Have Gown, Will Wed

by Killian McRae

  Dark amusement coursed through his tone. “I knew you were aggressive. It’s why BetaHouse is so successful, but that’s really going after something.”

  “Are you…” Her words hollowed out in the air. “I guess I just don’t understand why. Everything’s coming together perfectly.”

  “Except for the fact that either one or both of you withheld information from me,” Xavier huffed. “Miss Betters, look: My methods are unorthodox, but they’re very finely tuned and very successful. They are also based on a premise that the two parties I connect have no prior relationship with each other unless I’m told otherwise. A past acquaintance, no matter how brief or seemingly trivial, throws off my calculations. If I had known you and Mr. Kennedy—”

  “Is there something about what you know now that makes you think Kane and I aren’t compatible?”

  Xavier ground his teeth, wishing he was a less ethical man. “No, but—”

  “Then what’s the big deal?” she interrupted. “It’s like kismet. When I saw his name included in that folio, I just thought, you know, maybe it was a sign.”

  Xavier still couldn’t figure out how she’d gotten a hold of that damned stack of files. He’d been unable to find it that day after he’d shown up at her flat and discovered her sick. It wasn’t anywhere at home or in his office, and he was damned sure he’d never had it sent to BetaHouse or …

  Oh, no.

  The last time Xavier recalled having the stack of files in hand had been at Rosalind’s loft, the night he’d gone over to see her after she’d come home from her trip. The night he’d made her soup and been rummaging around in her drawers to find some tea. The night when he’d came to understand his feelings for her were dangerously approaching love.

  Wait! The tea. He remembered through cloudy recollections taking the folio to the kitchen while he made her tea. He’d left the package right where she was bound to find it sooner or later.

  God, how he wanted to smash his hand into his forehead.

  “I see,” he said instead, folding up his napkin and leaving it on the table. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Betters, since it seems the reason for this meeting is now passé, I really should be going. Please give Mr. Kennedy my regrets that I could not see him to say good-bye.”

  Outside, Xavier caught Kane’s eye across the parking lot as he crossied the Embarcadero. They exchanged a nod, and though he couldn’t say if it was his departure or something during the telephone conversation that was the cause, Kennedy’s features took on an air of smugness usually observed on dirty-dealing bookies.

  Somehow, Kane understood the bet Xavier had made with himself, and even worse, that he’d lost.

  Referrals

  Prashant had asked Kamakshi only the night before if she’d ever consider moving back to Mumbai. She admitted to having asked herself that same question on more than one occasion. After years in the States, she felt it was as much her home as the one she had shared with her three brothers and parents. When first she’d come to California, her goals lay before her like oh-so-certain mile markers: university, first job, startup, sell startup for profit, second job, etc. ... Even such a short time ago, thinking that path would lead back to India would have been unfathomable. A generation before, Indian students going abroad for education were in for a one-way trip; a good education could help you make your way in the world, just not your way back home. Now, the cosmos had shifted.

  Answering Prashant, however, had not been difficult. “Not in a hundred years,” she had said, before thoughtfully adding, “but if you ask me in two hundred, perhaps my answer will be different.” Yes, the job market in Mumbai was wide open for a young, educated, and ambitious woman like her, but there was still a cultural gate which closed out so much more. Perhaps that was starting to change for some, but not in her family.

  As she looked out of the floor-to-ceiling window of Xavier Hommes’s office, Kamakshi thought about something else you could do in America that proved more difficult in India: anything you wanted if you knew the right people and had the right number of zeros in your bank account. Ingenuity helped as well. Still, how Rosalind had gotten it in her head to come to a headhunter such as this to solve her single status, Kamakshi would never know. But, lo and behold, somehow the whole scheme had achieved its aim. If Hommes could find Rosalind a happily ever after, would finding Kamakshi a personal assistant prove all that difficult?

  She turned her eyes away from the skyline and the boats threatening to brush the underbelly of the Bay Bridge when Xavier entered the room. He reached out a hand.

