Stealing the Bride

by Lee, Nadia

  “Okay, so here’s the deal. You have to do the prenatal package and send pictures to my mom,” Yuna says to Ivy. “She’s sent me, like, four thousand texts since last night. Look.” She flips her phone over and shows the screen to us.

  And Yuna isn’t exaggerating. Ivy just laughs.

  I stare at the screen. “Good lord. How can anyone send that many texts under twenty-four hours?”

  “Mom was probably dictating to her team of assistants while getting her feet rubbed.” Yuna makes a face. “She really wants Ivy to take care of herself, since these will be her first ‘grandchildren.’”

  “You’re going to get the full treatment, too?” Ivy asks.

  “Yes. I need it.”

  “I could just use a mani and pedi,” I say.

  “Well, that’s a given. I mean, you should do those since you’re here, not that your nails need help,” Yuna says, her tone rapid and slightly bossy, but in a cute way. “But you should get the works. The massage, detox, everything.”

  “Um.” My head is rapidly adding up how much all those are going to cost. I was expecting mani-pedi, nothing more. It seems crazy for her to spend this kind of money on me, who is virtually a stranger to her.

  “Do it. Yuna’s paying. Actually, Yuna’s mom, probably,” Ivy says with a warm smile.

  “But…” How do I say that we aren’t close enough that I feel comfortable letting her pay for God only knows how much.

  “Court said you have a big interview tomorrow,” Yuna says. “Massages work better than prayers. I get one every time I have an important event coming up.”

  I raise an eyebrow. Every time? Really?

  “It’s true,” Ivy says. “When we were studying music at Curtis together, she always got massages before auditions and big concerts.”

  “Because they deliver results,” Yuna says.

  It’s impossible to say no to Yuna. She’s an undercover tornado. Even though she looks all sweet and small, she’s a force you just go along with. Besides, you can’t begrudge a woman who’s determined to give you an amazing time.

  And the massages are freakin’ incredible. My masseuse finds knots I didn’t know I had. By the time she’s done, I feel like goo. Utterly relaxed and boneless.

  “Wow. That was almost as good as sex,” I say as I slip into my robe and then sip a special blend of herbal tea. It isn’t sweetened, but surprisingly delicious.

  “You can if you go to the right spa.” Yuna sighs softly.

  Ivy stretches, reminding me of a cat in sunlight. “I feel awesome. Thank you, Yuna. Actually, send my love and thanks to your mom.”

  “Do it yourself. Photo-bomb her. Like one thousand pictures.”

  “I didn’t take that many. Got a couple, though.” Ivy grins a silly grin.

  “Next time, I’m hiring a pro photographer.” Yuna finishes her tea and gestures for another. “So. Tell me how things are going between you and Court. Sounds like you’re getting serious.”

  Is that what he told her? Maybe he’s feeling the same emotions I’m feeling. And the notion makes my cheeks warm and my body tingle for some reason. “He’s a great guy.”

  “He’s a fabulous catch. If we had any chemistry, I’d marry him,” Yuna says. “Mom would be okay with that, even though he’s not quite what she has in mind for me.”

  “Who does she have in mind for you?” I ask. Does she want Yuna to marry well and all that? Does Yuna need to, given how wealthy her family is anyway?

  “Oh, an heir to some huge financial empire. That way, we can cement our merger more strongly. And I’ll, of course, deliver the most perfect heir for the both families.”

  Wow. That’s…um…interesting. And really old-fashioned, I guess.

  On the other hand, Yuna doesn’t seem that upset about it. She just shrugs it off like it’s nothing. “Anyway, back to you and Court…” She leans closer. “Do you think you’re in love, maybe?”

  Thank God I don’t have any tea in my mouth. Otherwise, it wouldn’t end well. “Love?”

  “You’re blushing.”

  I fan myself. “It’s just hot in here.”

  She nods. “Of course. Gotcha.”

  “It’s too early,” I add quickly, shooting a beseeching look in Ivy’s direction, but she is entirely too amused to stop Yuna.

  “You only need like a week to know,” Yuna says.

