The Passionate One: A Billionaire Bride Pact Romance

by Lewis, Jeanette

  “The best friend, good guy stereotype. She’s got you wrapped around her little finger and she knows it. She calls and you come running. I know you worship the ground she walks on, bro, but so does she and I’m telling you, most girls don’t find that very exciting.”

  “I work with molten glass,” Matt pointed out. “That’s one step away from red hot lava. What’s not exciting about that?”

  “Shoulda played it up earlier. Now it’s just part of who you are,” Corben said. “Wouldn’t it be better to get over her and move on?”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I just ... I can’t see myself with anyone but her.” Matt picked at the label on his bottle of lemonade and sighed. “But if she’s not interested, she’s not interested.”

  The chime on the front door rang and they both turned to see their mother enter the studio. She ran the showroom, but since traffic was light on Monday mornings, she usually didn’t come until afternoon. She was a small woman, several inches shorter than Matt or Corben, and rather stern, but with a huge soft spot for her sons. Her shoulder-length blond hair had started showing a little silver at the temples—or maybe she’d decided to quit coloring it; Matt wasn’t about to ask. Her blue eyes were bracketed by crow’s feet and had never quite lost the glaze of grief from their father’s death.

  “Hi Ma. Want some lunch?” Corben called.

  “No, and you two shouldn’t be eating in here.” She frowned, glancing at the carpet under their chairs for any telltale crumbs.

  “We’re being careful,” Matt assured her, feeling guilty for no reason.

  She gave them the stink eye as only Ma could, and went into the office to go over the accounts while they cleaned up and returned to the workshop.

  Matt worked all afternoon on autopilot. The mayor’s ornaments were easy and his mind had time to wander. As always, he found his thoughts returning to Erin. He wasn’t a quitter, but maybe Corben was right. Maybe it was time to admit defeat.

  Or maybe he just needed a new plan.

  **

  Chapter 7

  Erin reported to the costume shop shortly after six, as instructed. It was a large area behind the rehearsal rooms, lit with dozens of fluorescent lights. Several heavy-duty sewing machines were clustered at one end, amid long tables surrounded with stools. Dressmaker dummies stood in the corner like a small army next to tall shelves stuffed with bolts of fabric. A three-way mirror and a few dressing rooms, made from PVC pipe and hung with curtains, stood along the wall opposite the fabric shelves.

  “Erin!” Anna looked up from her work table. She hooked a finger around the cord to her earbuds and pulled them loose.

  “How gorgeous! Who’s it for?” Erin asked, admiring the delicate black lace shawl Anna was working on.

  “You. I think it’s for the last scene,” Anna replied.

  “I don’t ... I didn’t think I had a shawl for that scene.”

  Anna wrinkled her brow. “Kathleen told me about it yesterday. I guess Mona added it at the last minute.” She picked up a pair of tiny scissors and started snipping at dangling threads.

  Erin bit her lip. Props were always a challenge, especially something as personal as a shawl. Now she would have to think about how Charlotte would wear it, and why, not to mention practicing with it enough so it seemed natural. But if that’s what Mona wanted, that’s what Mona would get.

  “All these changes,” she sighed.

  “I know,” Anna said sympathetically. She worked in the costume department, but was also a good actress in her own right and had been in her share of productions.

  Kathleen, the costume director, came in a few minutes later and they got down to business working through the final fittings for Erin’s costumes. Charlotte’s dresses were all sedate grays and blacks, fitted in the bodice and with modest-sized hoop skirts. During rehearsal, Erin wore a white practice slip sewn with hoops over her street clothes so she could get used to moving in them.

  “Can I take a shawl home with me so I can work with it?” Erin asked when they were finished with the fitting.

  Anna hurried to the costume storage room and returned with an embroidered pink shawl the same size and weight as the real version. “This is your stunt shawl,” she laughed, handing it over.

