Stealing the Bride

by Lee, Nadia

  My cell phone rings. I pick it up but don’t recognize the number. Tom again? He sure is persistent. I want to blast him for being a dick and take out my frustration with life in general, but I force myself to keep my voice brisk. Just in case.

  “Hello?”

  “This is Hilary Pryce from Omega Wealth Management calling. Is Pascal Snyder available?” comes a pleasant, professional voice.

  Omega Wealth Management? “Yes,” I squeak. I stop and clear my throat discreetly. “This is she,” I say more normally.

  “Ms. Snyder, if you haven’t accepted an offer from another firm, we’d like to ask you to come in for an interview.”

  Holy shit, holy shit! My knees start shaking. I reach out and grab the counter for balance. “Of course. When?”

  She lists three dates and times. I take the earliest one. Just in case. There could be hundreds of candidates vying for the same position.

  “Thursday at eleven it is, then. Do you need directions to the office?”

  “No. I know exactly where it is!” I wince. Was that overeager? Maybe even slightly stalkerish?

  “Perfect. When you arrive, please give your name to reception and come to the top floor. Gavin Lloyd will interview you personally.”

  Oh my God. My heart is pounding, and I can barely speak for a moment. This is a big deal. If I can impress him, I won’t even need to go for a second-round interview or anything like that. The job will be mine.

  “Ms. Snyder? Do you have any questions?” she asks.

  “No.” I inhale deeply. “Thank you so much. I’ll be there Thursday.”

  “Great. If you need anything, feel free to call me anytime.” She gives me her number, and I write it down. My hand is so shaky that the writing is barely legible.

  I hang up, then clasp my hands together. Excitement bubbles over, and I can’t keep it in anymore. I scream hard and loud. Oh my God. This is my chance. The one I’ve been looking for.

  Although Court’s going to get here in less than half an hour, I can’t wait. I call him, needing to share this amazing new with him now.

  “Yes?” he says.

  “I got one. I got one!” I shriek.

  He laughs softly. “You got a job?”

  “No. I have an interview. At Omega Wealth Management with Gavin Lloyd himself!”

  “Whoa. That’s amazing.”

  “I know, right? I’m so excited. I don’t even know what I’m going to do. What am I going to wear?” I ask as though I’ve never done this before. My brain feels as sluggish as a spaceship with its warp drive broken.

  “You’re going to wear your best interview clothes, and you’re going to look amazing, and you will totally impress them with how smart and professional you are.”

  “Yes! That’s exactly what I’m going to do. You’re totally right.” His confident words calm me.

  “Meanwhile, I will pick up a bottle of Riesling. We gotta celebrate.”

  “Fantastic.” We hang up. But seriously, he doesn’t have to bring wine. I could get drunk on water right now.

  The oven timer beeps. I take out the apple pie and set it on the counter to cool. Court arrives a little later, carrying the promised bottle of wine.

  I dash over and wrap my arms around him. He feels so good—like all my hopes and aspirations have come to life in a person. I’m still hopping with excitement. “Oh my God. This is like a dream come true.”

  “I’m really happy for you.” He puts the wine on the couch and runs his thumb over my cheeks. “You’re so beautiful when you’re happy.”

  I flush with pleasure. “You’re beautiful, too. I really want to thank you for being on my side. And encouraging me and never doubting me.”

  “How could I not? You’re the smartest woman I know. And I know you’re going to kill it.” He’s looking at me, his eyes bright and gorgeous. And suddenly nothing else matters. I pull him down for a kiss. I need some way to express all the bright emotions swirling inside my chest.

  Court kisses me back. His large, strong hand cradles my face as though I’m the most precious thing in the world.

  His tongue strokes mine, and I purr with pleasure at his taste—all male, all sweet and dreamy. Mine, he’s my man, just surely as I’m his woman.

  I put my hands on his shoulders and maneuver him slowly to a living room wall. I push him flush against it and devour his mouth.

