by Sosie Frost
Oh, no. I hadn’t expected a second meeting.
Maybe that was why Marius plotted my demise while bending the silverware in his hand?
“You…” I cleared my throat. “You’ll want to meet me again?”
“Absolutely. I know some darling baby boutiques in DC.” She passed me her card. “Hopefully by then, I’ll be expecting as well. We’ll get together when he interviews and go shopping. Cribs and toys and onesies! It’ll be the best!”
The waiters delivered our food, but it was hard to eat when I’d stuffed my foot in my mouth.
Oh my God. This interview wasn’t about his resume or experience. It was the company’s opportunity to assess him as a person. To ensure he was healthy and stable enough to get the job.
And if he wanted the position, he needed to prove that he had everything under control.
His girlfriend. His relationships.
His family.
And I’d just volunteered to give him the baby.
7
Marius
I wouldn’t yell.
I wouldn’t curse.
I wouldn’t put my leg through the wall.
I wouldn’t throttle Gretchen for destroying my future career before it began.
My voice carried over the entire floor of the hotel. “What the fucking fuck did you just fucking do?”
So much for restraint.
I hauled off on the door, shoving it with my palm, but my knuckles only cracked against the heavy metal. I swore. Kicked the door with my good foot. Nearly broke my toe. Swore again.
Gretchen watched, arms crossed, as I attempted to slam the door on its track. It automatically caught and slowed six inches from closing. My shoulder gave it a bit of encouragement, smashing it against the frame. Once. Twice. The fucker wouldn’t budge. I threw my weight against the damn thing before Gretchen cleared her throat.
“The deadbolt is out.”
Jesus Christ. I flipped the switch. The door didn’t slam, but it finally latched. Good enough for me. At least it locked, giving me a couple extra minutes to plot her demise.
“Are you out of your damned mind?” I couldn’t breathe in the ridiculous dress shirt. Who the hell put buttons around a man’s throat? I ripped at the material, accidentally popping off the buttons. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Gretchen rolled her eyes before plopping onto the bed, kicking her heels and delicately crossing her ankles.
“Is this a bad time to tell you I forgot to wear underwear?” she asked.
An exceedingly bad time. “Forgot?”
“Think she noticed?”
“Jesus Christ.”
She shrugged. “Probably for the best. You would have stolen them anyway.”
It was like the woman had no idea how much trouble she’d caused me. She hadn’t just jeopardized the interview—she nearly ruined my life.
Great. Passing off a fake girlfriend to my future employer was hard enough. Now we needed to make an imaginary baby.
My words hissed through clenched teeth. “Do you realize how important this meeting was? I asked you here to do me a favor.”
And she dared to cop an attitude with me. “I had no idea this was an interview!”
“I’m wearing dress pants! I told you to pretend that we were together!”
“You could have said something!”
I pointed at her. “You were late!”
“You were vague!”
“What did you think this dinner was?”
“I thought you wanted me to have sex with that woman!”
It was official. Gretchen was fucking insane.
I gave up. “You didn’t do that either!”
“Trust me—that wouldn’t have gotten you the job,” she said. “I don’t work well under pressure.”
“Obviously.”
She dared to pout at me, crossing her arms and plumping her chest. “You needed help.”
No, I needed a shot—either whiskey or a bullet between the eyes. “And telling my potential employer you’re having my baby was helping me?”
Gretchen admired the hotel room—a nice, multi-roomed suite. Mini-fridge. Desk. Lounge area. She liked it. Good. Wasn’t sure she’d leave it in one piece.
“Believe me,” she said. “You needed to do something to win her over. Inventing children seemed the logical solution.”
“And you thought pretending to be pregnant was logical?”
“Did you want the job or not?”
Christ only knew what I wanted anymore. “I asked you to come to my interview, act the part of a pretty, supportive girlfriend, stay silent, and smile. You were supposed to help me.”
“You could have told me the plan before I showed up.” She shrugged. “But I got you a glowing recommendation, didn’t I?”
Damn it. I had no idea I’d needed her until a couple hours before the interview. This was all Varius’s fault. My brother’s goddamned warnings swirled in my head. The job would want a family man—a sensitive, caring asshole with the picket fence, kids, and dog in the backyard.
Maybe I didn’t have my life in order, but I had favors owed to me. Big ones.
Gretchen was supposed to make this easier.
There wasn’t enough alcohol in the minibar for this conversation. I searched the fridge anyway, catching a glance of my reflection in the mirror.
Old. Tired. I still looked hurt.
I’d thought losing the leg would turn me gray. Wrong. One night in the presence of Gretchen-Womb-For-Rent-Murphy would salt-and-pepper my hair, destroy my one chance for a good job, and stick me with eighteen years of child support for an imaginary kid.
“A puppy.” I growled. The tiny bottle of whiskey didn’t help. “Why didn’t you say we were getting a puppy. Start a new life together with a damned dog?”
“Why didn’t you tell me we were at a job interview?”
“A normal person would have figured it out.”