  “Excuse me?” A week is nothing. A blip.

  “You’ve tried out a lot of different men before, right? It isn’t like he’s your first.”

  “Well, uh… No, of course not.”

  “Right? Men are like fast cars. Unless they repel you for some reason, you ride them for like a week, and then you know if they’re going to work out or not.”

  Oh my God. That’s the craziest comparison I’ve ever heard. Wait until I tell Curie. “What if you need something better and faster later?” I ask, unable to resist.

  Yuna doesn’t even blink. “That’s what divorce and prenups are for.”

  I shake my head, laughing. She has the funniest ideas, and I like it that she doesn’t take everything so seriously. “That’s crazy, but I think I love you.”

  She grins. “See? And we’ve only known each for, what? A week?”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Pascal

  I wake up early, even before my alarm goes off. I’m too wired to sleep more, despite the luxurious massage.

  After the spa, Tony picked Ivy up, but Yuna and I stayed behind for a leisurely mimosa dinner. She didn’t pressure me about Court or anything. We had some nice girl time, and I really like her. She’s a bit cavalier about money—understandable, given her background—but she’s also considerate and surprisingly unspoiled. By the time I got home, I was too relaxed and full to do anything but fall straight into bed.

  After I shower, I reach for my phone to check the market. Oh crap. I turned it off at the spa at the request of my masseuse and forgot to turn it back on. I missed a couple of calls from Court yesterday, a text from Curie wishing me luck and a text from Court that arrived seconds ago.

  Want me to come over and make you breakfast?

  I smile at his sweet offer. Maybe I assigned too much meaning to what happened a couple nights ago. He really just wanted to stay away and give me the time and space to focus on prepping for the interview. Thanks, but you aren’t going to make it in time. Traffic sucks.

  I’m right outside your door.

  Pleasure surges. I spring-step my way to the bolted door and open it.

  Court is standing there in a white T-shirt and denim shorts. A small grin is tugging at the corner of his mouth, and he’s holding a paper grocery bag. God. He looks so delicious—and hot.

  “Hi,” I say, slightly breathless, even though the distance between my bedroom and the door isn’t far enough to make me exert myself.

  “Hey. You look gorgeous and perky this morning.”

  I step aside, and he comes in.

  “I tried calling you, but you didn’t pick up,” he says.

  “Sorry. I totally spaced out. Yuna treated Ivy and me to a girls’ day out.” I smile. “It was fun.”

  “Never a dull moment with Yuna,” Court says. “If you aren’t having fun with her around, you’re doing something wrong.”

  “I bet. The spa was so nice.”

  He cups my face and brushes a thumb over my cheek. “You look relaxed and happy.” He kisses me. “You’re gonna kill it today.”

  “Thanks.” I smile, nervous but also determined.

  “Anyway, this is my test killer special.”

  “Test killer special?”

  “Yeah. Two eggs, sunny-side up, with a pat of butter, a few strips of bacon and half a grapefruit. It’s a simple, balanced breakfast of good protein, fat and vitamin C. No starchy carbs. Every time I eat like this, I do much better on tests. So I figured I’d make it for you.”

  He’s so thoughtful, it makes me warm and glowing inside. It’s small thing, but it touches me more than some gra
nd, complicated gesture would. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  I watch him putter around in my kitchen. It’s smaller and less well equipped than the huge, sparkling one in his penthouse. But somehow he seems very at home with an old spatula and a frying pan. I take a moment to enjoy the domestic scene, then start the espresso machine. Curie got it for me on my birthday, and I plan to give myself an extra shot.

  “Want one?” I ask him.

  He smiles. “Yeah. A latte would be great.”

  By the time I’m done getting our morning java ready, he places two plates of food on the table. They look yummy, and I realize I can’t think of a time I was this pampered and cared for by a guy. The most amazing thing is that I don’t even have to hint or ask. He just does it.

  “By the way, did you give Yuna my number and ask her to take me to the spa yesterday?” I ask, between bites of bacon.

  “No. Why?”

  “I was just wondering. It kind of came out of the blue.”

