Stealing the Bride

by Lee, Nadia

  What?

  “But you’re just a bitch. A nut bitch! Did you quit?”

  “Quit what?” And why am I having a conversation with a guy who’s so wasted he’s slurring every syllable into sludge?

  “The fucking job. If you really think you got it because of his money and yer too proud, you shoulda quit.”

  I suck in a breath. I haven’t quit. But I’ve been wondering if I should, and his words hit home.

  “Did you, Twix? Did you?” Nate demands.

  “No,” I admit, my voice quiet.

  “What? Speak louder. Can’t hear you in here.”

  My cheeks burn even though he isn’t here to see me. “I said no.”

  “That’s right. ’Cuz you’re, er…phone hippo!”

  Phone hippo?

  “You’re a hippo… Hippo… Christ, hippo-crip! Fuck, my mouth is dry. I need another drink.”

  “The last thing you need is more alcohol,” I say sternly, even though my insides feel like they’re going through a blender, and my head is hurting trying to follow this conversation. “Take Court home. And you both need to sleep it off.”

  “Fuck you, hippo-crip! Fuck you, I drink what I want.”

  “Nate.”

  “You can’t make me do shit. I’m a free man.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. It’ll be easier for me to just go over there or send somebody. Like Yuna. I still have her on my phone. “Where are you?”

  “Z. But you can’t come. I told the bouncer to kick your ass out if you show. Yer on the blacklist. Never get in. Equal opportunity, Hershey. That’s like equal ass-kicking.”

  A hammer starts beating in my head as I try to parse his drunken raving. I don’t care about getting inside Z. As awesome as the club is, it isn’t my typical hangout. But the fact that they’re at the club makes me relax a little. It’s owned by Court’s brother. The people there aren’t going to let anything happen to their boss’s family.

  “Bye, Nate.”

  Hanging up, I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath to center myself. Damn Nate. He isn’t wrong about quitting the job. As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking about it ever since I left Court’s place.

  Sighing, I lean against the glass deck door. Curie comes over and puts a gentle hand on my arm. “Are you all right?”

  I start to nod, then shake my head. My sister can tell I’m not okay. At all. No point in lying.

  She pulls me toward the couch. We sit close, like we used to when we were girls.

  “So. Work-related?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “Court’s best friend. They went out and got wasted. Nate’s so gone he kept calling me a hippo-crip.”

  “A hippo-crip? Is that some new slang?”

  We look at each other for a moment. “A big member of an L.A. gang…?” I stop as it finally hits me that Nate’s been trying to call me a hypocrite, for God’s sake. But the exasperation lasts only a moment. My chest feels like my heart has been scooped out, and I put a hand over it.

  Curie peers at me. “What is it?”

  “He’s right. I am a hypocrite for staying at a job I might not have earned, especially after getting upset with Court about it.” Curie’s already heard all of it. And since she knows me as well as she knows herself, she wisely refrained from giving too much input, just letting me vent and rant.

  “But are you sure? You love OWM.”

  I bite my lower lip. She’s totally right about how I feel about my work, which is why this is so hard. But my gut says I need to do what’s right, and what’s right is not keeping what I didn’t earn. I’ve never done that, and I’m not going to start now.

  Doing the right thing doesn’t keep your bank account healthy, my mind whispers.

  But not doing the right thing will sicken my soul.

  “I don’t want a fucking pity job,” I say, my voice slightly shaky at the thought. I clench my hands as though that will steady my vocal cords.

  Curie nods. “I understand.”

  Her ready agreement doesn’t relieve my anxiety. “I’m being stupid, aren’t I? Overthinking everything.”

  “That’s how you are when you’re dealing with a big decision. The only one who you just went along with was Court.”

  She’s right about that. I slept with him the night we met because I liked him. A lot. And then… I just couldn’t say no to him. Probably because deep inside I wanted to be with him, no matter what excuses I came up with.

  “I’m on your side.” Curie puts her arm around my shoulders and squeezes. “You always do what’s right, whether it’s about your job or Court.”