Gretchen huffed. “A normal person would have told other normal people that they needed help with a job interview. What was I supposed to think? You had me meet you in a fancy hotel in the big city far away from the prying eyes of Butterpond. Jesus, Marius. I thought you were seducing me!”
That had been the plan.
After she’d secured me the job.
I pointed at her. “Guess what, sweetness? We are gonna have sex.”
“Oh, I’d like to see you try.”
We didn’t have a choice. “Good thing you’re not wearing panties. In a couple weeks, we’re meeting those guys again for another interview. And unless you plan on swallowing a watermelon when the time comes, we’re gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way.”
“Tell them I’m too pregnant to travel.” Gretchen kicked her toes towards me. Did she realize I could see right up her dress? Made it hard for a man to stay angry. “Ankles too swollen to make the trip.”
A headache pierced through my temple. “Do you have any idea the damage you’ve done?”
“You were sitting at the same table as me, right?” Her eyebrow arched. “Or were you too busy eye-fucking the blonde?”
“Jealous?”
“Just saying…one of us was leaving that table knocked up. Figured this was safer.”
“I wasn’t planning on taking her to bed tonight, sweetness.”
“Do you have any idea how you sounded at the interview?”
“Depends. Was that before or after you thought I was arranging a threesome?”
Gretchen wasn’t amused. “That’s the problem. You sounded cocky. Arrogant. All that I can get the job done and I don’t take orders, I give them.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Maybe it was the truth.” Her voice softened. “Marius, I know it’s gotta be hard for you—”
Fuck me. “Don’t start.”
“But you have to realize that you aren’t a Navy SEAL commando anymore. You aren’t some special ops guy crawling out of a jungle, tossing a grenade with a pin in his t
eeth.”
“You have no idea what I did for a living, do you?”
Gretchen approached me, gentling her words. Like I survive losing the leg but would fall to pieces hearing the truth.
“Do you know what Rachel saw when she looked at you?” she whispered. “She saw an injured veteran. A man with everything to prove but absolutely no humility. Someone who refuses to acknowledge that trauma. You talked to her like you were a machine.”
“That’s how I was trained.”
“And that’s fine if you’re heading off onto a mission…” She touched my chest. “But not if you’re heading into an interview. Not if they’re scheduling meetings with you and your loved ones to assess how you’re doing up here.”
She tapped my forehead. I batted her hand away.
Enough of this bullshit.
“And what about you?” I asked. “Planning a fictious life out with a stranger? If I’d let you go on, you would have started picking out elementary schools in the DC metro area.”
She frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone knows we’d have to live in Alexandria.”
The headache pulsed a little harder. “You nearly cost me this job.”
She smirked. “Sailor, I got you that job. Now we’re even.”
I laughed, cold and harsh. “Oh, sweetness. We’re not even remotely even.”
“I don’t know why you’re so upset. It’s not like you actually want the job.”
The girl was worse than an IED under my foot. “What the hell are you talking about? Would I have put myself through this bullshit if I didn’t want the job?
“You’re a terrible liar.”
Gretchen rummaged through the minibar as well, but she skipped the alcohol and instead dove for the jar of maraschino cherries. She grunted as she twisted the top. One attempt. Two.
Jesus. I took the jar from her, popped the top, and handed it back. She thanked me by popping a single cherry between those puffy lips. Her fingers dripped with sticky juice. She didn’t take her eyes from me as she licked the trailing droplets.
Each one of those cherries probably cost me two bucks, but it was worth it to watch her tongue. Christ. She had no idea what she’d do to a man.
“I don’t know why you’re lying, but here we are,” she said. “You don’t want this job. All you want is to go back to the SEALs.”
No shit. “And to think—you got that intel without any bamboo shoots under my nails.”
“I have ways of making you talk.”
“Yeah? Got any idea how to apologize?”
“Can I do that with a car battery?”
I sighed. “Want the truth?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’ve spent my entire life training, working, exercising, and ripping my body into pieces to serve my country and do my job.” I paused. “Now that’s done. Over. And I need to do something new with my life.”
“And that’s the job you want?”
“You expect me to take my dog out to a pond and tase some geese?”
Gretchen huffed. “Is that what you think I do with my life?”
I had no fucking idea what she did, why she did it, or how she didn’t get her ass in more trouble. “A man needs to work. What am I without a job?”
She reached for the mini-bottle of whiskey, preventing me from taking a drink. “What will happen to you if you don’t spend some time recovering?”
Christ, she sounded like my family. “I’m fine.”
That look. She could punish me with a single look.
“Why are you lying to me?” she asked. “I mean, who am I gonna tell? My dog? Come on.”
“What the hell do you want from me?”
She plunked onto the bed. “I want you to be honest with yourself. Just this once. It’s only been a couple months since your accident. You lost your leg. That’s…crazy.”
And I was dealing with it. “Think I don’t realize that?”
“Then deal with it. Take some time and enjoy your life—a life that was spared. Kick back. Take it easy. Stay in Butterpond. Rest.”
The thought was so sick it made me laugh. “You think I can heal anything in Butterpond?”