  “Miss Pure,” he said, adding a smile. “Nice to meet you at last. Rosalind’s spoken highly of you.”

  She returned both the smile and her hand. “Likewise. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they had done away with most of the formalities of what she was seeking and why. Xavier explained his philosophy and, more importantly, his process, adding that Jack Colbon, who he was assigning to her search, would need to observe her in her office environment to complete the notes of his profile.

  “I assure you, it’s all very non-intrusive. He’ll just sort of linger in the background and watch.”

  “There wasn’t much lingering with Rosalind,” Kamakshi pointed out.

  A flash of a grimace flew across Xavier’s face, though he seized his composure rapidly. “Well, Rosalind’s case was, you’d have to admit, unique.” His eyes fixed on the screen of his monitor as he assumingly scrolled across the week, looking for an opening. “Perhaps sometime early next week, then? Looks like Jack’s open most of Wednesday morning.”

  She checked her calendar on her iPhone, and soon the appointment was set.

  Xavier’s eyes turned to his screen as he cycled through bouts of clicking and typing. “By the way, how is she?”

  “Rosalind?”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “Yes. I haven’t seen her since she and Kane got together, though I’ve heard plenty.”

  “Really?” Kamakshi leaned forward and balanced her chin on her balled fist. “Where?”

  The blushing man across the way waved dismissively in the air. “You know, here, there. She tweets a lot, or didn’t you know?”

  “Of course I do. I was one of her first followers. Unfortunately, she hasn’t been tweeting that much the last few weeks, and it’s almost wholly about business when she does. Unless you count her complaining about the disheveled state of her tea drawer. She’s been too busy to do much more, thanks in part to your services.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she took to silence, as though that action could squeeze from Xavier something of which she was growing suspicious. He, however, was far too polished to fall for the tactic she’d picked up from her mother.

  When his countenance solidified, she continued, “Did you know I’m getting married in a week, Mr. Hommes?”

  He deposited his folded hands on the desk. “I knew you were engaged, of course. Rosalind… Ms. Betters shared with me the impetus of her actions. I didn’t know, however, that it was so soon. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.” Her suspicions sharpened further when she observed Xavier fingers twist around a stretch of flesh on his left hand, third finger. “Yes, my engagement and wedding came as quite a shock, I’m sure. Roz and I and our other friends had this saying back in college, ‘bras before bros, cash before cocks’.” His face brightened at the slip in formality. “But we were younger then, saw the world in black and white. It’s just taken Roz longer to start picking up on all the gray areas she’s neglected for so long, not to mention the ones full of colors. Mind you, I never would have suspected she’d leap to the task the way she did, but that’s her way. All in, or all out.”

  Xavier’s eyes grew distant. “I could tell that from her bedroom.”

  The sip of water Kamakshi had just taken did a one-eighty, creating aqua art on t
he clear surface of Xavier’s desk. He leapt to his feet as he whipped out a cloth handkerchief from inside his jacket pocket and began blotting the pools. Kamakshi assured him she was okay through red cheeks.

  “You’ve …hack… been in Rosalind’s …cough… bedroom?”

  “Only as part of my work, only in a…” His eyes searched the air for the correct term, making Kamakshi suspect whatever he said would be shaded with nuance. “… professional manner.”

  “I see.” She drew out the acknowledgement. “Well, things with Kane are going great. You really did your job well. One might think they’re the perfect match, seeing them together.”

  “All in a day’s work,” Xavier commented dismissively, though she didn’t miss the pained expression as his eyes focused on his hands. Smacking his tongue, he reached out for a bottled water that sat to the right of his monitor. He unscrewed the top and pulled the bottle to his lips.

  “And now thanks to you, she’ll be engaged in a week.”

  The table turned as his composure slipped. Or more appropriately, spouted. A gurgling cough led to a sputtering fit as drops of water trickled down Xavier’s chin. He fetched a tissue from the box on the table—the soaked handkerchief sat drenched nearby—and attempted to mask his display. “What?”