  “But it feels so scary.”

  “How come?”

  “The one-night stand was easy because I thought it was just one night. But now, I feel more for him.” I swallow. “I still love him for all that he is—his smile, his sweet personality and generosity. And I realize now that I reacted much worse than I might have, because seeing Dad’s superior smirk just hours before confronting Court put me in this terrible mental space.”

  Curie nods. “So why don’t you unbend a little? He’s been trying to reach you, but you’ve been ignoring him.”

  “The stakes seem so big.” I pick at the skin around my thumb. “And I wonder if Court’s attitude is innate, the way Dad’s is. Like, because of the way he was brought up, or what he’s always been surrounded with. People don’t change. Just look at Dad. We just didn’t know because he never had the opportunity to show that side of himself. So…if it fails, I’ll have nothing except a broken heart.”

  Curie looks at me long and hard. “So how is that any worse than where you are right now? And what if it works? I know weighing all the risks and probabilities and stuff that makes my head spin is what you do, but sometimes life is about gut feelings. What do they say?”

  That’s the problem. I don’t know. They’re like an angry, needy crowd yelling different things as loudly as possible.

  “You don’t have to answer right now. But you should really look deep inside and figure it out.”

  And that night, I stare at the dark ceiling and try to listen in the silence. The gut feelings Curie wants me to listen to produce more cacophony than an open market in Delhi, but I start to see the underlying pattern.

  Fear.

  I’m scared—and humiliated at the prospect of being jobless again…and proving Dad right. I’m terrified I made a huge mistake when I walked out of Court’s place—even though I had to before I said something permanently damaging—and that maybe Court exerted more influence on Gavin than he claimed. He is a client, after all, isn’t he?

  But when my mind starts coming up with what I’m going to say in my letter of resignation, I know what I need to do.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Pascal

  Go with the gut feeling. Just like I did with Court earlier.

  That’s my new mantra for the day as I get up in the morning and draft my letter of resignation to Gavin. I debate long and hard about mentioning Court, but decide not to because the email could be printed and end up in my record. Gavin probably doesn’t want people to know about what Court did. I merely thank Gavin for the opportunity, but I also tell him I don’t believe I fit in well at OWM.

  My stomach burns because it’s such a lie. I love that company. If I could, I’d work at OWM forever. But I send the email.

  I sigh, my shoulders drooping. Torn between sadness and regret, I lean back against the headboard in Curie’s guest bedroom for a time. I’m officially jobless, starting now. Well, technically I have the two-week notice period, but it’s highly unlikely Gavin’s going to want me back on the office, knowing I’m not going to be around. It isn’t like I have to train a replacement or hand anything off.

  I reach for my phone to call Court, but stop because he’s probably sleeping off his evening with Nate. I should let him get the rest he needs. Trying to have a relationship talk while being hungover would suck.

  To be honest, I don’t even know
what I’m going to say. I’ve made so many lists that I can’t even keep them straight anymore.

  Time to update my résumé and look for a new job—one I’m going to get without anybody asking for favors on my behalf.

  My phone rings, and I pick it up automatically. “Hello?”

  “This is Hilary Pryce, calling for Pascal Snyder.” Her voice is warm and professional as usual.

  “Oh, hi, Hilary.” I clear my throat. “Um. What can I do for you?” Then I check the calendar. I’m not mistaken. It’s Saturday. Why is she working on a weekend? I heard from a few coworkers that she doesn’t do that anymore. Apparently, it’s one of a few conditions for her continuing her employment at OWM.

  “Gavin would like you to come to the office as soon as you’re able.”

  Shit. Saturdays mean a day off for most, but not those in finance. “Um. Didn’t he get my email?”

  “That’s why he wants you to come.”

  Somehow that doesn’t sound reassuring. An exit interview can wait until Monday. “Is he upset?” He was pretty smug about his recruiting skills during the welcome lunch, so maybe now he’s pissed off.

