by Wegner, Ola
“Don’t you like it here, Amy?”
She startled and her hand went to her chest, when she heard a deep familiar voice. “You have very expressive features, you know that?”
It was only then she noticed him. She took a deep breath and stepped forward.
“No, not at all. It is very impressive,” she assured politely as she stuck out her right hand.
“But not quite your taste,” he stated.
He took her hand in his larger one. His grip on her fingers was very gentle, almost tentative.
“It’s very nice of you to agree to see me so quickly,” she said in one breath.
He kept her hand in his, but didn’t shake it, just held it.
“I’m so sorry about what happened to your father.” He didn’t release her hand, despite her delicate attempts to free it. “How is he?”
Amy forced herself to lift her eyes to his. She’d forgotten how tall he was, well perhaps he wasn’t that tall, not like a basketball player or anything, but compared to her 5' 2", he towered over her. She should have worn higher heels, not just every day pumps. She would feel more sure of herself now with a few additional inches of height.
“I think he should be better soon.” She attempted a cool composed smile, but was too agitated to form one, and she twitched her lips nervously. “I’d driven him and his wife to the airport just before your assistant called.”
She stared down at her hand still imprisoned in his. Had he forgotten that he held it still?
“They’ve gone on a long holiday?” he more stated than asked.
He let go of her hand at last and motioned her to the chair. Amy sat with relief, then rubbed the hand, which he’d held, against her trousers to get rid of the tingling sensation from the touch of his hand. She hoped he hadn’t noticed that.
Jake sat behind his large desk and his dark blue eyes rested on her. She gave him a wan smile, and held his gaze shyly. He had changed. He looked elegant, mature and prominent, worldly and sophisticated, too. Gone were his disobedient curls, jeans, and checked flannel shirts he’d worn years ago. His dark hair was neatly plastered to his head, and shorter than she remembered. His shoulders seemed to be broader, but it could be because of the cut of his suit. And he wasn’t so skinny like years ago.
“Yes, to Maine. Doctor advised a few weeks stay at the seaside,” she explained.
She fought not to avert her eyes from his face. He was so intimidating now, much more than when he’d still worked for her father and come to their house.
He didn’t say anything more and she tried to gather her courage to speak up. She counted to ten, took a deep breath, and started.
“I asked you for this meeting because I have a business proposition for you,” she managed smoothly.
“You?” He cocked his brow. “I thought you turned out to be a librarian. What business proposition can you have for me?”
She blushed in anger and irritation at his tone. He sounded patronizing and condescending about her job. She hated when people implied that she was ‘wasting herself’ in her job. She was very sensitive about this and found it rude when she thought that others seemed to accuse her of not choosing a so-called high profile career.
“I am a librarian,” she said with dignity, lifting her chin up. “But today I act on behalf of my father.”
“I thought your brother was responsible for such things in your family,” he noted dryly.
Her fingers clenched together on her lap, but she managed to answer calmly, though quietly. “Not anymore.”
“I see.” He took a pen from the desk and twirled it between his fingers. “What’s the proposition?”
“I suspect you must have heard about the critical situation of my father’s company.” She looked at him for some confirmation but his expression was unreadable. She cleared her throat and started the speech, which she’d practiced on her way to his office.
“Our chief accountant—perhaps you remember him—Mr. Reynolds prepared these documents for you.” She took some files out of her large bag. She put them in front of him.
He took one of them, but didn’t open it. He kept staring at her. “Summing up, the company your grandfather founded has been in trouble for many months, but your brother literally brought it to the verge of bankruptcy, stealing the money loaned from the bank. The money, which as I understand, your father planned to spend for modernization and a new advertisement campaign.”
“Yes,” she said quietly, her eyes lowered. All she wanted to do now was to stand up, walk out, and slam the door behind her. But she restrained herself. It was her father who was most important now. She would bear this man’s insulting, even if true, remarks.
“I still think that investing in the company could turn quite profitable for you,” she said, repeating what Mr. Reynolds had told her. “The custom-made furniture we make still sells well, not only here in the States, but in Canada and even in Europe. There’s much demand for the handicraft these days,” she continued, focusing hard to control the tone of her voice. “I believe that it could be very profitable for you over time. Besides you would rescue numerous jobs and the place is important for the history of our town,” she finished smoothly.
She glanced at him quickly to realize that he hadn’t even looked at the file Mr. Reynolds prepared for him. He didn’t speak, he didn’t move, all he did was stare at her.
Finally, she courageously met his eyes.
“What do you think?” she asked at last, her throat dry.
He nodded his dark head slowly. “That is an interesting proposition. Your father is a decent man. I owe him a lot. I have means to rescue Carpenter & Sons.”
Her face brightened in relief, and she opened her mouth to thank him, but he stopped her with the gesture of his hand.
“There’s one condition.”
“What condition?”
He stood up, walked around the desk, and stood in front of her. “I want something in exchange,” he said as he looked down at her.
