“And he threatened to he’ll spill our secret if you don’t turn over Nicole and Zach to him?” I asked, more harshly than I realized.
I was seething, appalled at Francis’s gall to blackmail us for the whereabouts of a woman and his child whom he’d done his utter best to be rid of in the first place.
Brandon closed his eyes briefly, reaching up to knead his forehead as he nodded. “He first approached me last week at work, holding one of our original contracts.”
I felt my stomach drop to the floor. “W-what? B-but, how?”
“It was my copy,” he answered morosely. “It went missing from my safe in the office at home. I only realized it after he showed it to me. I’d been planning on destroying it but I hadn’t gotten around to it yet. I called Simone to ask if she knew anything about it. She knew Francis had it and that was what she’d called to tell me about at first when we returned from our camping trip but she decided not to intervene. She didn’t know who supplied it to him. When I got home, I ransacked the office to look for it but it was gone. Someone had gone in and stolen it but I didn’t want to alert anyone in case they decided to come back. I wanted to catch them. I’ve installed a hidden camera in the office.”
I swallowed at the sudden dryness in my throat as the clues stacked up together to make one likely theory. “Is it Gwen?”
Brandon straightened in his seat, turning to me. “Gwen? The housekeeper? Why would you think that?”
I relayed to him what I walked in on this morning, her immediate disappearance and the suspicions it roused which I tried to call him about.
“So that was what your cryptic message was about. I worried that Francis had told the world which was why I rushed back home, but when I saw you were with the family at Dad’s house and nothing seemed out of place, I relaxed,” he said, looking world-weary.
“As for Gwen, I didn’t really think about her specifically. We have a few people on the staff with access to the penthouse—from the drivers to the guards to our personal assistants,” Brandon added, sighing as he leaned back in his seat, his fingers pulling at his hair in agitation. “Too damn many now, if you ask me. I couldn’t be sure who it was and I haven’t seen anything suspicious on the security footage. She mustn’t have tried to snoop again until today but we can review the feed to see exactly what she’d been doing before you walked in on her. She was probably looking for some kind of contact info on Nicole.”
I hate to say it but there will be hell to pay when Brandon gets his hands on her.
“What do you plan to do with Francis?” I asked gently, knowing that Brandon’s control on his temper was frayed to near nothing.
“It’s gotten complicated. At first, I told him that it didn’t matter whether he outed me to Dad or not about my contract with you because we planned to stay together,” he answered gruffly. “I don’t care about the scandal myself. But then I thought about what it would do to you—what your own guilt would do to yourself. I didn’t want people to mock you or cause you pain when they find out. I know you’ll probably just scoff at them and tell them to go to hell but I don’t want you constantly having to struggle to find some measure of peace in this world I dragged you in, Charlotte. So I thought I’d ask Nicole what she wanted to do except that before I could go see her, she sent me a card to say that she’d moved back in town. She wanted to stop hiding, to reclaim her life and the career she’d put on hold when Francis swept her up her feet and callously discarded her like a dirty diaper.”
“Brand, no, you don’t have to put them in a difficult spot for my sake,” I protested, grabbing both his hands and looking him in the eye. “You’re right—I would just scoff at people who would condescend at us and spit in their eye and tell them to fuck off.”
He gazed at me for a moment with his beautiful honeyed eyes. “And what about my father, Charlotte? How would you face him when he learns the truth?”
That’s when I fumbled.
I imagined the horror of having to look Martin in the eye and admit to the truth that I, despite every good thing he’d done for me to whom he had no obligation whatsoever when I’d been nothing more than the young waitress who served him food and sat with him for conversations at Marlow’s, deceived him outright and agreed to profit a million dollars from the ruse.
He would hate me and I would deserve no less.
I knew this when I agreed to Brandon’s proposal.
And would it be so bad, Charlotte? To bleed a little, to wear the scars, if it means you could be free of your chains? To live free from the lies?
I would hold my arms out, and let the ax fall and break my chains, but my fear was not at the risk of my possibly losing a limb or two. It was for the sake of those who would stand back and watch. Martin would die a little inside because despite the anger that he would have every right to, his generous, compassionate heart would grieve mine and his son’s pain.
I bit my lip as I shook my head, clearing away my dark, depressing thoughts. “Maybe we should beat Francis to it and just confess to your father, in private, and hope to God that he would forgive us for duping him. Then Francis’s threat would be useless. We’ll convince him to go back to London.”
“There might be hope yet,” Brandon said. “I didn’t want to involve you in all of this at first if I could find a solution that would work out for all of us with no scandal or serious damage. I worried you would act impulsively and charge toward Francis like the battering ram I know you could be.”
My mouth dropped open in mock offense, remembering the comparison he’d made of me once, but he just laughed and leaned in to swipe a kiss from my parted lips.
