by K. I. Lynn
The issue that pressed upon me was informing my mom of the mess I’d gotten myself into. Well, not the truth, but the lie before she found out from the news or some gossip site. We weren’t on the best of terms, mostly due to my stepfather and beginning from the moment they got married over fifteen years ago.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Lia? Did you change your number?”
“Um, yeah, my…” I heaved a sigh as I fought to push the next words out of my mouth. “My fiancé put me on his plan.”
Silence. “Ophelia, I’m not in the mood for jokes.”
“Not a joke.”
“What’s his name?”
“Atticus.” I purposefully left off his last name. She didn’t need to know. At least until it was absolutely necessary.
“And where did you meet?”
“At a club last year, then at work. It was fate,” I said, lifting my tone, trying to sound happy. I swallowed hard, hoping she bought it.
“And I’m just now hearing about him?”
“It’s not like we talk much.” There was a bitter edge to my voice. Ever since Lou, I’d taken a back seat to him, then to my half-sisters. He was a drunk of a man who hated me because I was a physical reminder that once upon a time, my mother had loved someone other than him.
Insanely jealous, it didn’t matter that my father was dead, only that I was the product of him. He pulled away my mother’s attention and affection and beat me down until I couldn’t take anymore and had to get away. It was why I’d been willing to suffer and struggle for the past decade.
Anything to get away from them.
Which was why I had been living in a tiny apartment in Brooklyn. At least it was all mine.
“Who’s on the phone?” I heard Lou ask in the background.
“Lia.”
“What does that brat want?”
I ground my teeth and waited for the non-supportive response that would fall from my mother’s lips.
“Says she’s getting married.” There was a strange static, like she was placing her hand over the receiver, but it only muffled the next words. “But I’m not sure I believe it.”
“The wedding is in January,” I said. “There will be an announcement soon.”
“Announcement? Such an stupid thing—why would you need to do that?” she scoffed.
I knew venomous thoughts about Atticus were dancing in her mind. Anything to try and bring me down.
“This is just a courtesy call, Mom. I wanted you to know before the news broke.”
“Fine. But you’ll get no help from us for this disaster. Did he knock you up?”
I pursed my lips. Of course she would think that was the only reason anyone would want to marry me.
Well, it wasn’t like that was happening anyway.
“No, he didn’t knock me up, and I neither want nor need anything from you.”
“Okay. You know where to send the invitation.”
She’d be lucky to get one. It was my anger that pushed that thought to the front, but the fact was—she was my only family. She was my mother.
Honestly, I really didn’t know any more if I wanted her in my life.
The biggest problem was Lou. I couldn’t stand the thought of him showing up at a de Loughrey function. I wouldn’t put it past him to try and swindle some money or steal gifts.
“Bye, Mom.”
“Talk to you later, hon.”
“No, you won’t,” I whispered as I hit end and threw the phone down on the bed, then fell back next to it.
I couldn’t stop the worry from knotting my stomach. It’d been months since I talked to her. Maybe Christmas? I stopped by, gave the girls some presents, and after about an hour, I left.
While I wanted my sisters there for my wedding, even if it was a contract wedding, I didn’t want Lou to come, and if Mom came, Lou would be right there next to her. Even so, even though she was my mother, I didn’t want her to come either. We had never been close, and as an adult, I found I never wanted more with her. My father was a different story entirely. I missed him with every breath in my body. Losing him would never be something I got over.
I wondered if I could get Atticus to commit to a very small wedding to avoid inviting my family. Like in another country. However, I had a feeling the de Loughreys would not go for something like that.
Still, I could bring it up at dinner. Speaking of…what was I going to wear? With a glance at the clock, I jumped from the bed. Somehow, I’d managed to blank out for over half an hour, and all that remained was an hour and I couldn’t be late–especially with the date being my demand.
What did one even wear on a date with a billionaire? There was a ton of fancy clothes in my closet, and I caught a glimpse of a pair of white pants. I pulled them from the rack along with a soft pink peplum top.
I’d never owned white pants before, but as I looked down at the outfit laid across my bed, it was another reminder of how different my life was becoming. I found a pair of white high-heeled strappy sandals with red bottoms. I was a little worried about the red clashing, but figured nobody would notice.
Realizing I was down to less than thirty minutes, I had to acknowledge that wardrobe selection should not take thirty minutes, and promptly got my ass in gear for my first official date with my future husband.
I grabbed a chunky, sparkly necklace and bracelet, then pulled my engagement ring from its box and slipped it onto my ring finger.
Thankfully I’d had the foresight to shower and put my makeup on in procrastination of calling my mother, because I was able to do a few touch ups before I grabbed a matching purse from my closet and threw in whatever I needed before running for the door. When I reached the lobby, Michael was waiting for me and I slipped into the back of the sedan.
At 6:59, the elevator doors slid open and I rushed down the empty hall to his office.
“You were almost late,” he said, his gaze trained on the clock behind me as he rested against the edge of his desk.
