by Sara Celi
So, what did I really have to lose?
My dignity? Pretty much gone. My social status? We’d lose that for sure if Ross Publishing went bankrupt—the ensuing media frenzy alone would brand Ashton and me forever. My freedom of choice? It wasn’t as if my love life was going well, anyway.
I took a deep breath. If I wanted to leap, I needed to do it—and fast.
“Fine,” I said before I could talk myself out of the decision. “You win, Trevor.”
He leaned in a little bit, as if he didn’t think he’d heard me correctly. “Win what?”
I swallowed, willing myself to pull it together. No going back now, but the rush that pulsed through me told me I hadn’t necessarily made a bad decision. “I’ll do this,” I whispered. “I’ll agree to what you want.”
The left corner of his mouth turned upward, and for the first time, I saw a hint of dimples in his cheeks. They made him more handsome and more boyish. Damn it.
You’re not supposed to like this guy, you’re not supposed to like this guy…
“Do what, Ainsley?”
“What you want,” I replied. “I’ll agree to your terms.”
“My terms?” He sat back in his chair, propped his elbows on the arm rests, and weaved his fingers together. I noticed his long fingers and his rounded nails, two more signs of how much he took care of himself. “You mean the engagement? The marriage? The acquisition? All of it?”
I nodded, then made sure to lower my voice. Even I could hardly believe what I was about to say, but here I was, and this had become my reality. Funny how things were turning out, and this was a twist I hadn’t expected.
I took a deep breath.
“I’ll marry you, Trevor. If you ask me, I’ll say yes.” I looked down at the table and willed my nerves to settle down. When I lifted my gaze again, I also grabbed the edge of the tablecloth, as if it would give me some extra resolve. “Of course, it will purely be a business deal, but I’ll say yes. I’ll do it. If it saves the company, and it saves my family, then you’ve got a deal.”
He moved one hand to his chin and rubbed it back and forth between his fingers as he studied me for a long moment. “And you’re sure about what you’re agreeing to? You’ve thought this through?”
“As much as I can,” I said, despite the little voice in the back of my head that insisted I hadn’t done enough thinking about it at all. “Don’t let me dwell on it anymore—I might decide to do something different.”
He took a deep, heaving breath. “Good. I’m glad you’re going to agree to this. I’ll—we’ll—call Ashton this afternoon and let him know the exciting news.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
He smiled. “Well it is, isn’t it? We’re both about to get what we want.”
“In a way, I guess we are.”
The server arrived with our large lunch salads and a round of fresh cracked pepper. Once she left, though, neither of us picked up our forks. Instead, we went back to staring at each other. My stomach lurched, and my toes curled in my sandals. This was a big decision, and an even bigger moment.
“I just have one request,” I whispered. “If we’re going to get married, I want to do it here. In Palm Beach. I don’t live in New York anymore. This is my home, and this is where I’m the most comfortable.”
“And I have a request, too. I want to do it sooner. No sense in putting it off, so let’s do it in May.” He smiled. “What do you think?”
I gulped. This lunch wasn’t going the way I planned at all, but here I was, making deals anyway. “Fine. May’s perfect.”
His attention slid around the room before settling back on me. “We have to make this real, okay? We must make everyone in society think this is legitimate. It must be real, even if we both know that it isn’t. Deal?”
“Deal.” I hesitated. “As long as—”
“What?”
“As long as you don’t expect me to sleep with you.” I locked my gaze with his. “That’s not going to happen.”
“I’m not asking, Ainsley. I promise.” He raised his hand and held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
I frowned. “You weren’t a Scout. Not even close.”
“No, I wasn’t. But you can trust me. Promise.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to believe him, but I also didn’t know if I had any other choice. I had to save the company. I had to do something. And maybe this was payback for all the times I’d failed to keep up with the business my father had loved so much.
“If we’re going to do this, we have to sell it, okay?” he said. “And that means dramatic flourishes.”
“Fine. Whatever you want.” I was past the point of arguing, past the point of caring. Everything I’d known up until that point was screwed up, anyway. “I’ll play along—as long as you keep up your side of the agreement.”
“I promise.” A smirk spread across his face. “Now that we’ve got that settled… are you ready?”
“For what?”
“This.”
He stood from the table and continued to stare at me. Then he made his way around its circular side and got down on one knee. Around us, the restaurant fell silent, and the force of everyone’s attention turned to us. I sucked in a deep breath.
This is happening. This is really happening. Right now. Oh, my god…
Trevor took my hand. “Ainsley, I’m aware that the last few weeks have moved so fast, but I know what I want when I see it. And what I want… is you.” He tightened his grip on my fingers. “I don’t want to wait any longer. Ainsley Ross, will you marry me?”
How long had I waited to hear those words? How many times as a young girl had I envisioned the kind of proposal that I’d get? How much had I wanted a love that would sweep me off my feet?
I wasn’t getting it here. I was getting a business transaction, an agreement, an engagement in name only. This was a role I had to play, a part I needed to sell in order to make sure whatever remained of the life that I had didn’t fall apart for good.
And in the moment, it sounded good. Special. Personal. Real. That was enough.