  It was after eight when Erin finally left the theater. By the time she’d finished her grocery shopping, she was exhausted and dragged herself up the stairs to her apartment.

  Erin’s roommate, Sarah, sat at the kitchen table, her short blond hair secured with a headband and her bright red reading glasses propped on her head. “I was beginning to worry about you,” she said.

  “Just my glamorous life in show business,” Erin groaned. She dropped her backpack on the floor and began rummaging through her grocery bags. “I’m starving.”

  “I made spaghetti,” Sarah said, pointing at a pot on the stove. “There’s some left over if you want it.”

  “Spaghetti sounds much better than canned clam chowder.” Erin threw Sarah a grateful smile and went to the kitchen to unload her groceries before dishing up a plate.

  Sarah was a student at WVU working on her graduate project, which, as far as Erin could tell, involved a lot of Facebook time. She and Sarah weren’t close, but they got along pretty well for roommates.

  “Matt came over,” Sarah said as Erin sat down to eat. “He said you weren’t answering his texts.”

  “He knows I never have my phone on in rehearsal.”

  “When are you going to put the poor boy out of his misery?” Sarah asked.

  Erin twirled the noodles with her fork. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I know I should, but ... I don’t want to hurt him. And, I guess if I’m honest, I don’t want to lose him. How selfish am I?”

  “If it’s not mutual, it’s not mutual,” Sarah shrugged. “He’s a big boy, he can take it. He took it pretty well when I told him you said he was boring.”

  “What?” Erin’s eyes widened in horror. “When did you tell him that?”

  “Tonight when he came over. He tried to pick my brain about you and I straight up told him you said he was boring.”

  “I never said he was boring,” Erin protested.

  “You said he was predictable and had no spontaneity,” Sarah said in a tone as if she were quoting.

  Erin’s mind flashed back to a recent late-night conversation they’d had. She had said that, or very nearly. Guilt pounded through her. “It doesn’t mean he’s boring.”

  “Same difference.” Sarah’s eyes flickered to her computer. “I did you a favor. Maybe he’ll finally realize you’re not interested.”

  Erin’s stomach felt tied in knots. “What did he say?”

  “Not much,” Sarah replied. “Just looked kind of thoughtful. I don’t think he was mad.”

  No, Matt didn’t get mad. Hurt, upset, troubled, worried ... she’d seen those. He wasn’t the type to lose his temper, and she suspected he was more hurt than angry. But hurting Matt was the last thing she wanted to do.

  Erin ate the rest of her spaghetti in silence, accompanied only by the tapping of Sarah’s fingers on the keys and her occasional mutterings. “I’m going to go see Matt,” she said as she put her dishes in the sink. “I’ll clean up when I get back.”

  Sarah, deep into an online article, merely waved.

  **

  Erin paused outside Matt’s apartment and took a deep breath. He lived on the same floor, three doors down. But where Erin and Sarah shared a two-bedroom, Matt’s apartment was a one-bedroom and he lived alone.

  Ignoring the brass knocker on the forest-green door, she rapped with her knuckles in a quick staccato pattern.

  “Come in, Erin!” Matt hollered from inside.

  She pushed the door open. “How’d you know it was me?”

  “You’re the only one who knocks like that,” he said. He sat cross-legged on the floor in front of his upended bicycle, tinkering with the chain and the gears. A lock of blond hair fell over his forehead, which was wrinkle
d in concentration as he glowered at the bike.

  “What are you doing?” Erin asked nervously. His head was down and she couldn’t read the expression on his face. If his feelings were hurt, she couldn’t tell.

  “Stupid chain fell off on my ride home from work and I had to walk two miles. How was rehearsal?”

  She shrugged. “Good. The usual. They changed it again so I have a bunch more lines to learn.”

  Matt shook his head. “At some point they’ve got to decide it’s good enough, right? Why keep messing with something before you even know how an audience will like it?”

  “Who knows?” She perched nervously on the arm of his couch, unsure how to bring up Sarah.

