“What game?”
“What game? Grant, you put a ring on my finger in front of Hollis and said we should set the date now. That game.”
“Damn it, it’s not a game, Sophie.” Should I have expected this reaction? My uncle’s voice told me I should have. I don’t know what I expected. I just wanted her without the pitfalls that could come with wanting someone so much.
She sniffed and wiped at her cheek. “If it’s not a game, then what is it?” Her eyes widened. “Are you trying to say that you meant it? You were actually asking me to marry you?”
Both yes and no were right, and both were wrong. And the longer it took me to answer, the more something came over her face. Hope?
“No, of course not.”
She sobbed and turned to wave down another cab.
“I mean, yes, I really want you to marry me . . . to keep up appearances. I’m so close to sealing the deal with Hollis, and if he becomes suspicious now—”
“I’d already told him we broke up. I don’t think he suspects a thing.”
I had no idea she’d done that. “I don’t want to risk it.”
Sophie shook her head. “I don’t care.”
And a cab pulled up to the curb. She was going, and she was furious and hurt. I couldn’t let her walk out of my life.
“The dresses and jewelry?” I said.
She stopped with one leg in the cab. “They’re boxed up, I just haven’t gotten around to sending them back to you.”
“I don’t want them back. But you should consider the money I spent on them. I know you’ve helped me, but I’ve helped you in return, as you pointed out yourself. It would help me now immensely to keep Hollis thinking everything’s fine until the final paperwork is done. If we have a ceremony that he’s invited to, he’ll never have reason to doubt, and you can divorce me whenever it suits you. Win-win.”
“Win-win,” Sophie said.
“Yes.”
“So it would just be to convince Hollis we’re really together, and married?”
“Of course. Why else would—”
“Stop. Just stop right there, Grant. No, I’m not going to pretend to marry you.”
I knew I’d bet everything and lost with my stupid knee-jerk response. My unwillingness to let this woman know that the real ploy here was that any of this was fake.
“Sophie—”
“No.
“That ring on your finger alone was half a million dollars. And the La Costa—”
“Why are you telling me this? So I’ll feel . . . guilty?”
“No, I don’t want you to feel guilty. I wanted to give you those things.” I was grasping, and I could feel my fingertips slipping off the ledge one by one. “Just be reasonable enough to see that asking for a few weeks or months of a pretend marriage shouldn’t be that big a deal in return for all of it.”
“You want me to feel indebted, then. And I refuse. I won’t.”
“Sophie—”
“This ring, half a million, that’s a drop in the bucket to people like you, isn’t it?”
“Yes. What—”
She slammed the door shut, damn near catching my fingers as I tried to hold it open. As the cab pulled away from the curb, she hurled the ring out the window at me, where it bounced off the pavement behind me.
“Don’t call me again,” she shouted.
I picked up the ring and stared at it a moment. Those terrible feelings were back, the realization that I wanted something I couldn’t have.
But you could have it. Or at least you could have before. Maybe not now . . .
I called the driver to pick me up, turning the ring over and over in my hand, feeling more lost than I ever had in my life. An elderly couple walking down the sidewalk laughed about something, and the man, who walked with a cane, kissed the woman on the cheek and said I love you, even when you’re grumpy. They laughed again, and despite having no idea what prompted the comment, I smiled.
“How long have you been together?” I asked, and wondered why my voice was so shaky.
“Fifty-seven years,” the man said proudly. “Fifty-seven looooong years,” he said with a wink. She gasped oh you and slapped his arm, giggling.
“That’s remarkable. Here.” I grabbed the man’s hand and pressed the ring into it. “It’s worth half a million dollars, and will look beautiful on your wife’s hand. Or take it to Heinway & Sons on 16th street—he’ll give you a fair price for it.”
They spoke over one another—we can’t accept this, it’s too much, what are you—but I held my hand up. “It’s just a gift. Enjoy it. Take care.”
I got into the limo and waved at them before the driver closed his door. My uncle’s voice echoed in my head.
Everything isn’t a business deal, Grant.
Six – Sophie
When the cab pulled up outside my building, I’m not sure how long I sat there.
“Miss?” The driver’s voice was loud and panicked. He’d apparently spoken to me several times before I heard it.
“Yes, yes.”
He made me assure him that I was okay before he let me walk away from the car, and I spared a warm thought for him, concerned about a stranger. But most people were good and decent, weren’t they? I thought so. I liked to think so. Most people understand the struggle life could be, and didn’t mind helping out a fellow human being.
I dragged myself to my door and dropped my keys and purse as soon as I was inside. My purse toppled off the side table I’d placed there for that purpose. I didn’t pick it up.
I went to the bedroom and undressed, sighed as I slid between the cool sheets, hugged my pillow to me, and lay there thinking of nothing and everything for a very long time. When I woke the next day, my pillow was damp, so either I’d cried enough before I slept to soak it, or I’d cried in my sleep. Or I’d woken up and cried from time to time.
I felt so fuzzy, so numb, I had no idea which it was.
I managed to get up to use the bathroom, get a drink of water, and think about eating something. Nothing sounded good, even though my stomach growled its hunger at me a few times through the day.