“What’s wrong with Butterpond?”
The girl was innocent, but she was also naïve. “I don’t belong there.”
She fished out another cherry, licked off the juice, and popped it in her mouth. “Why not?”
Goddamn it. She hummed as she ate the cherry, delighting in the sweetness. Couldn’t she find some other asshole to harass? Did she like picking apart my brain for her own amusement?
She frustrated me.
She irritated me.
She made me so hard I’d rip through the slacks.
And the worst part? She had no idea the effect she had on me.
“Your family is in Butterpond.” She reclined on the bed. The dress caressed her curves, tempting me as the skirt edged up her thigh. “Your family’s been here for generations.”
And that was the problem. Too many generations on too small a plot of land.
Too many brothers, too many arguments, too many complications.
And Dad had never fucking cared.
“I’m not staying at the farm,” I said.
She didn’t even try to understand. “But your brothers are staying. Julian just went to hell and back so he could build that barn. And if you only knew what Micah and I had to do to get that alpaca—”
“The farm is Jules’ problem now. That’s his land. His disaster.”
Gretchen sat up. “I thought you all owned the farm? Together?”
I snorted. My siblings and I were all indebted to the land—forced to agree as a whole whether to keep it or sell it, but it had always belonged to Julian. Dad had made that perfectly clear.
“It’s not a farm,” I said. “It’s a prison. And my father is the warden from beyond the grave.”
“Marius—”
“On his deathbed, my father realized how badly he’d fucked his own family. No one was talking. No one was at home. Everyone was fighting. That’s why he put the clause in the will—no subdividing, only unanimous decisions. He forced us to agree as a family on what to do with the property. So I did my part. I agreed to let Jules have his shot. Now it’s up to him. If they want to stay and waste their time with the farm, that’s their call.”
“Don’t you want to help them?”
“It’s not my problem.”
“They’re your family.”
“And that land was never supposed to be mine.”
She didn’t understand. Hell, no one in the family understood.
I drank the rest of the shot from the bottle and opened a second.
“I don’t have a family,” I said. “Julian has a family. Everything my father did, everything that the farm was supposed to be, was to help Julian. The firstborn son. The rightful heir to the property.”
“That can’t be true.”
“Julian was everything to my father. The athlete. The star student. The golden child. And my biggest problem?” I glanced at her. “I wasn’t Julian. And my father could never forgive that.”
Gretchen went quiet. “Did you ever talk to your dad about it?”
The poor girl was delusional. “Once.”
“What happened?”
Nothing. Just made shit harder on my mother.
“I approached him in high school. Told him that I wasn’t Julian, and that I shouldn’t be judged in relation to my brother. That I was my own man.”
“Did he understand?”
I smirked. “He threw me out of the house for backtalking him, and I never came back. Finished school while living with a friend. Joined the Navy to get the fuck out of Butterpond. Made a new life for myself—a better life.”
Her expression crumpled. “That can’t be true.”
She’d lived in Butterpond her whole life. How the hell hadn’t she heard the stories? Seen the damage done to the farm?
“Dad idolized Julian, and n
o one else had a chance. Not me. Not my brothers. Varius had it easier—turned to God pretty early in his life, became a preacher. Tidus and Quint managed to avoid the worst of Dad’s issues—sort of mellowed when he got older. Tidus coped by getting in trouble. Quint was too young to know any better. And Cassi…” My voice hardened. “She still thinks she stayed at home to help Dad. Didn’t realize he would never have let her leave.” I shook my head. “But none of us would have ever allowed anything bad to happen to her.”
Gretchen bit her lip. “God, Marius. That’s so sad.”
Might have been. Once. “Doesn’t matter. I made a new family in the SEALs. Trusted them with my life—and they saved it. A couple times. They were more of a family than anything in Butterpond.”
She picked her words a little too carefully. “But now they’re gone. Now you only have your brothers and sister.”
“I’ll be fine without them.”
“…Will they be okay without you?”
What sort of shit question was that? “They’ve never needed me.”
“That was before they almost lost you.”
Why the hell did everyone fixate on the fucking injury? Couldn’t they let it go?
Couldn’t they just let me forget it?
All I wanted was ten goddamned seconds where I wasn’t remembering the accident, dealing with the pain, cursing the damn prosthetic.
“So, what should I do?” I asked. “Stop trying to find a job? Sit in terror in my living room, to fucked up to go outside in case I get hurt again? In case I have to face death again? Should I avoid any and all challenges because I might fail?” I swore. “I almost lost my life—but that doesn’t mean I need to stop living it now.”
“I agree,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“But you should realize…” She scooted to the edge of the bed. “Taking a little time? Dealing with the accident? Losing your leg? It doesn’t make you any less of a man.”
The fuck was she doing to me?
A quiet, dangerous rage nearly suffocated me. “You don’t know a goddamned thing about me.”
She didn’t seem threatened. Stupid girl. “I think I’ve got you figured out.”
“You don’t know shit.”
“You need someone to talk to.”