  He gave her a sidelong glance and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You can relax. I know I’m boring.”

  “That’s not what I said,” she protested. “I promise.”

  “It’s okay. I mean ... no one likes being called boring, but I know I tend to be reserved and methodical and you don’t. I get it.”

  “I can be methodical,” she protested.

  He gave a short laugh. “Yeah, right. Isn’t this the same girl who told me schedules give her the hives?”

  “I was speaking metaphorically. I’m really good at schedules; I never miss rehearsals.”

  “Okay, I’ll give you that one, but how about your day-off plan?” Matt asked with a teasing smile. He put the screwdriver he held on the floor and went to the kitchen to wash his hands.

  Several months ago, Erin had drawn up with an elaborate agenda for days she did not have to work. She’d presented it proudly to Matt, showing him the blocked-out times every day dedicated to cleaning, exercise, and career development, which included voice and monologue practice. The idea was to be more productive.

  But Matt had scoffed and predicted she wouldn’t last two weeks.

  He was right. Being locked into a routine had driven her crazy and she’d thrown the schedule away after only a few days.

  Ern flushed. “That was a little overly ambitious,” she admitted.

  He chuckled as he turned from the sink and picked up a kitchen towel to dry his hands. “We don’t have to be exactly the same. Opposites attract, you know.” His tone was light, but she knew him well enough to grasp his underlying meaning—See what great friends we are? Wouldn’t we make a great couple, too?

  “Well, I’m glad we got that cleared up,” she said, working to keep things casual. “I was afraid Sarah had hurt your feelings.”

  He gave her a small smile; he knew exactly what she was doing. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

  It wasn’t even ten yet. On any other night, she would have stayed at his place for a Netflix binge, or a long conversation, or maybe just to sit side by side and surf the net, enjoying the quiet comfort of his presence. But she sought escape as quickly as possible, afraid he’d try to bring up the romance question again and push for answers she couldn’t give.

  **

  Chapter 8

  The next morning was gray and the clouds spit rain in fits and spurts. The early morning light was still hazy when Matt got to the studio. He checked the temperatures on the furnaces and arranged his tools, then got ready to make the first pull.

  Eyes narrowed in concentration, he pulled the pipe from the furnace with his first gather of glass glowing on the end. He moved to the narrow workbench and sat, then positioned the pipe on the high sides of the bench and began rolling it back and forth. He kept the pipe moving with one hand and grasped metal tweezers in the other, using them to pull and shape the glass, like taffy, into a swirled pattern. Back and forth, over and over, the smooth metal pipe rolling between his palms. There was something almost hypnotic and deeply calming about it.

  When he finally had the shape he wanted, he stopped rolling and bent to blow into the pipe, watching as a small bubble formed in the glass. After a few more minutes of shaping, he was ready for the cover gather, additional glass to enclose the swirled pattern once the piece was finished.

  This was how he liked to work. In the early morning before Corben arrived, before the phone started ringing; no bills, no paperwork—just the radio playing in the background while he danced with the glass—working, pulling, and shaping to create something beautiful.

  He was heading toward the furnace to collect the cover gather when there was a loud crack. The glass broke at the joining point and the delicate vase he’d been shaping shattered on the concrete floor.

  Matt swore under his breath. There went more than an hour of work.

  Well, that’s how it went. One had to be careful with glass. Too much pressure and it would crack, not enough and it wouldn’t take form. And if he was careless, there was always the chance of getting burned.

  The metaphor did not escape him. Was he pushing too hard with Erin? Or not pushing hard enough? How far could he push before she broke? The relationship he wanted with her was much like each new glass piece he envisioned—never as easy to form in real life, and always with the threat of never being rendered at all.

  “What happened?” Ma’s voice surprised him, he hadn’t heard her come in. She stood in the doorway to the studio, eyeing the broken glass on the floor. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Matt replied. “Just a bad pull.”