  His greedy fingers move over my shirt, then slip underneath, skimming the taut, sensitive skin on my belly, leaving trails of heat. My heart hammers, and his races under my palm. I love the way he makes me feel—all hot, reckless and on top of the world. No man’s ever made me feel this way before.

  How he’s making you feel isn’t the only thing you love.

  The thought slices through my lust like a cold scalpel. I freeze, then pull back.

  Court’s eyes are dark, his pupils wide. Air saws in and out of him, and heat pulses through me at the need-glazed expression on his face.

  Love.

  No. It’s too soon. We don’t know each other well enough to fall in love. Love is what you feel after years and years of being together, like Curie and Joe…or my parents.

  “There’s no way this is love,” I whisper to myself in Klingon.

  Court stiffens, his eyes on mine. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing,” I say, taking a step back. “Want to have some apple pie? I just baked it.”

  “Yeah…sure. It’ll go well with the Riesling.” But his expression is dazed, like he understands exactly what was going through my mind and isn’t sure about it at all.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Court

  In general I’m not a huge fan of shopping, and it’s doubly bad when I know nothing about what I’m buying. I never knew there were stores dedicated to baby things. Or that there’s more than just onesies to baby fashion. Or that they need so much…crap. I pick up some junk wrapped in plastic. A waterproof blanket, really? Then what are diapers for?

  I put the blanket back.

  The thing is I’m having a hard time focusing because…

  Pagh ghotvam’e’ muSHa’ghach. Klingon for “this cannot be love.”

  The words from yesterday fleet in and out of my mind like…waves. Or maybe immortal vampire mosquitoes. Whatever. Skittles didn’t mean for me to hear it, so it isn’t like I can just ask her to clarify or what made her say it.

  So fucking irritating.

  Not that Skittles isn’t smart for knowing that what we have isn’t love. I can’t stand it when people throw it in your face like you owe them one because “they love you.” Tiffany thinks she loves me, although she’s probably gotten over that…sort of. I mean, this is why I like hanging out with Skittles.

  So why did it feel like a slap when she said it wasn’t love?

  I consider for a moment. Not a slap. It was more like…a shock. Yeah. And any guy would be shocked. So I shouldn’t waste more time thinking about it. It’s stupid. It was already stupid of me to pull back from the kiss after she said it, scarf down the pie like my life depended on it and leave her place, with the excuse that she should prep for the interview in peace. I should’ve just had sex with her instead. Sex solves everything. Well, almost every—

  “What are you thinking about?” Yuna asks.

  The sudden question makes me jerk my head around. “What?”

  “You’ve been scowling at that onesie like it’s the cause of global poverty.”

  She’s staring at me, sipping her mimosa out of a reusable bottle, so people won’t know she’s started early. Well, it’s probably midnight in Korea.

  I put down the onesie. “It just looks so small.”

  She picks it up. “Babies are small. And this is a fabulous onesie. See how soft it feels?” She runs her hand over it. “You should get it. It isn’t that expensive.”

  It isn’t, until you think about how much it costs per square inch. The whole thing is like a hundred bucks. I can’t imagine what a baby will do with a hundred-do
llar outfit, but what the hell do I know about stuff like that? “Okay.” I turn to a salesclerk near us. “I’ll take it.”

  While the lady rings it up, Yuna gives me a speculative look. “I thought you wanted to do this.”

  “I do.”

  “Then why are you so distracted?”

  There’s no way I can tell her the truth and not go through a Korean Inquisition. And I seriously don’t need Yuna starting in on all that destiny stuff. “I’m just wondering how Skittles is going to do on her job interview. She has one a couple of days from now.”

  “Does she? And why are you worried about it? Aren’t you going to be her sugar daddy until she finds a job?”

  “Of course not. She’s too independent for that.” Skittles never even hinted.

  “Then?”

  It’s impossible to hide things from someone as nosy and direct as Yuna. Then again, maybe she has some insight. She’s a woman, isn’t she? “I was just wondering about something a friend said.”

  Yuna leans closer. “What?”