She stared at him with a frown. He reached his hand and tucked the single strand of hair behind her ear, which had escaped the clip.
“A wife,” he clarified, “I want a wife.”
He took his hand away from her face and shoved it into the pocket of his trousers.
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
He inclined his head. “You heard me.”
She stared at him for a moment, her lips slightly apart. “Yes, but...” her frown deepened, “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Perhaps I should specify,” he paused. “I want you as my wife.”
She laughed shortly. “Is this some kind of joke?”
His expression went somber and he shook his head. Clearly, he wasn’t kidding.
“You really mean this, don’t you?” she wanted to reassure herself.
“Yes.”
“You’re mad.” She stood up, legs shaking, “That’s crazy. If you want a wife, you should start dating someone.”
“I’m busy.” He shrugged. “I don’t have time,” he informed her.
“Oh, I see. You don’t have time.” She laughed again. “And you thought that I...” She lifted her shoulders. “What? That I’ll be convenient for your plans?”
“You can put it like that, if you want to.” He didn’t move, just kept looking at her.
“We haven’t talked for years,” she said just to say something.
“Yes, that is correct.” He nodded again, his eyes like dark slits, narrowed at her. “We barely talked since you turned me down flat seven years ago, just because I didn’t have an Ivy League background. I was too poor and not fancy enough for you.”
“What? That’s not true!” she contradicted hotly.
He took a step closer and gazed at her intently. “You criticize your stepmother because in your opinion she caught a big fish, but you, yourself, are exactly the same. But no one like that has appeared so far, am I right?” He smiled cynically. “No one good enough for you.”<
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“How dare you to speak to me like that! If you think that I refused to go on a date with you because I thought you too poor or whatever, it’s your problem. It indicates your own insecurities as a man,” she cried out.
His expression changed into a scowl, but she ignored it.
“You don’t know anything about me,” she continued. “And my personal life is certainly not your business. If you want to know, I simply wasn’t interested in a relationship at the time when you asked me out. I was nineteen, for heaven’s sake! We had problems with Peter. Besides, I wanted to study, to see the world, meet new people, and not tie myself to one man so early. I dated only casually.”
“But not me it seems.” His expression hardened even more, his voice sharp. “You didn’t even let me take you to the movies. Did you think that I would press you for something you weren’t ready for back then? If that is so, you’re very wrong.”
“You may not believe it, but yes I did think that,” she said, her tone calmer now. “I was barely out of high school, and hadn’t been even kissed properly before. I didn’t have time for dates. There was school, running home for Dad, taking care of Peter. Besides, Dad always frightened all the boys away from me. And you,” she waved her hand at him, “You were older, and my father’s friend. I didn’t want to complicate everything. I wasn’t ready for anything permanent.”
During her speech, his expression softened. “Why didn’t you tell me this back then?” he asked softly.
Amy glared at him. “Because I was just a girl back then. Not the woman I am now. I wasn’t able to articulate my fears and feelings. Come on, I couldn’t just say to you, ok, I can go to the movies with you from time to time if you want, but I’m not ready for anything more than a kiss and holding hands.”
He took her hand and looked down straight into her eyes. “You could have said that, and I would’ve respected your decision.”
Amy stared at him, her mouth opening, and closing. “Look, that was seven years ago,” she said at last.
She was more than surprised with the raw bitterness of his reaction. “Do you have a tendency to ponder for such a long time on every girl who didn’t want to go to the movies with you? That’s ridiculous.”
He stepped to her, his eyes narrowed again. He was so close she could feel his breath on her temple.
“We both know why you refused me. I can believe that you didn’t feel ready for some things, but I know as well that you thought yourself to be too good for me. But now the situation has changed, hasn’t it?”
Amy straightened herself up. “Yes, the situation has changed as you graciously point out. From what I hear, you’re wealthy now, but that’s obviously the only attractive feature a woman can find in you, I’m afraid. And for your information a woman always has the simple right to refuse when a man asks her out,” she continued boldly. “I don’t see any reason to explain myself to you. I’ve told you too much already. You might want to make an appointment with a good therapist. Perhaps he will help you get rid of those little hang-ups concerning women you obviously have.”
“If that’s the case, I don’t see the reason to help your father,” he informed her calmly.
Amy picked up her bag and moved past him. She reached for the files on his desk.
“You know, when you worked for my father I always thought that you really respected and liked him,” she said in a tight voice. “I knew how highly dad thought of you and I considered you to be a decent person. It seems that he was wrong. One more disappointment he will have to deal with.”
She started walking past him, but he caught her arm with a gentle hand. “Reynolds has prepared it for me hasn’t he?” he pointed to a file.
He had his hand on her shoulder now and again she felt the same tingling sensation as before when he held her hand in his. She gave him the file and began walking again, but he stopped her one more time.
“You haven’t given me an answer.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “How can you expect me to give you an answer to this nonsensical and absurd offer?”
