by Alam, Donna
‘What’s wrong with your private life? Are you a coke-head or something?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I don’t know what the hell to think.’ The latter she almost hisses as she leans forward in her chair.
‘My private life is my own. It doesn’t affect my flair for business.’
‘So what would marrying me change?’
‘First, I wondered if giving you a little background to your pitch might fuel your choices. Societal privilege and all that.’ I wave my hand as though all this is above me when the truth is, nothing is above or below me when in the way of getting what I want.
‘If you think I’m going to marry you out of some kind of desire for revenge, you really don’t know me at all.’
‘It’s part of the appeal, though, isn’t it? Truthfully.’ Her gaze roams over me as if I’m the lowest creature she’s ever seen. But her anger will undoubtably kick in. That is to say, the anger reserves not directed at me but rather at those who have the unmitigated gall to keep her from her goal. Anger at those suffering from the illusion that they’re somehow superior. At least we have that in common. ‘Do try to stop glowering at me, would you? Those looks may be effective on others. I, however, am becoming inured to your repertoire of narrowed glances and sulks. A word of advice; the more you use them, the more the effect diminishes.’
This doesn’t stop her from glaring at me over the rim of her teacup.
‘There really is nothing—nothing—appealing in the notion of marrying you.’
‘With the exception of solvency, saving your company, sushi, and expensive footwear. And a little payback. Not to mention the opportunity to harness your potential plus a little cultivation to help you become a business powerhouse. The kind of woman other women look up to.’
‘No woman would look up to someone who became successful by selling herself.’
‘I’m not buying you. Just a little of your time and cooperation.’
‘In exchange for a piece of my soul.’
‘You’ll get so much more in return.’
‘Maybe I’ll just take my chances.’
‘On failure or bankruptcy? This business is a little incestuous. I’m sorry to say the town criers have already begun to call out.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Vicious gossip. The fact that half of my office saw us kissing. The general opinion that something was quite obviously going on between you and Luke prior to the fact. For whatever reason and whatever form.’
‘There’s nothing going on between us. It wasn’t like that,’ she protests hotly. ‘He has a pregnant girlfriend. You know that, and they will too, soon enough.’
‘If I know, it’s only because I have your word for it. Meanwhile, Luke hasn’t mentioned it to his parents. All is quiet on that front. So you were caught kissing me following your actions after your pitch meeting. Actions that were remarked upon.’
‘What are you talking about, actions?’ she asks, suddenly sitting bolt-straight. Perhaps the recollection is as uncomfortable as the realisation.
‘Tactile touches, longing looks, that sort of thing. Add to that the rumours that will no doubt begin to filter down after you were subsequently caught kissing one of his superiors.’ Eyes wide, I feign a little shock.
‘You aren’t superior to him in any way, shape, or form,’ she retorts. ‘Seems to me you’re both cut from the same cloth.’
If that’s the case, my cloth comes from Savile Row, and his is one of an inferior quality, picked up from some East End outdoor market.
She refuses to meet my gaze, despising me for the things I say. But no one ever said business was easy or life was fair. And I’ll do what I must to get her to help me in this. No one else will do.
‘How has business gone since?’ I ask evenly. ‘Do you have any more meetings or pitches lined up?’
‘You know I haven’t,’ she answers quietly. The kind of dangerous quiet that comes before a storm. ‘And now I know why.’
‘Who knows? Perhaps the next few days will see this work in your favour. You might end up having no end of people willing to see you.’ Her gaze lifts but not her head. ‘Men in particular.’ I allow the implication to hover in the air.
‘God, I hate you.’
‘Some would say your honesty is a perfect basis for marriage. And most marriages turn to hate at some point anyway. The same way wine turns to vinegar after a time.’
‘Is that a personal observation?’ I don’t answer her sickly-sweet enquiry. ‘How about you stop trying to sell me on this, telling me what my problems are and how you can fix them. How about you tell me what you’d get out of this arrangement?’
I almost answer you. Ridiculous, really. And also partly true, I find.
‘In short, the illusion of having settled down. The appearance of a stable personal life. And the ultimate chance to get my hands on ownership of JBW business.’
‘Settling down with his stepson’s “nice” girlfriend who, for all intents and purposes, has since been painted as anything but nice? Surely that won’t help.’
‘It has no bearing.’
‘You might’ve been better served to set your laser-sharp sights on someone less tainted.’
‘And where would the fun be in that? Besides, I would be doing Mark a favour, in his mind, by preventing his son from making a mistake with a woman willing to ingratiate herself to any man who’ll help.’
She blinks heavily, and I get the impression she’s throttling me in her mind.
I didn’t say it, and it’s not my manner of thinking but to say so wouldn’t help.
‘So the word at JBW is that I’ll do anything to get my hands on money. Marrying me won’t help you. It also occurs to me that marrying you isn’t going to help my reputation either. People will still remark “first Luke and now you”, which, in reality, is a little like choosing death by the devil or the deep blue sea, not that anyone will say that. They’ll say I’ve married you for your money. How can that be flattering to you? How can it help?’