  “He said a girl told him what she feels for him can’t be love because…” Shrugging, I clear my throat, heat flushing my neck at the terrible lie. Can’t I do better? “He seemed a bit…confused, if you know what I mean.”

  Yuna raises both eyebrows. “Nate?”

  I almost choke. “No, not Nate.”

  “I didn’t think so. He doesn’t strike me as the type to worry about stuff like that.” Yuna grins easily, like the entire point is silly. “Tell your friend not to worry. People do that all the time.”

  I gape at her. I’m so stunned that I almost drop the glossy bag the salesclerk hands to me. “They do?”

  Yuna nods. “Don’t you?”

  “Don’t I…what?” I say, feeling like I’m losing control of the conversation.

  “Say you love them but don’t mean it.”

  “No…” Maybe Yuna doesn’t understand what I’m trying to say. Even though her English is amazing, it is her second language.

  “I did, once.”

  “Why?” Couldn’t be because she needed anything. Her family is filthy rich.

  She looks at me pityingly, like I’m an overly dense bear. “Because I wanted to know what it felt like to say it. And I thought that if I said it out loud, I might feel it.”

  That makes even less sense than Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, which I had the misfortune of reading in college. “Huh?”

  “But it just felt so…blah. Like a substandard performance of a Mozart sonata. So I took it back before the guy got any weird ideas.”

  I don’t think that’s why Skittles said what she said. Or did she really think I might get weird ideas? And what constitutes a weird idea anyway?

  Yuna sighs and pats my shoulder. “Love is like a skincare product. You gotta try it first, before you know for sure. Sometimes the description sounds great, but when you use it, it doesn’t agree with you. Or you use it for like a week, and you start to get allergic reactions or develop hypersensitivity. You know what I’m saying?”

  Not even a little. I don’t use skincare products, so this analogy is like using calculus to explain geometry.

  “But Pascal is your destiny, so it’s different with you and her.”

  “I said it’s a friend.”

  “Ooh, right, a friend.” Yuna waggles her eyebrows, then pats my arm. “Of course. That’s what I meant. That friend of yours and Pascal are destined.”

  “I didn’t say Pascal, either.”

  “Of course. What could I be thinking?”

  Shit. I should’ve known she’d figure it out. “Don’t tell anybody.”

  “I won’t. I won’t breathe a word of your friend’s concern.” She makes a zipping motion across her mouth, but her lips are wide apart in a grin.

  Somehow I doubt she’ll keep the promise.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Pascal

  “Why do you sound so listless? Aren’t you ready to kick ass?” says Curie in her signature cheery voice.

  I’m laid out on my couch, staring at the ceiling, phone on speaker mode and lying on my chest. “I am ready. It’s just…”

  “Yeeesss?”

  “It’s Court. We haven’t talked in—”

  She screeches. “Did you guys break up?”

  “No!” I then tell her what happened in the kitchen. “Normally I would’ve texted, but he was acting so weird, telling me I need to focus on prepping for the interview and nothing else, before leaving. I actually thought he’d stay for…you know. Sexy time.” And why didn’t he? He’s a guy. He’s attracted to me. He knows I’m attracted to him. There was no reason for him to forgo that. It’s such an alien reaction.

  “Maybe he just really wants you to do well in the interview tomorrow, and you’re overthinking it, like you’re overthinking how you feel about him.”

  “But is it really love? It hasn’t even been three months.”

  “Oh, so we’re working off Pascal’s Timeline, is that it?”

  “No, but I wish there were some simple way to check, like a math problem.”

  She laughs. “I think you love him. And if it isn’t love yet, it’s getting there. I’ve never seen you obsess about a guy like this. You usually just sort of keep them around the periphery while you focus on your goals.”

  Yes. My goals. Court isn’t my goal. Impressing Gavin is. “You’re right. I can’t worry about him on top of the interview. He’s probably just distracted and busy right now.”

  “Exactly. He’ll text you soon to wish you luck.”

  Of course, I tell myself, feeling more optimistic. It isn’t like him otherwise. He probably got another letter from his dad’s lawyer. How weird is that, a father communicating with his son through a lawyer? But maybe that’s what happens when a family has too much money.