When he drew back, his expression was serious again. “I spoke to Nicole just before I got called out to Virginia. I told her about Francis’s insistence on finding her and Zach. I didn’t tell her about the blackmail so she won’t feel pressured. She asked for a few days to consider meeting with him. She wants to get back into the real world where she knows I can’t protect her as well. She knows the risks and that there is no avoiding Francis forever especially since he’s made it clear that he wants to stay here for good. There’s a desperation in him that makes me pause and reconsider his motives but I honestly can’t be sure. He’s as cagey as a jungle cat about it when I bluntly asked. If she wants to see him, I won’t stop her. I just have to make sure that he doesn’t do anything stupid like hurt her or Zach because I will castrate him.”
“And I’ll help you,” I added, glancing over my shoulder to look at the townhouse again where mother and son were at the moment. “I would like to meet them, if they won’t mind.”
“Nicole would love to,” Brandon said, sounding amused. “She’s heard all about you. She thinks you’re cool and awesome—like a rockstar socialite.”
I let out an incredulous laugh. “Some writer might have actually given me that nickname in an article somewhere. I can’t remember. I thought it was a little ridiculous.”
“I’ll call her tomorrow and see if we can come by so you can meet them,” Brandon promised, bringing up my hand to his lips to kiss the back of it. “But for tonight, love, do you mind if we turn around and drive home now? I raced from the pulp mill to get back home to you because not only was I worried that we’d been outed but also because I couldn’t stand another night without you.”
I grinned and leaned forward to kiss him squarely on the lips. “Mmm, it must be true that absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
He chuckled softly against my mouth. “My heart’s fonder, alright, but another part of me has indeed grown right this moment after your absence.”
“Brandon!” I reprimanded with a scandalized laugh which he smothered with a rough, urgent kiss, his hands moving intimately over the slopes and curves of my body, lighting a fire that burned low and hot inside me.
We had to drive home now, or this car would have to do.
Chapter Twenty-Four: Designs of Destiny
As Brandon promised, we spent the next day together.
We started our morning touring the top three schools I was seriously considering: Boston University, Fisher College and Northeastern University. There were definitely a lot of options out there (especially now that I could afford most of them) but I wanted to stay in the city.
Looking at all the different requirements and deadlines the night before, after Brandon and I came home and happily and enthusiastically ‘reunited’, we decided that I would put off enrolling until the winter term started. Besides, my calendar was booked up with Championette stuff for the next few months, most of the biggest events all clustered together right before the holidays.
It was a fun morning, walking hand-in-hand around the different campuses like college sweethearts, wearing jeans, sneakers and preppy shirts. With the fall term being a week away, the campuses were starting to pulse with activity already.
I couldn’t help notice the cart-load of girls checking Brandon out and giggling to themselves, and I was instantly relieved that he wasn’t going to school with me because I would’ve been like a very jealous girlfriend who would snap and snarl at anyone who came prowling around him.
When we poked our heads into one of the admission offices just to get some pamphlets and brochures, Brandon made the mistake of introducing us to a woman who’d approached us in greeting.
At the mention of our names, she contemplated us for a few seconds before she lit up like a Christmas tree. To say that she was thrilled at the prospect of having me (the 'endearingly original Mrs. Charlotte Maxfield'—words she quoted from a society paper article) attend their school would be an understatement. For one, I was a notable philanthropist being the co-chairperson of the highly esteemed Lady Championettes Society. It didn't seem to matter that I was nineteen (almost twenty!) and as average as the next college kid.
The biggest incentive for them might be more the fact that the Maxfields were one of their important benefactors, Brandon having donated a new wing on the commerce building just over two years ago. I certainly felt the weight of that new wing on my shoulders when I realized just how much people will expect from me.
When we were heading out of the campus, I blurted out to Brandon, “Obviously, you’ve donated enough money to a bunch of these schools that if you really wanted to just pull strings, you could’ve. Why bother doing all of this legwork with me?”
He shrugged and smiled. “Because I wanted you to experience this as a normal person would. And I know how you much you dislike using the advantage of our name and money.”
I rolled my eyes. "Hard to avoid the reminder whenever I pass the Maxfield Annex."
"If you stop caring so much about it, so will other people," he said as he draped an arm around me while we walked to the car. "Anna and Tessa both go to BU where one of the dorms is named after my grandfather. They never mentioned that it bothered them."
I arched a brow at him. As if I really had to explain it. "Your sisters were born into this world, Brand, where they don't bat an eye at the prestige and privilege of being part of an important and powerful family."
Brandon glanced at me, his expression amused. "You know, sometimes I wish you were born with every luxury in the world so that you would've never had to experience one moment of discomfort or distress. But I realize that you wouldn't be the kind of person you are now if you were."
I smiled cheekily at him. "You're right. If I'd been born in the lap of luxury, I certainly would've asked for more than a million dollars to be your wife."
Brandon laughed although I caught the flash of anxiety in his eyes at the mention of the money. I opened my mouth to say something quick and light but he just slowed us to a stop, slowly turning me to face him.
"I don't care how much it would've cost me," he murmured in a soft, husky voice, tucking a stray lock of my hair behind my ear.