I did all right, as long as I could focus on things that had nothing to do with anything of importance in my life. Was Pluto really a planet or not? How long would Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt really stay together? Should I get a full Brazilian wax one of these days just for the experience, and to say I had?
But now and then, ugly thoughts cut their way in.
So it would just be to convince Hollis we’re really together, and married?
Of course. Why else would—
Why else would I ask you to marry me? That’s what he’d been about to say. Maybe I shouldn’t have cut him off, should have let him say it out loud. Maybe that would make this easier?
With more tears, I decided nothing would have made it easier. But I had to push through. I could take the box of beautiful things he’d bought me and send it back, if I felt like leaving the house. After a couple of days, I still didn’t want to go anywhere, but I realized I could have a messenger service come to get it and handle the delivery. But that would require talking on the phone.
He could wait a few more days. It was easier not to think about the box, which led to thoughts of Grant, after all.
After about a week had passed, I managed to call for take-out, because the few things I had in the fridge and freezer were gone. I hadn’t eaten much, but I had started to eat again.
I was finishing the last of my chicken fried rice when my phone rang with the ringtone I’d set for anyone calling from Holliscorp. I don’t know why I answered it. Stubbornness, probably. To my relief, it was Jan. She invited me for a few drinks that evening.
“Think of it as a fantastic mixing of business and pleasure. It’s a social meeting, but there are a couple of people I think you’ll be glad to make acquaintance with,” she said, her voice far too perky. “They sign off on the freelancers who work for their firms, and I may have told them a few g
ood things about a certain freelancer who has done a fantastic job for us. Just promise me you won’t let either of them snatch you away full-time!”
I wanted to say no. I hadn’t even showered since . . . yesterday morning? God. But Jan sounded so excited, maybe a little tipsy already, and it was such a nice gesture that I agreed.
This is what I needed. A hot shower, a little food before I went, a few drinks to relax, and work-related activities to keep my mind off the rest of my life.
I told her I’d see her in a couple of hours, and got into the shower. I cried a little, I’m not even sure why. And then I told myself that if there were going to be any more tears today, they would have to wait until I got home.
Seven – Grant
My Aunt Marie preferred to visit cemeteries in the late afternoon and early evening. She always said that mornings were for beginnings, and it felt wrong to go and set the tone for the day with an ending. I’d have preferred to visit Uncle Clayton’s grave in the morning, get it out of the way, but I never saw visiting a gravesite as anything particularly meaningful to start with. I had my memories, and when I wanted to “talk” to Clayton, I could imagine pretty easily what he would say to me about this or that.
Standing where his body lay underground gave me no special insight or comfort. But because Aunt Marie did find comfort in it, I had agreed to take her.
For several minutes, we stood in front of my uncle’s headstone, arm in arm, admiring the orchids she’d lain there.
“Those will probably be gone by tomorrow,” she said, clicking her teeth. “Someone will steal them and put them on a different grave, or take them home and put them in water.”
I nodded, but wondered why she brought them if she was so sure of that. They were going to die quickly one way or another.
“It’s the gesture, the thought, that counts,” she said, as if she’d heard me asking questions in my head.
She squeezed my arm and leaned her head against it, her pillbox hat shifting a little. “Now that he’s gone, Grant, I forget that I don’t have to worry anymore. How he’s being treated, if he has flashes of memory ever and wonders what’s going on. If he hurts and can’t tell anyone. I forget that I don’t have to think of those things anymore. That it’s ok.”
She sniffed. “Just feels unnatural not to worry after all these years.”
I patted her hand. “I know. You can always worry about me.”
Marie laughed. “Who says I don’t? Not the same, though.”
After a few more minutes, she said, “Let’s walk back to the car,” and pulled me in that direction. “Now, speaking of worrying about you, Jimmy called me the other day.”
It took a moment to realize she was talking about James Seebold. “Oh, god,” I said.
“Oh, god, is right. Said you fired him because you were, and I quote, in a snit.”
“He’s a terrible butler.”
Marie glared at me.
“Manservant.”
“Grant, you know he prefers Domestic Assistant. And he’s exceptionally good at his job. He handled everything for Clayton, and sometimes took care of things before Clayton even knew something needed to be done.”
“He still works for me, Aunt Marie. We just had a few words.”
As we slid into the back seat of the limousine, she adjusted her hat. “Yes, he said so. And he also told me about some of your other behavior. Snapping at Martha, barking around like you’ve got a thorn in your paw.”
“I should fire him again.”
She laughed. “You’ll do no such thing.”
I took a deep breath and hissed it out. “Aunt Marie . . . I’m not sure what you want me to say. I’ve always been an arrogant ass.”
“Yes.” She nodded and crossed her hands on her lap.
“I think this is where you’re supposed to argue with me.” I laughed and rubbed my forehead.
“Why? It’s the truth. You’re self-aware enough to know it. The problem is that you’ve gone from your usual level of ass”—she held her hand, palm down, at about shoulder height—“and ramped it up to supreme, unbearable ass, somewhere up here.” She held her hand well above her head.
