good-bye to the older man.
“Have a good trip and good luck finding the right woman.”
Forever with Clover. It had a nice ring to it. “I think I might have.”
The old man snorted. “Youth is wasted on the young. If it was me, you can be sure I wouldn’t be lazing around thinking I had the right woman. I’d make damn sure and then do whatever it took to make sure she thought the same, too.”
The old man was onto something. Getting Clover to see the advantages of his proposal would be a challenge. He had to make sure it didn’t sound like he was locking her into the very life she most feared.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sawyer said with a laugh and hurried to the gate for his flight, confident that by the time he got back to Harbor City in three days he’d have the perfect negotiation plan ready to go.
…
Two days after Sawyer had left for Singapore, Clover was wandering the empty penthouse, still no closer to knowing if she was pregnant or what in the hell she was going to do after he got back when the intercom by the elevator buzzed.
“Ma’am,” Irving said through the intercom. “You’re…um… Mrs. Carlyle is on her way up.”
Colillas de mono. She gulped, her silent worry about what might happen suddenly superseded by what was about to happen. “Now?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Glancing around the foyer for a hole that would swallow her up, she threw out the first thought that made its way through her freaked-out brain. “But Sawyer isn’t here.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When her miracle getaway hole failed to appear, she took a deep breath and tried not to give into the panic. “Are you giving me a heads up so I don’t have a heart attack when she pops out of the elevator like the Wicked Witch of the West?”
Irving made what sounded like a strangled laugh that transformed into a coughing fit. “I can’t comment on that, ma’am.”
Of course not. He wasn’t the one about to be interrogated by Helene Carlyle. “Thanks, Irving.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Clover pressed a fist to her belly and wished she’d paid more attention during the meditation breathing course Daphne had dragged her to a few months ago. Instead of deep cleansing breaths, all she was able to accomplish at the moment was borderline hyperventilating. Great. Helene Carlyle, terrorizer of doormen and procurer of socially-acceptable wife candidates was—the elevator dinged and Clover’s stomach did a d
roopy loop and her shoulders sagged—here.
Helene swept out of the elevator, looking every inch like the queen of Harbor City’s elite from her perfectly understated and yet enormously expensive wrap dress to the simple pearl studs in her ears. She gave Clover a slow up and down from the hem of her skinny jeans to the straps of her loose chiffon tank top and gave a weary sigh.
Biting back a caustic comment, Clover hit the elevator down button because the faster it got all the way back up here the faster her fake mother-in-law to be could leave. “Sorry, but Sawyer’s not here.”
“I’m not here for him,” Helene said, brushing an invisible piece of lint from her dress—as if lint would dare to land on her. “We’re going shopping.”
Oh. That sounded about as much fun as a world without chocolate. “Why?”
“I have a gala in two days and while Sawyer is many things, he is still a man with horrible sense for women’s fashion.”
“I can pick out my own dress.” Plus, it was highly doubtful she’d be going to the gala. Her period was due any minute, and she’d even worn white jeans and her favorite pair of panties today to hurry it along. Everyone knew Aunt Flo loved to fuck up anything white and/or pretty.
“Your ability to pick an item of clothing is not in question,” Helene said, her tone making a mockery of her words. “However, your ability to pick one that is appropriate for your first appearance at a major event as Sawyer’s fiancée is.”
“Tolong,” she muttered under her breath, although she doubted even if anyone could hear they’d answer her call for help, and as long as she had to continue with the fake engagement farce, telling Helene to buzz off was not a possible option. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m going to have to say no.”
Helene ground her teeth together and the vein popped out in her temple, reminiscent of her son. “I’m not good at apologizing.”
“That was an apology?” Not actually laughing out loud was hard. Still, she managed it.
“It’s a habit my son got from me, I’ll just warn you of that now,” she said, regaining her imperial air. “Also, having trouble finding a happy middle ground seems to be a family trait. That’s why Sawyer is so focused on the company and only the company—until you came along. I’d like the opportunity to get to know the woman who was able to get him to focus on something other than the family business a little better before the wedding.”
“I’m not sure I’m the reason for any change.” In fact, she was pretty damn sure she wasn’t.
“You may not be sure, but I am. Trust me. I tried everything I could think of to get him to slow down before going the nuclear route and pushing possible wives at him. By then I was out of options, and I couldn’t stand losing my son to an early death from overwork like I had my husband.”
Ooof. That hit her right in the hormonal feels. God, she couldn’t do this. “Helene…” The rest of what she was going to say vanished out of her head at the superior look the other woman gave her when she used her first name. “Mrs. Carlyle?”
“You can call me Helene, we’re going to be family after all.”
The elevator dinged its arrival and the doors whooshed open. Helene strode inside, obviously confident that Clover was going to follow behind—and she might have, if she could move her feet. The mention of family had all the guilt and anxiety rushing back to the surface, overwhelming everything except her ability to remember to breathe.
Helene gave her a hard look and pressed down the door open button. “Please don’t make that face. Let’s just go find you the perfect dress…and a last-minute appointment with my hair stylist.”