  Ah, ha. “Normally, I would say it isn’t my place to share something like this, but as you’re the engineer of the situation… She’s going to ask Kane to marry her. She’s planning on popping the question in India, while they’re there for my wedding.”

  “She’s going to ask him? I challenged her to, but after I learned what a traditionalist she was, I didn’t think she’d actually do it. I was positive she’d find a way to get Kane to ask her instead.”

  “So you’ve picked up on her uncanny ability to engineer inquiry, have you? But, yes. All in or all out, remember? Did you think Rosalind would undertake a project like this and not keep the impetus of control?”

  Surprisingly, that made him smile. No doubt Xavier admired that Sadie Hawkins approach to matrimony that was so characteristic of Rosalind Betters. Then, as though he realized the result of that action, his smile fell. “Well, then, I suppose I’ve earned my commission, haven’t I?”

  “Yes, I suppose.” Kamakshi stood, taking her sleek canvas soft-sided case from the floor. “I don’t suppose you’d like to attend?”

  “Rosalind’s wedding? I suppose it would be only appropriate to—”

  “Not Rosalind’s wedding,” Kamakshi interrupted. “Mine.”

  “In India?”

  “I know it’s short notice,” she admitted. “But I know you’re always looking for recruitment talent in your line of work. It occurs to me attending may be in your professional interest. Many of my and Prashant’s classmates from university will be attending. You could probably even write it off as a business trip. And it wouldn’t hurt for Rosalind to have someone else there she knows, frankly. I’ll be busy with the wedding, and other than my family and Prashant, she doesn’t know anyone else. Some of our old friends will be coming, but they’ll all have their families with them.”

  “But she’ll be there with Kane?” It came across as a question, a need for verification, like something had been lost in translation.

  “Yes, she’ll be there with Kane,” Kamakshi confirmed. “And she’ll be asking Kane to marry her. Would be a shame if he said no, wouldn’t it? Though of course, he would need a reason to do so. Or… She’d need a reason to reconsider the plan to begin with.”

  As Kamakshi beamed, understanding dawned on Xavier’s face.

  “You said, ‘one might think they’re a perfect match’.” He leaned back in his chair, his hands raising to stroke the smooth shaven skin of his chin and jaw line. “You appear to me as someone who chooses her words carefully, Miss Pure.”

  She nodded. “And I stand by that statement. I never cared for Kane at Stanford. He’s one of those people who know how to worm into your brain, make you think the ideas he has for you were yours to begin with, so you fall for his ploys unknowingly.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  Her eyes rolled to the ceiling. “Let’s just say –and please don’t ever share this with Rosalind- I’m intimately familiar with how he earned the nickname, Kane More-Than-Able.”

  “Oh.” Xavier threaded his fingers in his lap, contemplation drawing down his expression into a straight line. After a moment, a grin spread across his face. “Yes, I would love to accept your invitation.”

  The Mile Sly Club

  At this point, Rosalind was certain the Swiss Guild of Watchmakers and Kane had entered into a conspiracy. At least, glancing at the mocking hands on her gold-plated time piece, she suspected there were plots afoot. Hadn’t she told Kane to pick her up no later than seven-twenty? At seven-forty, patience had ceased to be a virtue. At seven forty-five, it had also ceased to be a possibility.

  Just as she reached for her cell, a sleek limo, midnight black and with windows tinted like a gambler’s soul, pulled up to the curb. Rosalind gave it only a passing glance as she searched her message log for her and Kane’s message history. Limos in this part of the city weren’t novel. Hell, they weren’t even uncommon. It wasn’t until she felt the weight of eyes upon her and realized someone was speaking to her that she looked up.

  She tried to blink away the confusion. “I’m sorry?”

  The pale skinned man wearing a warm smile leaned down and wrapped his hands over the handles of her bags. “I said, is this your only luggage, or is there more inside, ma’am?”