“And since I’m not aware of any huge business losses you’ve suffered recently, Grant, I have to assume it’s something personal. I also note that you haven’t mentioned Sophie, nor did you bring her with you today, when I would have liked to see her again.”
She patted my leg. “I think that woman stole your heart. What I can’t decide is if she then pawned it and left you hurting, or you simply don’t like the idea that you might care about her more than you expected to.”
I squinted at her, wondering how she could be so insightful. “How . . . you met Sophie once, and I know I didn’t tell you anymore than necessary to warm you up to the idea of me bringing her to the funeral. Don’t you think you’re assuming a lot based on that?”
She beamed at me. “I knew it.”
“Knew what? I haven’t said anything.”
“Oh, sweetie.” She took my hand in hers. “With you, it’s always what you don’t say. You didn’t say I was wrong, and if I had been, you wouldn’t have hesitated.”
I leaned back against the seat, a little in awe of my aunt’s ability to see through me. I didn’t know what to say, but she spoke, saving me the trouble of figuring it out.
“You brought her to Clayton’s funeral. And aside from your turn speaking, your shoulder was never more than an inch away from hers. She looked at you so . . . protectively when you were speaking, so warmly. And you clung to her.” Marie laughed. “I’m not sure why you told yourself you brought her, but it was as clear to me as the nose on your face that you wanted her by your side for support, for comfort, to help you feel better during a painful time.”
She knocked her foot against mine. “And she did, didn’t she?”
“Yes.” Little point in half-assing the truth now. “When did you learn to be a mind-reader?”
“It’s not your mind that concerns me, Grant. Just your heart. Bring her for lunch next weekend? I so enjoyed seeing the two of you together. That new look in your eye, that brought me joy on a sad day.”
“I can’t.” When she glared at me, about to read me the rights, I shrugged. “I hurt her, and I don’t think there’s any going back.”
“Did you hurt her with infidelity, or just by being an incredible asshole?”
A laugh punched out of me on hearing my tiny, prim and proper aunt use that word. “Asshole. I don’t—don’t ever want to be like my father. I won’t ever let a woman—”
Marie raised a finger in the air. “Stop right there. Your mother lorded over your father, and he let her. Theirs was a bad relationship. What exactly does that have to do with you?”
I shook my head. “Everything.”
“Why? Is Sophie like your mother?”
“God, no.” If she reminded me of anybody I knew, it was the woman sitting next to me.
“And you are nothing like your father, Grant.”
“But what if . . . what if falling for a woman could make me like him?”
“But it didn’t.”
“Aunt—”
“You’ve already fallen, hard, and you know it. And you’ve still managed to be an asshole and run her off. So I’d say you’re in no danger of being led around by the nose like your father.” She chuckled. “The good news is that you can probably get her back. I left Clayton three times early in our relationship, you know. Once after we were married. Because he thought I was his secretary or an underling or someone he could treat as an inferior life form. Hmph. We got through that.”
“How?” I squeezed her hand. I’d had no idea about their early problems.
Aunt Marie shrugged. “He loved me. And he never let me forget it.”
As sweet as the story and her concern were, that didn’t help.
“Do you love her, Grant?”
I opened my mouth to say I don’t know. But that . . . that would have broken my r
ule. That would have been a lie.
“I—”
“Don’t tell me. Tell her. Show her. Never stop.”
The car pulled into the drive, and she squeezed my hand before letting go. “Thank you for indulging an old lady today. I’d rather not go by myself.”
I grabbed her hand and kissed it. “Same time next week then?”
Her face broke into a wide smile. I helped her out of the car and walked her into the house.
“See you soon, Grant,” she said as I turned to go.
“I love you, Aunt Marie,” I said, the words feeling strange but good. It wasn’t as if I’d never said it to her, or Clayton, or any member of my family, but it was rare. It had probably been a very long time.
“Well, Grant, I love you, too. Are you practicing on me?” she asked, blinking faster than normal, and I regretted not telling her more often.
“A little? But it was overdue.” I gave her a hug, kissed her forehead, and hurried out to my car.
Maybe it was too late. Maybe I’d hurt Sophie enough that she wouldn’t give me another chance.
But I wasn’t going to let that possibility stop me from trying.
Eight – Sophie
The rain started just minutes before I headed down to meet the cab I’d called. I almost called Jan and cancelled. Thunder boomed, and the rain came down in sheets. It was really the perfect excuse to stay at home.
No. I was not going to let Grant’s lack of regard for me keep me in like a miserable hermit. I couldn’t. Even though that’s all I wanted to do.
I stood on the sidewalk, my umbrella barely keeping me dry because the wind gusts sent the rain in all directions from time to time. When the cab pulled up, a familiar Mercedes pulled in behind it. Grant got out and headed for me.
I got into the cab and gave him the address. Grant’s hand pressed against the window, but I told the driver to go.
Be strong, Sophie. It’s only a trick. Another ploy to get you to fake-marry him. Just forget him.
I laughed. As if I could.
The driver stared at me in the rearview, probably not used to single passengers laughing to themselves.
His Desire (Billionaire Blind Date Book 5) Page 3