  “Can you stop for a minute?” she asked, nodding toward the office.

  “Sure, be right there.” He used tongs to pick up the ruined pieces and throw them into a pile in the corner to cool. He’d add them back to the molten pool later.

  Ma was at the desk with a spreadsheet open on the computer. Matt dragged a chair to her side and sat down, scanning the columns and the numbers in the “total” row along the bottom. Most of them were negative.

  “Not good, huh?” he sighed heavily.

  “No,” she said seriously. “And with Corben getting married next year ...” she trailed off.

  “The business will have to support three families instead of two,” Matt finished.

  She nodded.

  He bent his head and dragged his hands through his hair, studying the floor.

  “I’m sorry; I’m not trying to put this all on you,” she said.

  “But it is,” he shrugged. Corben was a skilled craftsman, but he was content to work the glass and leave the day-to-day running of the business to Matt. And Ma would manage the books, but that was all. If they were going to find new ways for the studio to survive, he would have to do it.

  But how?

  They had the commission from the mayor’s office for the Christmas ornaments, along with a few other special orders, and some revenue came in from the items people bought from the showroom or the website. But it wasn’t enough. It always amazed him how quickly the money went out and how slowly it seemed to come in.

  His mother laid her hand on his arm. “We’ll figure something out,” she said quietly.

  “I guess I could always move home and save on the rent at my apartment,” he suggested, only half joking.

  Ma’s eyes widened. “I’m finally about to get rid of your brother,” she said in mock horror. “Now you’re telling me I’m going to have you lurking around all the time?”

  “You make me sound like a stray cat,” he grumbled.

  “Not a stray cat, but maybe a little lost in your own way,” she pointed out.

  Talking about the business was painful enough, Matt definitely didn’t want to get into a long discussion about his personal life. He leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “Thanks for all you do, Ma. You’re right, we’ll figure something out.”

  He escaped to the studio, leaving her to her spreadsheets and columns of numbers that never seemed to balance, no matter how hard they tried.

  **

  Chapter 9

  The grayness of the morning matched Erin’s mood. She’d been awake much of the night thinking of Matt. Why was life so complicated? Why couldn’t he find someone who would give him what he wanted so that they could cont
inue to be friends? In the back of her mind, though, she knew once either of them found the romantic love they wanted, their friendship would have to change, maybe even end. The thought pierced her heart like a sliver.

  Her phone rang as she threaded her way through downtown traffic toward the theater. It was her father.

  Her heart hammered and she grabbed the phone. “Hi, Daddy. I’m driving, give me a second.” Erin glanced over her shoulder and quickly pulled onto a side street, then pressed the phone to her ear. “I can talk now. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Your mother said you called?” Her dad never had much patience for small talk.

  “Uh ... yeah. I’m wondering if you could give me another advance?”

  A long silence was followed by his gusty sigh. “Again? You told me last month’s advance would be the last one.”

  He would be calling from his huge desk in the big, white house with the black shutters in North Carolina, where she’d grown up. The windows of his office overlooked the backyard, with its wide flowerbeds and lush lawn, which sloped gently down to the slow-moving river. Five huge weeping willows edged the river, dripping their trailing branches into the greenish water.

  One of the trees still held the weathered remains of the tree house her brothers had built when they were little. When they moved away from home, the treehouse had become Erin’s domain and the scene of many afternoons spent reading, writing, singing, and most importantly, acting. Erin had staged many productions there in which she was always the ill-used heroine with a handsome prince waiting in the wings to rescue her.

  But aside from one notable session where she’d convinced her next door neighbor to play along, her prince never came. Princes didn’t come in the form of surly eleven-year-olds who would only participate if she promised to let him borrow the canoe afterward anyway.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said now. “I had to go to a wedding last week and it ended up costing more than I thought.”

  “If you couldn’t afford it, you shouldn’t have gone,” he grumbled. “What about your job? I thought you were working somewhere.”