‘I think you’ll be surprised. Firstly, you’re a pretty girl—when you’re not scowling, that is—and very engaging. Second, you’re a good actress, so you’ll win people over. Third, no one has ever seen me smitten by anyone or anything.’ Except money. ‘They’ll buy the fact that we’re in love, especially once we’ve done the rounds by touring a few dinners and social functions.’
‘Why do you keep saying that? That I’m a good actress? That I pretend?’
‘Intuition.’
‘You are so wrong. I can’t mask who I am so what you see is what you get. And that’s why I can’t pretend to like you. Because I don’t. I bet that didn’t occur to you, did it? That I’m mean to you because you deserve it and because I don’t like you.’
The lady doth protest too much? She doesn’t need to like me, not in that sense. I know she desires success above all things. Just as I know she wants me. And that’s enough.
‘I’m sure people will delight in the almost karmic play of things. That I deserve being tied to a girl who’ll trample on my heart.’
‘You haven’t got one. If you did, you wouldn’t be making me do this.’
I sigh heavily. ‘There’s that flair for the dramatic again. No one is making you do anything. You have free will; you can do what you wish.’
‘Behold,’ she declares, sending me another of her choice looks. ‘I send you out as a sheep amidst the wolves.’
‘What’s it to be then, Olivia?’ I ask, paraphrasing the rest of the dramatically delivered Bible verse. ‘Will you choose to be as wise as a serpent or remain as innocent as a dove?’
Chapter 14
OLIVIA
He left me with a sleek-looking business card and my choices ringing through my head.
Would I be as meek as a lamb and give in to my fate?
Or be as wise as a serpent and slither away? Or would I be the kind of snake Luke had
been? Or he kind of snake that wants to retaliate or strike?
As for the dove metaphor, I’m not feeling very peaceful at all, though I kind of wish I had wings because then I’d fly off someplace where these troubles couldn’t follow.
Another week passes, and the payroll run is complete. An electricity bill sits in the kitchen unopened, waiting for me. I have three missed calls from my accountant, five more politely sterile no thanks from other finance options, and twice as many more refusing to take my call. I’ve spent hours wondering if I led Luke on. If there was something I did or said that would make him see me as unworthy. Disposable, even. The hours I’ve spent having conversations with him in my head I will never get back. But I’ve decided there is no way this can be explained away. There is no reason for what he’s done. In short, I’m never speaking to him again.
But that doesn’t help my options, which are few.
I am up shit creek and paddling with my arms against the current.
And the worst of the situation isn’t Luke’s betrayal, but the sense that I’ve frittered it all away somehow. My share of my grandfather’s life’s work. His and Gran’s hopes and dreams for me. I have a business that I’ve fucked up, despite my best intentions and hours of hard work, and only one very unappealing option to fix things. Maybe if I’d worked harder or smarter or taken more advice I might not be in this situation.
Was it pure hubris that will leave me with nothing?
And I’ve no one to talk things over with. I can’t call Reggie and tell her what has happened with Luke and Beckett and their fucked-up plans. I can’t tell her because I know she’d say the same thing I’d say if our roles were reversed.
It’s not worth it. Cut your losses and walk away.
But that’s because we’re both good friends who want the best for the other. But it’s a little different when you’re living in your own skin and wondering if retaining the moral high ground is worth losing the roof over your head.
I think I have to say yes.
Though not to becoming homeless. Yes to the other thing.
I sit on my bed with my back pressed against the headboard as I scroll through my phone, not truly paying much attention to anything on my social media feeds. I flip over to the E-Volve app, not because I’m looking for a hookup but because it’s mine. The one thing I own in my life. I grew this from a tiny seed of an idea where I wanted to find my best friend a date after she’d discovered her boyfriend had been cheating on her. It was a project, and that’s all. A project that’s grown and grown until it’s depleted my resources and left me on the verge of homelessness. Not that I’ll ever truly be homeless. I know my mom will always take me in like one of her strays. Reggie would make space on her sofa for me in a heartbeat. And then there’s Gran. She’d move heaven and earth to make sure I’m okay. But I’m nearly twenty-seven, and I can’t keep expecting people to clean up after me.
A fragment of our conversation in the coffee shop comes floating back to me.
‘Tell me more about this grandmother of yours,’ he’d said.
‘Why? Because she’s a neutral topic or because you pretending to listen to me would make me less of a bitch.’
‘No, because I asked you,’ he’d griped right back at me. So I did.
‘She’s originally from Yorkshire but has lived in the States since she was seventeen. She followed a G.I. home after the war, against the wishes of her parents and all that kind of thing.’
‘She must be very brave.’
‘She says it’s what love does to a person. It makes you foolish, not brave. But he wasn’t a good husband, and the marriage didn’t last long. He was, however, good enough to die so she didn’t have to divorce him.’
‘Sporting of him.’ I’d wrapped my hands around my teacup, finding I was fighting a smile. While aware he was up to no good, it just felt nice to talk about my favourite person for a while.