“Almost, but almost isn’t late.”
His gaze moved up and down my body. When our eyes met, I received a nod of approval before he pushed off and stepped toward me.
“Very good,” he said.
Each step was almost like a lion surveying his prey, and I froze as he approached. Did he have to look that sexy? Between the intense smolder and the swagger in his step, I was revving up to happily let him pounce.
He circled around me, humming in approval, and I let out a breath, happy to have met his expectations at the very least.
He leaned in, and I froze again as his lips pressed softly against my cheek. “Very beautiful.”
Heat rose to my face, and I bit down on my bottom lip.
“There’s the charmer.”
He scoffed, then held out his arm and I slipped mine in.
Michael waited for us at the entrance, and we slipped into the back of the car. The drive was only a few blocks, and confusion settled as we walked toward the restaurant he’d picked for dinner.
“Why are we here?” I asked as Vanessa, the hostess, held the door open for us. As familiar as he was with the place, I was surprised he didn’t try to wine and dine me. Then again, I already had The Rock, as I had affectionately begun calling the huge diamond ring that adorned my finger, so there wasn’t much call for wooing.
I was a front, a contracted employee with a closeness of none other. Putting energy into our relationship wasn’t necessary, and possibly one reason he’d searched me out.
Still, I had to admit, getting to actually eat a meal at 130 Degrees? Yeah, I squealed inside as my mouth began to fill with saliva envisioning how good my meal was about to be.
“So you can see how awful your replacement is,” he replied simply. In the past week I’d come to find Atticus was not much of a talker. He said what he needed to in as few words as possible. Granted, he’d been like that the whole time I was his waitress, which was nothing like how he’d been the night we met.
“M
aybe you should have thought about that before you made me quit,” I reminded him.
Vanessa showed us toward Atticus’s table, a confused look in her eye as she watched me scoot around the booth.
“You literally have access to more money in one small account than you’ve made in the last three years. Why would you stay?” Atticus asked.
“What else am I going to do with my time?” I asked. It was a realization that began to weigh me down. What at first was a pleasant pseudo vacation was losing its shine as boredom set in. I was so used to doing, moving, and going that standing still was hard.
“You’ll have plenty, especially when the wedding planning starts, though I’m certain my mother will be taking the reins on that. You also have a lot to learn in order to blend in.”
His mother taking the reins? I supposed it wasn’t the worst thing. How much energy did I really want to put into an event that emotionally meant nothing anyway?
I rolled my eyes. “One day you’ll realize I’m never going to fit into your upscale world. I’ll never blend in.”
He quirked a brow at me, but before he could respond, the curtain opened and a wide-eyed Drake stood in front of us.
“Ophelia?” he said in surprise.
“Hi, Drake.”
“H-hi.” He looked from me to Atticus, then back to me. “I’m surprised to see you here. You quit so abruptly.” My appearance startled him, and he lost his composure.
“Are you here to take our order or to chit-chat?” Atticus seethed. His tone made Drake straighten, his eyes wide.
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. What can I get you to drink?”
Atticus rolled his eyes and swore under his breath, and I knew dinner wasn’t going to go well if this continued.
“Brandy, neat, for Atticus, and I’ll have a glass of chardonnay. Have Mitchell help you with Atticus’s order. I’ll just have the six-ounce filet mignon, medium, fingerling potatoes, and the chopped salad.”
He nodded and gave a quick glance to a glaring Atticus before scurrying away.
“That was annoying.”
“You didn’t have to be such an ass.”
“I’m going to need a word with Mitchell to find out why he thought it was a good idea to send that boy in here.”
As if on cue, Mitchell appeared.
“I am so sorry about that, sir. Allison is not in today, but she will be your waitress from now on.”
“The redhead?” Atticus asked for clarity.
Mitchell nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Atticus gave a nod in approval, just as Drake appeared with our drinks. He quickly set them down before scurrying away again.
“Besides keeping that twerp away from me, I need you to do one last thing before you go, Mitchell.”
“Anything, sir.”
He nodded toward me. “Tell her who I am.”
Mitchell blinked at him and looked to me, pleading for some type of clarification. “Being that she is with you, I assume she knows now who you are, sir.” He was careful not to speak Atticus’s last name.
“In regards to this restaurant.”
Mitchell turned to me. “Atticus is a generous investor.”
“Not the bullshit.”
Mitchell swallowed hard. “More importantly, he is the sole owner,” he said in a low voice so as not to be overheard.
I snapped my head toward Atticus, and he stared at me with a slightly arched eyebrow as he sipped his drink.
“Own?”
He slowly nodded. “Bread, Mitchell.”
“Right away, sir.”
The formality was unusual for the two of them, and it bristled me. “Do you have to bark orders?”
“Do you not remember your first few weeks as my waitress?”
I did, which was why I felt so badly for Mitchell and Drake. Over time, I’d gotten to know his likes and dislikes, which I cataloged in my mind based on the depth of his scowl. That was how I knew the last time I’d served him that he was in need of an indulgent meal.