  Confusedly, her phone still perched before her in squirreling position, she shook her head. The man leaned over and took her two bursting-at-the-seams carry-ons and maneuvered them to the trunk.

  The passenger side window lowered and Kane’s sultry voice wafted out. “Will you be joining me, Miss Betters, or did you wish to walk to SFO?”

  “What is this?” Her surprised tone still contained a tinge of ridicule. “I thought you were going to pick me up in your car so we could park in the short term lot? If I’d known you’d do this, I’d have had Carmen arrange us something a little more… modest.”

  He sighed as he opened the door and stepped out, buttoning his black suit jacket as he stood. “A cab? Sweets, you are no longer of the cab class. It’s time to upgrade. You’re one of the big boys now.”

  She suppressed her inner grammar Nazi which longed to interject, ‘Big girl!’, and cold-cocked her inner Feminist who sneered at her grammar Nazi and mollified her with a hissed “Woman!”

  Kane continued, “You’re the founder of BetaHouse. Your name is surfacing in business reports around the globe. You’re the youngest female CEO in the Silicon Fortune 100, not to mention the most beautiful, and if I can be so immodest as to say so…” His hands worked at the knot of his tie, straightening it. “…your current boyfriend could make a nun weep with desire.”

  Despite her best efforts, the corners of her mouth twitched.

  “Forgive the cliché, but you’ve arrived. Nobody puts baby in the corner anymore, Rosalind.”

  “Did you seriously just quote Dirty Dancing?”

  Kane shrugged. “Yeah, so?”

  “Oh my God, you may just be the sexiest man ever.”

  He took the kudos by the horn and drew her in for a kiss, but if he thought the topic was settled, he’d was two eggs short of a dozen.

  “It’s just, I don’t like big showy, you know, shows of wealth. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a very nice car, and I’m sure…” Her hand reached out and motioned to the chauffeur waiting patiently curbside in case his services were needed.

  “Sven, Miss.”

  “Sven is an excellent driver, but a stretch limo? Couldn’t you have at least gotten a town car?”

  Kane’s response involved putting his arm around her and guiding her to the door. Sven was quick with his hand on the handl
e, ready to cloister them as soon as Kane was able to get her to sit.

  “Think of it this way. You’re not just Rose anymore. You’re Rosalind Betters, an up and coming executive who will not be trifled with. You represent not only yourself, but where you view yourself in your industry. If you don’t show yourself as someone who comes with a price tag and a certain expectation of class, your competition will assume you don’t deserve it. You are the one who determines the worth you will let others believe you have. Rosalind Betters goes to the airport in a limo.”

  “Is this some sort of ‘What they don’t teach you at Harvard’ speech?”

  “No, it’s me telling you not to undersell what you deserve.” And that’s when he slapped her on the ass. “So get it in gear and get in this car before we miss our flight, Betters, or you’ll really get what’s coming to you.”

  The sting of his tease radiated through her, ebbing far too slowly. The limo circled through the city streets before finally making its way on to the freeway. She wasn’t sure if he had meant for his backhanded admonishment to be a turn on, but she wasn’t about to embarrass herself by asking. Her bedroom games playbook was a few seasons old, and she and Kane hadn’t had too many occasions as yet to run some scrimmage tackles. That fact had her more than a little anxious, and not just because it’d been a few years since she had a reason to throw her sheets in the washer bright and early in the morning.

  She was dating Kane Kennedy, aka Kane “And More Than Able” Kennedy. He hadn’t garnered the nickname simply because of his smooth negotiating skills with people. His sensual proficiency resulted in a string of beaming, post-coitus coeds back at Stanford, and reports were he was worth the short-lived ride. Some had even made it a personal challenge to be selected as one of his hook-ups at all the Greek parties. Those who aspired to the task referred to success as “getting Kaned.”

  “Rosalind?”

  Her head spun back from her observation of the passing buildings. His eyes tracked down to her lap. White knuckles and red fingers clung to her phone like it would save her from the plague.