  “That’s just Yuna. She’s big on taking care of the people around her. And before you ask, no, I didn’t give her your contact info, but she has a way of finding things out. I’m pretty sure the Hae Min Group has a team of top investigators on retainer.”

  Damn. The possibility never even occurred to me. I lean closer and lower my voice. “You think she has this place bugged too?”

  He laughs. “No. She knows what lines not to cross.” He watches me polish off my bacon, then hands me a slice of his. “So. You ready to go kick ass?”

  “I guess. I mean, I know I can answer whatever Gavin Lloyd throws at me, but I don’t know if he’s not a jerk like some people say. Some of the articles I read weren’t very flattering.” At least none of them said he’s a sexist from the Dark Ages. That’s already a step up from my dad.

  “Success attracts haters, and he’s very good at what he does. Besides, his assistant’s been with him since forever. If he was a dick, she would have left.”

  “She might need the money, in case that’s never occurred to you.”

  “Ha! She’s married to Mark Pryce, the restaurateur. She can quit whenever she wants.”

  “Really?” I know nothing about her because people don’t think assistants deserve the spotlight. But in my experience, they’re the ones with real power because their bosses trust them so much. “Tell me about her. Is she difficult? Exacting?”

  “As far as I know, Hilary’s down to earth. Surprisingly so, because she had this sensational Cinderella romance and married a billionaire.”

  “Wonder why I’ve never heard about her, then.” Curie definitely would’ve said something. She loves high-society gossip.

  “Because her husband’s family knows how to keep the media out, even though he made a spectacle of himself to woo her. Declared his love on the sides of skyscrapers, and with those smoke planes in air shows. Later he named one of his restaurants for her. Éternité.”

  “Wow. That’s…over-the-top and sweet. How do you know so much? It isn’t the kind of gossip I thought you’d follow.”

  “It isn’t. But she married”—he looks up at the ceiling, figuring something out—“Nate’s brother’s brother-in-law. Damn, that’s a mouthful. Anyway, Nate sometimes talks about them.”

  We finish our breakfast. I start loading the dishwasher, needing a routine task to calm my nerves as the time draws closer to eleven.

  “You go ahead and get ready for the interview. I’ll do it,” Court says.

  “You cooked.”

  “So? I don’t mind. Today’s your big day.”

  I smile. “Thanks.”

  “I know you’re going to wow them. I have faith in you.”

  That brings warmth to my heart. I hate to even think about it before the interview, but I haven’t said a word to Dad about the possible opportunity at OWM. Not necessarily because I think he’ll wish me ill, but because I’m afraid how I’ll react if he tries to be nasty. That makes me a little sad, because I used to feel like I could tell him anything.

  I shake myself inwardly. No negative thinking. I have Court cheering me on. I can deal with Dad on my own time.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Pascal

  I rub my hands nervously as I walk into the glitzy lobby of Omega Wealth Management. It’s airy and elegant, marble and crystals. Colors are muted and soothing to the eye. Curie would call it money with taste.

  I smooth my hands over my best interview outfit: a conservative navy skirt suit and a silk round-neck top in the lightest cream color. My hair’s down. I thought about putting it up, but I look better when it’s down.

  A leggy brunette walks past the security, her glossy mane twisted into a chignon. Now I wonder if I should do the same.

  Stop overthinking. The hair won’t make any difference.

  I know that intellectually. But there are still a billion ants crawling in my stomach.

  I really want this job. It isn’t just about solving the immediate problem of needing a steady paycheck or staying in the city like I want to. OWM is bigger than SFG. I want to show Dad I’m not just good for being somebody’s wife.

  I sign in with security, get a visitor’s badge and then go to the top floor as instructed. When I step out of the elevator, a sharply dressed receptionist directs me down the hall to Gavin’s office.

  Breathing slowly to control my nerves, I make my way along the luxurious corridor. Gavin occupies the biggest corner office. A pretty, statuesque redhead is sitting outside. The nameplate on her desk reads Hilary Pryce.