  “Should he be?” she asks in the same warm tone.

  Damn it. That’s got to be her way of letting me know that she, too, is mad at me. “Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

  I probably owe Gavin an in-person explanation. And honestly, it’s probably a better way to end my short stint at OWM. I shower quickly, then dress super fast. For makeup, I opt for mascara and lip gloss. I don’t need more than that for the office.

  Still, it’s ninety minutes later that I reach Gavin’s office. Hilary isn’t at her desk. Her travel mug is missing too.

  Gavin, on the other hand, is in his office, working on his laptop. Even though it’s Saturday, he’s dressed in a suit. I don’t think he owns anything else.

  “Hi,” I say. “Hilary said you wanted to see me?”

  “Yeah, I do. Sit down.” He gestures at a chair, taps his keyboard a few more times and then closes his laptop and turns toward me. “So. What’s that notice about? Did you get a better offer elsewhere?”

  Oh shit. Is that what he thought? “No. Of course not.”

  He pulls back in surprise. “You don’t have a new job lined up, but you’re quitting? Why?”

  “If you really want to know…” I inhale deeply and tell him what I discovered about the deal between him and Court.

  He listens, then waves me away like everything I just said is about as important as a fruit fly buzzing around. “Pascal. That is the most fucked-up—uh, I mean, the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. A hundred million? Come on. That’s”—he casts around for a word—“a joke.”

  “I’m sorry, but what?” Did he and Court decide to use the exact same excuse?

  He leans forward. “Let me clue you in on a couple of things. One, I hate idiots. Okay? Hate ’em. Two, I have a few billion bucks in my own account. More than your boyfriend by at least a couple multiples of ten. You understand what I’m saying? So no amount of money can make me put up with some moron who makes me wonder how they tie their shoes in the morning. And three, when there’s a hiring mistake through a referral or whatever, I usually correct that in a month and put a black mark on the referee’s record. Since I started doing that, which was”—his eyes stay on me, but lose a bit of focus—“I don’t know, six years ago? Seven? Anyway, we don’t get those anymore.”

  Well, this is a new side. Gavin’s always so nice that it never really occurred to me he could be…like this. “But Court doesn’t work for you.”

  He looks horrified. “Damn right he doesn’t. I wouldn’t hire him even if he begged me. He doesn’t have the right training or temperament for what we do. The only thing he did was ask me to just talk to you for ten minutes, then offered to open an account here with his hundred million.” He says it like a Michelin chef talking about a fast food taco. “Like that was going to make a difference to my decision to see you.”

  Gavin doesn’t seem to be faking it. And he has no reason to lie to me. “But you did change your mind about seeing me,” I point out.

  “Yeah, because he was so convinced that I’d see your brilliance if I just gave you a chance. He sees you and sees perfection. And I said yes because, well… Actually, I’m not sure why I said yes. I guess I just like the guy. But even though I agreed to see you, I had no expectation that you’d be any good.”

  I swallow. Court thought I was perfect. He just wanted me to have a chance because nobody else was giving me one. Oh my God. What have I done?

  “But you know what? He was right. You did impress me, which is the only, let me repeat, only reason I hired you. And also that’s why I then let him open an account here. In case you didn’t know, I don’t allow just anybody to be a client at OWM.”

  “You don’t?”

  Gavin shrugs. “Don’t have to. Like that guy…Cristiano Cortez. He came to me last week. Said he was interested in moving his business. Apparently he likes you.” He flips a hand back and forth. “I’m thinking about it.”

  Oh my God. That’s unbelievable…and incredibly flattering. He’s one of the most important clients at SFG. Does Dad know? Holy shit.

  “But seeing as how you’re quitting and everything, I guess he won’t be moving after all.” Gavin leans back in his chair. “Look. You getting upset with Court is stupid—and quitting the job over it is flat-out idiotic. You understand? Fifty-IQ-type stuff. A guy like him is priceless. I can price anything, but I literally can’t put a price on him for you. But I guess we’ll see tonight at Elizabeth’s bachelor auction.”