‘And your mother?’
‘Divorced.’
‘There’s a kind of symmetry in this,’ he murmured blandly. ‘Three generations of women who didn’t find love the first time around.’
‘I count only two.’ My response wasn’t as bland and came with a pointed look. ‘As I’m not divorced, the symmetry lends itself only to two.’
‘I assume both found happiness afterwards?’
‘My grandmother did. My mom tried.’
‘Presumably they weren’t made wealthy when their husbands removed themselves.’
‘My grandmother was because he adored her. The only thing that could’ve torn him away was death. He left Gran well provided for. He left us of all well provided for.’ We fell quiet for a beat before I spoke again. ‘Removed themselves is an odd choice of words.’
‘Not really. If we do this, our divorce won’t be an emotionally fraught affair. We’ll both be going into this with our eyes open and a timeline. When it ends, there will be no recriminations. We’ll just remove each other from our lives. It’s not like we belong to the same circles. The loss of your inheritance needn’t be common knowledge. You would come out of this marriage in a matter of a few months in a position so much stronger.’
‘I don’t remember telling you about my inheritance.’
‘Frankly, you didn’t need to. The fact is, you need help, and I can give it to you. There’s no shame in acknowledging that.’
‘You’re wrong,’ I’d replied. ‘There’s no shame in failure. But in selling yourself out? Well, that’s another matter.’
‘You’re being far too puritanical about this,’ he’d insisted. ‘What would have happened if I’d stayed in the car? If I’d taken your hand and led you into the house? Into my bed?’
‘I expect we’d have had sex,’ I answered simply. ‘But I wouldn’t have committed myself to you for six months. For cash.’
‘Not for cash,’ he replied hotly. ‘For our mutual benefit.’
Would one of those mutual benefits be sex?
But now? Now, I’m not so sure about anything.
From across the room, Beckett’s business card sings to me. A low static hum, a whisper of temptation that says all could be well.
Six months to give my business the chance it deserves.
Six months to make a success of myself.
Six months of tying myself to the devil’s representative on earth.
Swinging my legs off the bed, I make my way over to my dresser, pick up the card, and throw my back against the mattress once more. I hold both phone and card above my head as I press in the digits.
Sure, it’d be better to send him a text, but that’s not how being a grown-up works. Besides, he’d just call back. Probably to gloat.
My heart beats like the hooves of a runaway stallion as I wait for the call to connect.
‘Beckett.’ One word bitten out as if he doesn’t have time to take my call.
‘It’s Olivia. Olivia Welland,’ I add, just in case he proposes marriage to virtual strangers on a daily basis.
‘I was beginning to think you wouldn’t call.’ His tone turns softer, almost kinder, but certainly curious.
‘Were you? Really?’ I think his tone is a ruse and that he’s played me like a fiddle. That maybe I’ve even allowed him to. More stupidity on my part.
‘I was wondering if I’d overestimated you.’
‘Your backhanded compliments are unnecessary. I find myself, as my grandmother would say, on the bones of my arse. And without recourse.’
The bark of his laughter is startling. ‘Your grandmother has inspired you to a decision?’
‘She’s pragmatic,’ I say with a sigh.
‘So, am I to take this as you calling to say you’ve come around to logic?’ Despite his words, his tone holds a note of hesitancy. I find it helps.
‘I’m not sure any of this is logical. All I know is I don’t want to lose my company, and as much as I’d like to blame you or Luke for putting me in this position, I’ve concluded the fault lies with me.’ And that the problems wer
e always there. I should’ve prepared better. Sought sound advice and followed a different path. Not been full of such reckless confidence.
‘There’s no need to sound as though you’re about to face the firing squad. For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing. I want to say the grown-up thing, but I don’t want to make you cross.’
‘That’s a first.’ I almost laugh as I flick his business card across the room. It spins like a helicoptering maple seed.
‘What is it they say? Happy wife, happy life?’
‘Now you’re just being mean.’
‘Where are you, Olivia?’
‘At home. Why?’
‘Give me your address and I’ll send a car over for you.’
‘I’m not going to your house,’ I say a little panicked.
‘I’m in the office,’ he replies smoothly.
‘On Sunday? I thought you lot didn’t work very hard?’
‘I get paid for what I know, not for what I do. Yet here I am. Doing.’
‘Couldn’t we do this tomorrow, then? Mondays are so boring as it is. It’d give the devil something to look forward to. A nice pound of Olivia flesh?’
‘As tempting as that sounds, do you really want to go over the particulars with an audience milling around?’
My mind goes back to the things he said, and I imagine an office full of admin staff holding grudges and wielding pitchforks.
‘We could meet somewhere public,’ I reply, ignoring the implications in his words.
‘You don’t trust me.’ There’s that amusement again. ‘Or perhaps you don’t trust yourself.’
‘I’m pretty sure I can manage to restrain my base urges where you’re concerned.’
‘You mean you can restrain yourself from killing me.’
‘I’ll certainly try my best.’