Because what other choice did I really have?
“Yes,” I said, loud enough so that at least the rest of the front of the restaurant would hear my reply. If we were going to convince people this was legit, that had to start immediately. “I can’t believe you’re asking me”—I glanced at the other restaurant patrons—“but yes!”
“Good.” He grinned, then shoved a hand in his trouser pocket. When it emerged, he held a small ring box in an unmistakable red with gold stitching around the top. I bit back a gasp.
Oh. My. God.
I would have recognized that box anywhere—Cartier. And that fact alone made my heart skip a beat. Getting a Cartier ring had a been a dream of mine since childhood. I’d always envisioned a handsome knight in shining armor, a big diamond ring from Cartier…
“Your face,” Trevor whispered. “Are you okay? You’ve lost some color in your cheeks.”
I swallowed; my mouth had gone drier than the sandy beaches that lined the island. “I’m… I’m fine. I just didn’t expect you to have a ring. Is that—”
“What do you think it is? See for yourself.”
He grinned and opened the box, revealing a large, pear-shaped diamond solitaire encircled with smaller diamonds in what looked like a platinum setting. If seeing that box had made my heart jump, this almost made it stop. I was looking at the exact ring I would have chosen for myself, right down to the bed of small diamonds that rimmed the band.
How did he know? How did he…
“Do you like it?” Trevor’s voice sliced through the air.
I snapped my attention his way. “Yes, I—I do.” A nervous laugh escaped my lips. “I just can’t believe that you selected this particular ring.”
“Why?” He glanced at the other people in the restaurant, who had now fallen silent and stared as us as the final moments of this proposal played out before them.
&nb
sp; “It’s exactly what I would have chosen,” I said, my mind still racing as I tried to process everything that had happened in the last five minutes or so. I could hardly think, hardly breathe, and hardly believe this was happening to me.
But it was.
“I can’t wait to marry you, Trevor McNamara.” My last bit of caution slipped away. The tight grip inside my chest eased and allowed me to finally breathe. Briefly, I wondered if somehow, without me realizing, this whole situation had gone from a business transaction to something I really wanted in my heart. Oh, good god, was I falling for him? But I didn’t have time to contemplate it. Everyone was watching, waiting for my answer.
So, I gave it to them. “I can’t wait to marry you, Trevor McNamara. Yes! A thousand times, yes!”
The article had the top spot of Page Six’s website, and a screaming headline in bold, black lettering.
NEW YORK’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR TO MARRY PUBLISHING HEIRESS AFTER WHIRLWIND ROMANCE
We can’t believe it ourselves, but this story is a merger for the ages…
Below it, seven paragraphs detailed the proposal in Palm Beach (in front of dozens, and featuring a two-carat diamond ring, how romantic), our love affair (smoldering for years, insiders say, given how parallel these two families have been in business and beyond), the wedding (we hear in Palm Beach after the end of the season, since Ross has her social calendar already set, just like any good socialite of the Instagram generation), and the current state of my business affairs (an expanding empire). A few gushing sentences followed about how our families would finally unite after years of business duels, and then some complimentary photos of both of us rounded out the writeup.
And the article had no mention of my past. No allusion to the unpleasant memories I wanted to stay hidden. Nothing at all.
Good.
I closed the Page Six browser window on my office desktop and returned to the emails I’d been typing for most of the morning. It had been three days since the proposal, and one since my return to New York from South Florida. Plenty of things clamored for my attention, not the least of which included the acquisition of Ross Publishing. Thank god I didn’t have a board to answer to about big decisions like this one. Any competent CFO or COO would consider this deal ill-advised, given the size of debt and bloated spending of the company. Anyone who saw the kind of financial disclosures about Ross Publishing that lay on my desk would have demanded I reconsider the buyout.
But for me, the pursuit of the company wasn’t about how much money I might make, or how much I’d lose. It was about pride. It always had been. Win this, and I’d get to declare victory in the game my father had played for most of his life.
Maybe I’d get a few spoils of war, too.
As I considered this, my desk phone rang. When I answered it with the speaker button, Janet, my longtime assistant asked, “Mister McNamara, are you there?”
“I am.”
“I have your—umm, well, your new fiancée on the phone, Ainsley Ross.”
Electricity pulsed through me as I heard her say that sentence. It was the first time anyone in person had referred to Ainsley as my “fiancée,” and I liked the sound of her name and that title. Honestly, it pleased me more than I’d planned.
Interesting.
“Patch her in.”
“Right away, Mister McNamara.” She made an audible click, and Ainsley took over the line.
“Hi, Trevor.”
I struggled with what to say to her. How did I greet her? What was I supposed to say? We weren’t in love, and she wasn’t my girlfriend, but at the same time, she was also going to be my wife. I didn’t have a playbook for this.
Unusual for me. I hardly made any moves without calculating all of the potential outcomes. But maybe that needed to change.
“What’s going on, Ainsley?” I asked. “Why didn’t you call my cell phone?”
“I figured you were too busy doing major deals and managing your empire to answer your cell. And I wanted to get through.” She paused. “So, who told Page Six about us?”