Standing in the middle of the cobbled pathway, amidst the tall, ancient evergreen trees that bordered the walk, and the busy smattering of people bustling about, Brandon pulled me into his arms and kissed me with scorching intent, whispering in the few seconds his lips released mine for air, "You're worth everything, Charlotte."
He kept kissing me and I kept kissing him back until someone cleared their throat loudly.
Seriously, why did people keep announcing themselves this way?
We broke away, Brandon's arms still wrapped tightly around my waist, and turned to the small, middle-aged man standing a foot away from us, his hands on his hips. He looked like a professor and he looked downright disapproving.
"I realize you, young people, live your lives for the highly idiotic purpose of broadcasting it to the world where other more civilized individuals are sometimes forced to be unwilling spectators, but you may want to consider the economic breakdown it will cause to run the pornographic film industry to the ground by video-tubing live sexual intercourse in public," he muttered sulkily. "There are other more private avenues for your amorous expressions where you may not assault other people's moral sensibilities and encourage further insolence from your fellow students."
He stood there, still scowling at us, a few other people having stopped to watch the scene, snickering to themselves.
I paused, glancing at Brandon first and catching the laughter sparkling in his eyes even as he struggled to keep a straight face and fight off the tinge of pink on his cheeks.
I grinned and turned to the old man, spotting the ID that was ineptly clipped on the lapel of his slightly wrinkled, wheat-colored tweed coat that was probably too warm for this weather. No wonder the eccentric Dr. Arthur Wiley, Professor of Philosophy, was cranky.
"That was brilliant!” I told him earnestly, ignoring the grumpy frown he was still trying to send my way. “Sorry to have caused such a stir but we were just in the middle of a... um, ah... a social experiment."
The man raised an imperious brow. "A social experiment?"
I glanced at Brandon again who just shrugged at me, giving me free reign on where this conversation was going to next. "Yes! A social experiment—purposed in determining society's tolerance on expressions of intimacy. To figure out the range of comfort before one's moral sensibilities feel assaulted and identify the factors possibly influencing this range, such as economic and cultural environments, age, gender, political and religious affiliations, educational levels—just to name a few."
Dr. Wiley looked at me, pursing his lips, almost as if he was trying to determine whether I was springing a prank on him or telling the truth.
He rubbed his chin for a moment before his eyes narrowed at me suspiciously. “You attended my Pandemonium Culture lecture this summer, didn’t you? I spoke strongly about the entitled, sexually rebellious and self-liberating youth of today’s generation and many of you are out for my blood.”
Before I could reply, he shrugged his shoulders almost dramatically. “If you wish to counterpoint my argument with your own research, go right ahead. I look forward seeing you try, Miss... um... What’s your name, child?”
“Charlotte...” I hesitated. “Um, Maxfield.”
Recognition didn’t flicker in his eyes but he looked like he was seriously jotting down my name in his mental notebook. “I expect I’ll see you in my Self Theory class this fall, Ms. Maxfield, where many of my critiques are signing up like it’s the season tickets draw to Eden.”
I had no idea what class he was talking about but I knew for certain I was going to take some Philosophy classes as soon as I could get myself enrolled. The man was surly but brilliant, brimming with conviction despite his apparent unpopularity because of it.
I didn’t have to agree with him to respect his intellectual causes.
“I’ll see you there, Mr. Wiley,” I promised him, smiling. I could feel Brandon’s gaze on me but I forged on. “It’s going to be one hell of a class.”
The man drew himself up proudly. “Nothing better than a room full of people actually putting their brains to work as designed. I’m curious to hear your opinion.”
Brandon cleared his
throat, and I could tell that he was choking down a laugh. He put an arm around me and asked the professor, “Should we continue with the... social experiment?”
Dr. Wiley looked startled that the question was left to him and he looked conflicted for a moment. “Well... I’m not one to stand in the way of learning so if you must... then carry on. For the sake of knowledge, of course.”
“Of course,” Brandon answered, the light vibration on his arm telling me he was about to burst out laughing any second now.
Time to exit gracefully.
I beamed at the professor. “Thank you, Dr. Wiley! I’ll see you in class!”
He grunted some kind of acknowledgement before nodding and continuing on his path, striding with purpose, his shoulders hunched in thought as if they carried the mystery of mankind on them. They probably did.
I turned back to Brandon when I heard a chuckle or two, or three, finally slip out from him.
I smiled broadly at him. “I think I know which school I’m picking and what I’m going to take as my pre-law degree. What do you think?”
He looked thoroughly amused, his hazel eyes dancing as he grabbed my hand and pulled me to him. “I think that you’re going to be so much trouble, Charlotte. You’ll turn this school upside down.”
“Naturally,” I played along, fluttering my lashes at him. “This is promising, Brand. Since we’re not bantering so much anymore, I need another outlet for my inclination to debate. Think of all the many wonderful arguments I’ll have with other people.”
He smiled indulgently and pressed a kiss between my brows. “You’ll need to come with a warning label, love. Something like—Charlotte Maxfield: To be taken with food, fortitude, and only in small, non-lethal doses.”
The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield Page 64