His hand clenched gently on her shoulder and he murmured. “You should watch your tongue.”
Amy backed away from him, brushing his hand off her.
“Yes, perhaps I should, but I really cannot imagine how this, let’s name it, arrangement between us could ever work. You expect me to what? To marry you, a complete stranger, and what next? Perhaps you think I’ll live with you, clean and cook for you, oh and of course, sleep with you, and have your children on top of that. And you in return will ensure that my father’s company will survive so my father can live a peaceful life.” She stared at him in exasperation, waiting for the answer. “Well?”
“Yes,” he nodded seriously. “That’s exactly what I meant.”
“As I’ve said, you’re plain mad if you think that...” she didn’t finish because he put a gentle finger on her lips and stroked lightly its puckered surface.
“I know that it must come as a shock for you.” He sounded strangely gentle now. “My proposition is quite unusual for today’s day and age perhaps. Nevertheless, it was quite common in the past, and often such arrangements, as you called it, ended in a very happy and steady marriage. Don’t decide now. You can have a few days to think about this.”
His hand moved higher and he stroked her cheek, his eyes focused on her lips. Amy would have sworn he wanted to kiss her. But then he dropped his hand, and walked back to his desk.
“My assistant will see you to the entrance,” he pushed one of the buttons. “Marcia, Miss Carpenter is leaving. Walk her to the elevator, please.”
Marcia entered almost immediately. Amy wanted to tell him that she didn’t need time to think about his absurd proposition, but she stopped herself. It wasn’t her intention to make scenes in front of his employees. Obediently, but without a second glance at him, she followed Marcia.
When she arrived home, she was still restless. Her thoughts, of their own accord, returned to Jake Barry. What he proposed was simply ridiculous and plain crazy, impossible, like from some bad soap opera. But despite the craziness of this, it made her think about getting married and having children. She’d always imagined herself as a wife and mother at some point of her life. Despite lacking the role model example in her own parents, she’d believed in marriage as a lifelong institution with two people raising kids, later grandchildren and getting old together.
The chances for such a relationship seemed to be limited in her case. The only man she’d ever truly given her heart to, Michael, had been already involved with someone else when she’d met him. She wasn’t the kind of person to destroy other people’s lives in order to be happy herself. It simply didn’t fit in her moral code and didn’t feel right. But sometimes when she lay alone in her bed at night, she admitted to herself that she missed a warm male body to cuddle with and strong arms in which to peacefully fall asleep. At such times, it crossed her mind that perhaps she should have fought for him. Michael hadn’t been married to that woman yet, back then, and he’d always repeated that it’d been his family that pushed him into that relationship. Perhaps it’d been a mistake on her part that she’d been so damn noble and honorable.
It was good that she worked next week. She would have more things to occupy herself and less time to ponder so much about everything that was going on now. A long time ago she’d come to the smart conclusion that thinking too much wasn’t always beneficial for her.
For the rest of the afternoon and evening, with a vivid vengeance, she cleaned the apartment. It was the best possible way to release stress from her system. And yes, scrubbing the dirt out from between the terracotta tiles, did keep her thoughts away from Jake Barry and his ridiculous ideas. Well, to some extent at least, truth to be told. The man was all but impossible. It was the twenty-first century for heaven’s sake. The times of forced and arranged marriages had passed. What had he been thinking to propose such a thing?
It was well past midnight when
she decided that she was tired enough to be able to fall asleep. And she did. Her last conscious thought was that tomorrow she would have to think about some other way to get money to rescue the company.
* * * *
It was the persistent ringing of the doorbell that woke her the next morning. She rubbed her sleepy eyes, and tried to read the face of the small clock on the bedside table through her blurred vision. Soon she surrendered and reached for her glasses. She put them on her nose and she glanced at the clock. It was nearly ten o’clock! She hadn’t slept this late in the morning for a long while.
There was a silence for a moment before the ringing started again. She scrambled out of bed and heard the melody coming from her mobile. As usual, she could not remember where she’d left her phone yesterday, so she started checking the usual places where it was possible that she’d put it. But it was neither on her vanity, nor on the nearby bookshelf.
“Shut up!” she cried at last, losing her patience, covering her ears with her hands.
The melody from Phantom of the Opera was still coming from her as yet unfound mobile, and some idiot at the door was still ringing steadily.
She decided to give up looking for her phone for now and first answer the door. All her neighbors were mostly absent at this hour, so she couldn’t imagine who it could be. Her apartment was situated in a nice building in a safe neighborhood, and the door man would have never allowed any stranger to enter. So perhaps it was Peter, she thought, rushing to the door with hope. He all but disappeared the day after Dad had been taken to the hospital. A few days later he’d texted her a message that he was ok, telling her not to worry about him.
She flung the door open and frowned at Jake Barry. “Oh, it’s you.”
Chapter Three
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Jake Barry demanded sharply as he moved past her into the apartment. “You’re not opening the door, and not answering your phone.”