Even though she couldn’t see me, I raised two hands. “I swear, I knew nothing about this.”
She laughed. “I don’t believe you.”
“No, I swear, I didn’t alert them.” I leaned closer to the receiver. “I let my PR team do that.”
Her chuckle grew louder.
“Tell me you’re pleased. It’s a good article.”
I leaned back in my chair and interlaced my hands behind my head. From here, I had a view of the Hudson River and Hoboken, New Jersey, beyond it. Just like Ainsley’s dad, I had a penchant for branded, high-end real estate, and my building on Eleventh Street in Greenwich Village almost did it for me. But it wasn’t as good as the one Ainsley’s family owned.
The one I’d soon own, too.
“I would have liked some heads up,” she said. “But you’re right. It’s a good write-up, and people were bound to find out, anyway. All of Palm Beach already knows.”
I thought back to that moment in Taboo restaurant. Yes, it had been a bit of an outrageous, spur-of-the-moment proposal. But… I hadn’t wanted to give Ainsley any chance to back out of the plan. I wanted to lock her in, and that had meant having the ring on hand and proposing in public. Luckily for me, she hadn’t hesitated.
She might not be an actress, but she could dupe anyone—except me. Just like that night at the museum. She’d almost swayed me with that slap and her outrage after our lips had melted together in that hot make-out session. But upon later examining it, I knew there had been no mistaking her surrender, the low growl in her throat when I’d kissed her, and the way her curvy body had molded to mine.
No, Ainsley Ross couldn’t fool me.
“We can put an item in the New York Times, too,” I said. “Cover our bases. Make sure it appears as if we mean to do this.”
She let out an audible breath. “Yes, we need to. My personal life is my own business, but I do admit this appears sudden and unexpected to a lot of people.”
“I’ll have someone call the Times this afternoon.”
“Good. No one had any idea we were dating because, well, we weren’t. So, we have to take steps to make sure this appears to be the real deal.”
I opened the desktop calendar that held all my upcoming commitments and appointments. “That’s why I’m thinking of coming back to Palm Beach next weekend. I’ll take the jet down next Friday night and return Sunday afternoon.”
“And what do you plan on doing here that weekend?”
“Not me. We. We can start planning the wedding, for one.” I was starting to get into this. A lot. “Register for gifts, maybe?”
“And where would we register, hmmm?”
“The usual.” I snapped shut my calendar and turned back toward my computer. Several emails had just hit my inbox, but they could wait. “Tiffany’s. Neiman Marcus. Wherever you want.”
“Is that so?’ She hesitated. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you? The ring, the press…”
“This is important, Ainsley. It’s a priority. And if we are getting married, we might as well really do this.”
She didn’t reply for a moment. “You’re right, we might as well. In fact, we should probably do it all—an engagement party, wedding shower…”
“Whatever you want.” I considered this for a moment, thinking of all the people and press who would witness me hobnobbing with “old money” and snagging a Ross heiress. “An engagement party sounds nice. When are you thinking we should do it?”
My thoughts began to swirl with the possibilities of this. An engagement party in Palm Beach would go a long way toward my ultimate goal—making a name for myself among the New Yorkers and coastal elites who’d shut out my family through calculated snubs and subtle slights. We could test out the dynamics of our relationship there, then move on to the big city.
“One idea is to have the party a few weeks from now.” She hesitated again. “In fact, if you want to do it, t
he Flagler Museum has a few dates open. A last-minute cancellation.”
I smiled. “Did you already make the reservation?”
“Maybe.” Ainsley let out another laugh. “I know a few people on the board, and I made a call this morning, just to check.”
“I’m flattered,” I replied. And I was. “I know the International Refugee fund has their gala at the Phillips Estate that Saturday night. Why don’t I have Janet get us tickets?”
She scoffed. “I doubt you can. It’s sold out.”
“Not for us.” I smiled. “If needed, I’ll make a significant donation.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“I know the way things work in that town. A lot of people talk, but money talks the loudest.”
She agreed, and I ended the phone call with a promise that Janet would be in touch about my travel arrangements and a timetable. Janet told me she’d also book me a room at the Breakers Resort, and I returned to my email.
Five hundred sixty-eight messages waited for me.
I set about answering and deleting as many as possible, and I had just worked my way through the first half of them when an email from an address I didn’t recognize caught my attention with the subject line “THE ARTICLE” written in capital letters.
I clicked it open.
I read the article in Page Six this morning, so let me be the first to congratulate you on your marriage to the rich bitch of your wildest dreams. I should have known that you’d end up with Ainsley Ross; something about that always seemed predestined. After all, she’s a member of one of New York’s finest families, right? I’m sure she’ll make you very happy—if you let her. Not that you ever let me do the same.
By the way, you look like you’ve lost weight. Finally getting in some sessions with your trainer? And did you have a good time at the Hunt Club last night?
I still love you,
Olivia
My stomach flipped, and all the memories I’d made with Olivia came flooding back to the forefront of my mind. Two years of wasted time with a crazy woman who’d drained my patience and almost derailed my career in the process. A woman who couldn’t accept the end of “us.”