  I look her up and down fast. She’s younger than I expected. Maybe in her thirties…? Her clothes look expensive, which makes sense, given that she’s married to a wealthy businessman. Next to her keyboard stands a gorgeous travel mug that says A Woman Worth Her Weight in Gold.

  She looks up from her monitor. “Hi,” she says, her voice low and warm. It’s much huskier in real life.

  “Hi. I’m Pascal Snyder. I have an interview.”

  “Perfect. Gavin’s appointment just ended. You can go right in. He’s expecting you.”

  “Oh. Thank you,” I say, surprised she doesn’t think it necessary to announce me.

  I inhale slowly, smoothing my outfit, and recite my positive mantra. I’m ready for this. I’m just as good as or better than anybody applying here. I deserve a place here.

  Then I walk through the open door.

  Gavin Lloyd’s office is large and luxurious but also highly functional. Nothing inside is designed for mere pampering, but for optimal ergonomic setup.

  The man himself sits behind a huge desk. His hair is black with a hint of brown, his dark eyes piercing. He isn’t handsome, per se, but photos don’t do him justice. There’s a restless energy to him, a slight hint of impatience that the world is moving at a slower speed than he’d like, that doesn’t come through in pictures. Or maybe it’s just something he’s feeling today because of the market’s volatility.

  He stands and shakes hands with me, his grip firm. “Gavin Lloyd. Nice to meet you, Pascal.”

  “Same here.”

  “Take a seat.” He gestures at one of the armchairs, then moves to one himself.

  Huh. So he isn’t going to reclaim the chair at his desk.

  “I don’t like to waste time, so I’m going to go straight to the questions I want to ask first.”

  “That’s fine.” I actually prefer that to a lot of meaningless chatter. I’m too nervous for chitchat, and I expect him to grill me until I feel more abused than a steak charred to bricklike consistency.

  And he doesn’t disappoint, because he starts off with the recent market movements, then goes straight to more specific questions, thrown at me rapidly and without any pause.

  “Which currency would you buy?”

  “Thai baht,” I say without hesitation.

  “Why?”

  “Fundamentals look good, and it’s been a solid gainer.”

  “Past performance doesn’t guarantee future perform
ance.”

  “I agree, but there’s nothing indicating that it won’t continue to perform well. Thailand is making moves to improve its infrastructure, particularly in regards to automobile production. Tourism is also set to in—”

  “Who’s the most important person at OWM?”

  This is too easy. “Other than you?”

  “Obviously.” A small smile pops on his face.

  I smile back. “Your assistant.”

  “Why her and not one of the VPs who get featured in articles all the time?”

  “She’s still here, and has a travel mug that says ‘A Woman Worth Her Weight in Gold.’”

  “Could’ve been a gift from her husband,” he says.

  “I doubt that. He would’ve given her something more romantic and grandiose.” Especially based on what Court told me earlier today. “Plus, no husband is going to talk about his wife’s weight.”

  Gavin finally leans back in his seat. “I’m going to be blunt. You aren’t an idiot. Actually, you’re surprisingly sharp. So why weren’t you promoted during your time at SFG?”

  Oh geez. I can throw so many different answers, but I’m reluctant to tell him the truth and bad-mouth my dad. He screwed up, whether he knows it or not, but somehow I don’t want everyone to know my father is such a medieval relic. “Politics,” I say finally.

  His expression grows inscrutable. “You’re too smart not to know how to play that game.”

  “Honestly? I didn’t know I had to play it.”

  He taps a corner of his mouth a few times, his eyes speculative, like a buyer at a yard sale who’s wavering.

  Please. Don’t let this be the reason you won’t hire me!

  After what feels like a decade, he says, “We don’t do that here. So don’t apply what you learned at SFG to OWM.”

  Ohmigod, YES! “I won’t. I promise.”

  “Good. Then you have an offer. HR will be in touch with you regarding your benefits and first day.” Then he names my new salary.

  My heart stops, then kicks back, racing faster. “Do you mind if I ask you what position?”

  Gavin looks at me funny, like he couldn’t believe I’d ask about that of all things. “Senior analyst. Four years of experience is more than enough. You’ll find our salary and benefits competitive for this level…”