  “You’re going to crush this interview, arise, phoenix-like, from the ashes, and triumph!” Currie says.

  I laugh. “It’s an interview, not a war.”

  We chat some more, this time about her house hunting, because I need the distraction, and hang up. Curie is smart about stuff like this. And she’s right. Court’s going to text me as soon as he can.

  A text arrives on my phone. Hey, it’s Yuna. Want to come over for a spa day today?

  For a moment, I stare at the invitation, confused. This must be the Yuna I met at Court’s place. It’s not like I know another one. But why is she inviting me to a spa day? We don’t know each other well enough, and even if we did, I can’t really accept, since I need to be careful with money until I get a new job.

  And the interview is tomorrow. Just thinking about that makes hope and anxiety rush through—

  Another text arrives. My treat. I need a spa buddy. Can’t spa alone.

  I hesitate. It seems crazy for her to offer like that. Spas aren’t cheap, and it isn’t like we’re tight friends. Are you sure? I respond.

  Very. It isn’t that much money. And seriously, nobody can spa alone. It’s just not possible according to the Laws of Spa.

  I seriously doubt there are any Laws of Spa, but I can’t resist her cajoling. Besides, she said it wasn’t that expensive, so maybe she just wants somebody to sit and chat with her to do mani and pedi or something simple. And I could use a little makeover before the interview. Some in-spa-ration.

  Puns always make me feel better. Okay.

  Perfect! There’s a car waiting for you outside.

  A what is waiting where? I shake my head, then decide maybe she mis-texted. I can drive.

  Yeah, but you won’t be able to drive back. Not after we’re done.

  I frown. What kind of spa treatment makes you unable to drive?

  And now that I’m thinking about it, how did she get my number and address? From Court? I’m almost tempted to check with him, but then I stop. I don’t want our first text since that awkward evening to be about this. Besides, if Yuna were some kind of weirdo, she wouldn’t have been invited to his place, would she?

 
; I grab my purse and step outside my apartment building. And just stare at a blinding white limo with a uniformed chauffeur standing next to it. This can’t be the car Yuna meant… Can it?

  “Ms. Snyder?” the chauffeur says.

  “Yes?” I almost squeak.

  He smiles and opens the door for me.

  Holy cow. I settle into luxurious leather. The chauffeur says I can have whatever I want from the built-in bar. I thank him, then whip out my phone and text Yuna.

  You said CAR, not limo.

  A limo is a type of car.

  Okay, can’t argue with that logic. I was expecting an Uber. This is seriously beyond amazing.

  All women need to spa in style.

  Wow. Thank you.

  My pleasure.

  I run my hand over the seat. I don’t think my face has been this soft since I was five. Oh, man. What have I gotten myself into? Court told me Yuna’s the daughter of the Hae Min Group’s chairman, but is this what people like her think is “not that much money”?

  Is the spa going to be like some misbegotten love child between Versailles and Hollywood? The idea is slightly terrifying. And intimidating.

  When I arrive, the place is extremely luxurious—understated elegance and poshness designed to make you feel relaxed and pampered the moment you step inside.

  The air is scented with soothing herbs and citrus, and the reception area is wide and airy, with cream-colored stones and tiles. The leather seats are the most beautiful pearly pink I’ve ever seen. Yuna and Ivy wave from a couch. They’re both casually dressed and chatting over what looks like some kind of fruit water.

  “I thought you needed a spa buddy,” I blurt out, totally confused, but relieved that Ivy’s here as a buffer in case Yuna’s totally insane.

  “I do,” Yuna says with a cheeky grin. “How are you, Pascal?”

  “I’m good. Hi, Ivy.”

  Ivy smiles. “Hey.”

  I sit down gingerly next to Ivy, my butt perched on the edge. I’m still unsure why Yuna needs to have me here, in addition to Ivy. Unless I’m misremembering things, Yuna and Ivy are super-tight besties. “Soul sisters” and all that.