  “What?”

  “Court’s going to get bid on, and then we’ll see what the market will bear for him.”

  Panic and denial warp through me. “That can’t be right!” He never said anything about participating in the auction, and he can’t just stick himself in there at the last minute, can he? I mean, aren’t the programs already printed out?

  “Excuse me, but it’s exactly right. I know because my wife’s helping Elizabeth put the event together, and she said Court is on as substitute meat—uh, a substitute bachelor.”

  I jump to my feet. “I have to go stop it.”

  “Got a ticket for the event?”

  No, I don’t. Court never got to give me one because… Well, I left.

  “Well, then, you might be out of luck. Everything Elizabeth does to raise money is exclusive because she likes to target rich people’s pockets. And I wouldn’t try to crash it if I were you. Her security is…let’s just say, terrifying.”

  Terrifying security or not, I’m not letting some other woman win Court in an auction!

  “Look, Pascal, I like you. I like it that you gave notice when you suspected things weren’t kosher. I respect that a lot. Most people wouldn’t have that much integrity. Anyway, as it happens, I have a ticket. They always send me one, and I have no desire to attend because it’s boring.” He pulls out an envelope from his breast pocket.

  “Thank you,” I say, reaching for it with huge relief.

  He pulls his hand back. “Not yet. You’re not going to quit. You’re going to work like a dog here because that’s what I hired you for. Got that?”

  Holy mother of God. He’s going to ignore my notice. “Yes,” I say, because working like a dog at OWM is exactly what I want to do. Well, with some time off to spend with Court. “Whatever you say.”

  “Then you’ll report to work on Monday as usual.” He hands me the ticket. “Now go wild at the auction. They’re raising money for kids.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Court

  Gingerly, I cradle my head. It hurts so bad that I’m tempted to chop it off at the neck to stop the pounding.

  How much scotch did I drink last night?

  My eyes still closed, I roll over to try for a less painful position. My hand brushes a body next to me.

  Skittles?

  Joy swells as my alcohol-addled brain immediately lights up with her retur
n. I’d be jumping off the bed and dancing if I thought my head wouldn’t just explode.

  I squint—barely, the light stabbing right through the corneas—and see a large male body less than a foot away. My hungover fog vanishes like a TV being cut off.

  “What the fuck!” I scream, my voice hoarse from overindulgence. I wince as my own words stab into my brain like shrapnel. “Who the—?”

  “Shut the hell up,” he moans, then turns to face me. Nate.

  I run a hand over my mouth. “What you doing here?”

  “Uhng. Guess I passed out last night.”

  Shit. How bad was it last night if he passed out too? I roll the other way, grab my phone and check the time. Five thirty-six. And Saturday. The day he’s going to be auctioned off like…a gold digger’s wet dream.

  “You need to go home and get ready. Make yourself pretty for the ladies.” Then I groan when his movements make the mattress undulate vertically. Fuck. My stomach is roiling.

  “I’m already pretty. And you need to get ready too.”

  Me? “For what? Lying in bed, dying?”

  “You’re the substitute bachelor, remember?”

  “What?”

  “You told Elizabeth.”

  “I did not.” I check my phone. No calls to her.

  “Texts.”

  I check my text history. Oh, shit. I told her I would, even though she said I didn’t have to. But I insisted. Always ready to help out for a good cause.

  Great. What was I thinking? Well, the real question is, was I even thinking? Apparently not, because I’m in bed with Nate. At least we’re both fully clothed.

  I close my eyes and press the heels of hands into my eye sockets. Do I still have to be auctioned off if I pop my eyeballs out?

  Probably.

  It’s for the kids who have cancer, moron. Just do it. Or be the dick who doesn’t give a fuck.

  But what if Pascal hears about it and gets pissed?

  She isn’t here, is she? Besides, is she going to be happy with a guy who turns a blind eye to suffering children? She said your ability to make people happy is your greatest asset. Be the man she can be proud of.