The little dig, subtle and yet perfectly aimed, was just the thing to break Clover out of her icy trance. Helene and Sawyer might not be carbon copies, but there were plenty of similarities between the two and as with the son, there was no way she was going to get Helene out of the penthouse without letting her think she won. So they’d go through the shopping farce and Clover could return whatever dress she ended up getting at the first opportunity. It’s not like she was ever going to need a ball gown after her she walked out of the penthouse for the last time.
“If I say yes to the dress, will you back off my hair?” she asked.
Helene gave her a skeptical look. “You’ll try on whatever I suggest?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’ll get it.”
“But I’m buying,” Helene said, waving off the objection as if laying out thousands on a dress was no big deal, which for her it probably wasn’t.
“I couldn’t accept.” The last thing she wanted was to walk away from Sawyer owing his family.
“You don’t have a choice. Those are my terms”—she paused as if considering an option that was slightly less distasteful than Clover picking out her own dress—“but I’ll let you pay for lunch.”
The woman wasn’t going without her. That much was obvious. With reluctant admiration and half looking forward to the distraction from waiting for her period, Clover grabbed her purse from the entryway table and got in the elevator. “You negotiate better than Sawyer.”
“Darling,” Helene said with a satisfied grin, “tell me something I don’t know. Come on, if I’m lucky I’ll have the opportunity to scare Irving again.”
As the elevator doors closed, Clover didn’t have a single doubt that Helene Carlyle could accomplish that with only minimal effort.
Three hours later, Clover found herself under the heat hood at Helene’s salon. She wasn’t sure how she’d gotten there, but the woman had outmaneuvered her at every turn. She really was a force to be reckoned with. So while Clover sat there with tinfoil in her hair, Helene sipped tea from a delicate china cup.
After setting her cup down on the saucer, Helene gave her an assessing once-over. “Sawyer’s very set in his ways, you know.”
“You don’t have to tell me.” No, she’d lived through the experience of learning that all on her own. Her hand automatically went to her belly.
“I suppose I don’t,” Helene said. “He’s just never had any other interests than Carlyle Enterprises, not from the time he was old enough to ride to work with his father. As a little boy, he was just the same as he is now. Simply shorter and with a more limited vocabulary.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” Clover chuckled despite everything going on between her and Sawyer because the mental image of him as a toddler in a suit was too funny not to. “Although I was surprised by how obsessed he is with the business that he’s never built anything with his own hands. I guess that’s why it was so much fun to renovate the bar cart together.”
One perfectly waxed and shaped dark brown eyebrow went up, and Helene leaned forward. “Explain renovate.”
What was it with this family? Didn’t they ever have craft time? Growing up, her mom had always made sure there was plenty of glitter, glue, odds and ends, construction paper, and other things so she and Bobby could invent and renovate. Her first project had been her three-drawer dresser that her mom had let her go to town on with a glue gun and a jar of old buttons. Really, that had been the beginning of her obsession.
“Sawyer and I got this old medical cart from the 50s at a flea market and then stripped it, sanded it, repainted it, and added a few bits and bobs to make it unique.”
“And he helped you with that manual labor?” Helene asked before taking another sip of tea.
“Uh-huh.” Clover nodded. “I know, he wasn’t into it at first, either, but he came around eventually. I’ve even gotten him to take some time off on his work-at-home Fridays to watch Flea Market Flip so we can get ideas for the next day’s trip to the flea market. We’re on the lookout for an old sewing table but haven’t found one we like quite yet.”
It took a few seconds for the bubbles of excitement about hitting the flea market with Sawyer to settle and then for reality to take a pin to each one so it popped. Once her period came, they’d never go hunting for a sewing table again. She swallowed past the emotion suddenly clogging her throat
because it wasn’t the flea market she’d really miss but going there with Sawyer. And that just sucked.
Helene didn’t seem to be experiencing the same bittersweet realization. Instead, the older woman just looked at Clover and smiled. “I’m impressed, dear.”
She was just about to ask why when the stylist appeared at her side and declared it was time to rinse. And with a small smile at her former nemesis, Clover followed the stylist. After all, finally making headway with Helene didn’t matter in the big picture because she’d be gone forever in just a few days.
22
Sawyer paced the foyer in his penthouse. Still a little jet lagged from his return trip from Singapore, the last thing he wanted was to put on a tux and attend one of the Kenning Fund Galas his mom had organized, but if it meant spending time with Clover, then it was a sacrifice he was more than willing to take. His plane had been delayed and he’d barely made it home in time to change for the evening.
Nerves needing an outlet, he fiddled with the box containing the heirloom emerald and diamond ring he’d gotten out of the bank vault on the drive home from the airport. He’d spent most of the flight home thinking about how to do this before settling on a plan. The details were sketchy—shocker—but he had the big picture clear in his head. Since the limo ride would be their only opportunity to be alone, he’d do it there. He couldn’t wait until after the gala. It was past time to close the deal.
The door to her room opened and Clover walked out. He almost swallowed his tongue.
Love in the Dark Page 38