“Well, that explains why you were the only one who ever sat here.”
“Are you surprised?”
A sigh left me. “I shouldn’t be, not now, but I guess I should have known after a year of seeing you multiple times a week.”
“In all that time, I was surprised you never learned my last name.”
“Trust me, the thought had crossed my mind, but Mitchell was tight lipped. And unlike the rest of your family, your photograph isn’t plastered all over the place.”
“It was two years ago when I was announced as the new CEO, long before we met, and the news quickly disappeared in favor of juicer stories.”
“You mean your sister.”
He nodded. “And soon it will be your face.”
My lips turned down, hating that idea. That much attention on me in an arena where I already felt like it was me versus a giant—and I didn’t even have a stick to defend myself—was overwhelming.
“Why?”
“I am a de Loughrey. We are the kings and queens, the elite, the rulers of the west.”
I wanted to laugh, but it was true. His family name was known across the globe.
“I need to use the restroom,” I said, excusing myself and shifting toward the edge of the seat. The weight of Atticus’s eyes was heavy on me as I moved through the thick curtains. Once free, I wove through the back, locating Mitchell near his office.
“Ophelia,” Mitchell glanced toward the booth.
“What’s going on? I’ve never seen you so shaken by Atticus before.” Everything about the evening seemed to rub me the wrong way, but I wanted to make sure Mitchell was okay.
“Because normally Atticus is friendly to me, and we often chat when he’s here for lunch, but that’s only because of you.”
“Me?”
“You, and since you’ve been gone, he’s become a bit terse again. Finding a good replacement for you has been very difficult.”
“It’s been a week.” That wasn’t nearly long enough to find someone strong enough to endure Atticus’s bad side and stick around.
He nodded. “A week without you to break up his day and take his stresses away. That man has the world on his shoulders, and a few days a week, all he wants is to be waited on and left alone in peace. He praised you highly for your ability to give him that reprieve. You were the only one in the last six years who was ever able to tame his ire, knowing just how to handle his moods and give him that peace he so desires.”
Was that why he chose me? If it was, his abrasive nature gave none of it away. Not only that, we were in completely different territory now. A small booth was nothing compared to a penthouse condo, nor was a working me the same as casual me.
Doubts that his plan was going to work seeped in. It was that same stomach-twisting feeling every time I started a new job. Trying to find my place, figuring out the rules, and learning the ropes and what was expected of me.
I returned a few minutes later and found Atticus on his phone, his thumbs moving quickly across the screen.
“On your phone on our first official date?”
“Holly needed me,” he replied without looking up.
That shut me up like nothing else could have and an awkward silence stretched between us, a tension that made further conversation stilted and difficult even after he set his phone down.
Our food arrived, and I struggled to find a topic that would allow me to get to know him in any way.
“What do you normally do on the weekends?” I asked in an attempt to break through the unease that vibrated between us.
“Work.”
“Work?”
He nodded. “Running a company and family such as mine is extremely time consuming. I have time for little else.”
“Do you always speak so…pompously?”
“I speak as I need to speak—with purpose and clarity. There is no room for idle chatter or gossip. What the weather is like doesn’t interest me.”
“How high is that stick u
p your ass? Come on, you have to relax at some point. You weren’t like this the night we met.”
“The night we met, I had ulterior motives. Since you have shut those down with a steel door, you’re stuck with me as is. I don’t need to impress you or romance you. Our arrangement is a transaction.”
Another sting reminding me that he didn’t want a real relationship, only a business one.
“We’re going to be together for the next five years. Are you really going to be like this the whole time?”
“Considering I’ll have blue balls for all that time, I can assure you I’ll be much worse by the end.”
“You were trying to be funny,” I said. His expression hardened and I smiled at him, knowing I’d caught some of that warmth he kept hidden. Our interactions had taught me so. “Fine—don’t admit it, but you were flashing some charisma there. I saw it.”
He made a scoffing sound, but I caught the uptick of his lips.
Getting to know each other was going to be a struggle, but we had time. I had to believe that one day I’d get him to relax with me. I wanted to meet that man from a year ago.
The battle armor he wore was strong, but I was stronger. For now, I’d take every little thing I could. Even a small smirk.
“Ophelia,” Atticus called out.
I was in the kitchen chowing down on dinner while talking to Amara as she washed dishes.
“In here.”
He stopped at the doorway and stared at me. My brow furrowed as I tilted my head to the side. I looked all around me, trying to figure out what he was staring at. There wasn’t some pile of food around the stool, or crumbs sprinkled around the counter. I glanced at Amara, who refused to acknowledge me, but there was a smile playing on her lips as she washed a pot.
“Okay, what?”
He cleared his throat, and his brain seemed to kick back into action. Weird.
“Amara,” he greeted.
“Atticus.”
“Why are you not at the table?” he asked.
Was that why he was so confused? “I was lonely, so I came closer to talk to Amara.”
