by Emelia Blair
“Sure. Once we get home.”
“Wait, what?!”
I glower at my husband as he hands the car keys to the valet. He just gives me a laughing look.
I try in vain to open the clasp, but the devious man did something with it that I can’t undo it, and now the cold stones are set against my neck for the world to see.
Walking around the car, he raises my chin, and kisses me, a soft touch of lips, murmuring, “Do lose the frown, Mrs. McCoy. Or people will think we’re not a happy couple.” When a camera flashes nearby, I feel Philip’s form tense, but he forces a smile. “Ignore that. This is the first time we’ve been seen in public.”
As he guides me inside a restaurant that I would never have been able to enter by myself, I note, uncomfortably, how many people turn around to watch us.
“Why are they staring at us?” I whisper to Philip, after the server hands us the menus and leaves.
Philip reaches over the table and holds my hand, and from the look on his face, I know I am not going to like what he is going to tell me.
However, he doesn’t speak, simply motioning for me to check my phone which is on the table.
I open it, and my eyes skim over the small news article. I find it hard to breathe for a few minutes, until Philip’s hand squeezes mine.
I look up at him, my voice a hoarse whisper when I say, “This is a lie. I never cheated on—”
His eyes are steady.
“I know. But they don’t. I’m not letting Erik tear your reputation apart just because he got his ego hurt.”
I’m reassured by his words, but even I know that this seems like more than just Erik’s ego in play. He is deliberately badmouthing me, even though I am a nobody, my current association with Philip aside.
I keep my expression smooth, trying not to let my upset show.
“So is this an attempt to…?”
Philip opens the menu.
“This is me, on a date, with my beautiful wife. Who, by the way, I’m trying to convince to stay married to me.”
I purse my lips, my frustration vanishing in front of his humor.
“If you think you can convince me by buying me pretty jewelry—”
“A-ha,” He looks up, his blue eyes light with delight, “So you do like it!”
“Of course I like it,” I stutter, my hand automatically going to the necklace. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Well, good.” He looks so ridiculously pleased with himself, that I don’t have the heart to tell him I would be returning it to him. “It looks better on you than it did on me, let me tell you that much.”
I can’t help but laugh. Some of the other diners turn around to look at us, and I bite my lip to hold in my snickers.
He is beaming, and as he prods and jokes with me, it feels like we’ve fallen back into the past, where status and society have no role in our lives. It actually feels like a date as he teases me relentlessly, trying to play footsies with me until I tuck my legs to the side with a glare.
I let him order for me, because the entire menu is in French.
The server who waits on us, seems to know Philip, and when he leaves to place our orders, I ask, “Do you come here often? The staff seems to know you.” Philip grins.
“This is one of Fergus’s restaurants. I visit here every now and then. I like this branch. It’s quite close to my apartment.”
I notice a few of the servers glancing our way, curiosity in their gazes, and I murmur, “Then why are they all looking at us like that? As if they’re shocked?”
Philip watches me as he says, “Because I’ve never brought a date here.”
My shoulders tense and I force them to relax, keeping my voice light, not understanding this spark of annoyance.
“So, who were you dating before, you know, this happened?”
“Nobody.” Philip shrugs. “I haven’t dated anybody in a year.” His expression turns thoughtful as he looks at me. “Actually, not since I found out about your engagement from Agatha.”
When he frowns, I prod, “What?” He looks embarrassed.
“When I found out that you were getting married, I went out and got drunk and then got into a bar fight.”
“You got drunk?” I find myself repeating after him, not following. His eyes narrow at me, and I wonder if he thinks I am making fun of him.
“Well, I wasn’t ready to admit I still had feelings for you. That was the only way I could cope.”
I don’t know why I am admitting this, but when my lips part, I don’t want him to feel silly on his own.
“I kept a scrapbook.”
“A what?” He blinks. I shrug, an embarrassed movement.
“A scrapbook. You know all those things you talked about. About becoming your own man, not just being part of your family legacy. So, I followed you in the finance section of the news and I kept clippings of when you started up your own business and the scrapbook kept growing bigger and bigger as you came into your own.”
I can’t define the look on his face.
“You kept all of that?” His voice is soft, sounding almost humbled. I fidget in my seat.
“Yeah. I mean, I hated you, of course. But every time you achieved a milestone, I wanted to preserve that moment. I was proud of you. Low-key proud, because I definitely hated you as well.” The tender look in his eyes makes my heart beat just a little faster. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Philip twines his fingers with mine on top of the table.
“Because every minute with you makes it harder for me to even think of letting go of you. I don’t deserve you. But I don’t care. I still want you all for myself.”
My cheeks flame red but before I can say anything, the server shows up with our food.
I have no idea what it is, but it smells delicious, and my stomach rumbles at the sight of it. I see the way Philip is hiding his amusement, but I ignore him.
The creamy garlic sauce covers a medium rare steak that melts in my mouth, making me shudder.
“Fergus has an amazing chef.”
Philip grins.
“It’s not the chef. Fergus makes this himself. The man put himself through a number of culinary schools. Every dish in his restaurants is an original or his own twist on something.”
In awe of Fergus, I decide to sit him down some day and poke his brain.
But now, I am in the company of a man I hold extremely strong and complicated feelings for, and I am enjoying a delicious meal. I decide to enjoy the moment.
Good moments don’t always last, however.
I am reaching for my glass of water when I hear the maître d’ welcome someone.
“Mr. Mason. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
My hand jolts on hearing a familiar voice respond. Philip’s eyes narrow when he sees my shocked face.
“Charlotte?”
“Charlotte?”
I hear the disdain in the voice of the one man I could have happily gone my entire life without seeing again.
I look up to see Erik standing there, in one of those pompous suits he was so fond of wearing, staring at me. Madison also stands there, her brown hair styled to perfection, her eyes full of a hatred I can’t understand.
Philip doesn’t let me respond; instead he gives Erik a cool look.
“Do you have some business with my wife, Mason? You’re disturbing our meal.”
Erik’s face flushes and I see the ugliness in him that I always closed my eyes to.
“Enjoying my leftovers, McCoy?”
I don’t have to see Philip to sense his rage. I quickly grab his wrist, my voice loud and clear in the suddenly quiet restaurant.
“He’s just a bitter little man, Philip. Trust me,” I glance at Erik, a stark coldness in my eyes that makes him flinch, “Men like him don’t even deserve to lick your shoes.”
When Erik opens his mouth, I am ready to fight back.
I am a McCoy now. My reputation is Philip’s reputation.
Howeve
r, Madison grabs Erik’s arm, muttering, “Let’s just go.”
The way she pushes Erik away, her back to me, there is something vaguely familiar there for a moment that it is on the edge of my memory but I can’t recall. Something that I saw before.
“I’m going to pulverize his fucking business,” Philip says harshly. “How dare he speak about you like that?”
My eyes are still on Madison, and I watch her take out her phone from her purse and slip outside once they are seated at the farthest table from us.
“You won’t need to do anything to his business,” I murmur. Philip frowns at me.
“What do you mean?”
My smile is hard.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on his company stocks since the wedding. They’ve been plummeting. And not because of his personal life. He is handling a very huge project as the CEO. I was doing most of the work. Now that I’m not there, he doesn’t have a chance of managing this project by himself. It’s going to take months to get the project back on track, enough time for his shareholders to lose all faith in him and have him replaced.”
Philip eyes me, the anger in him not completely diminished.
“You’re more business savvy than I gave you credit for.”
My mind is still troubled over something that I can’t quite place, but I focus on Philip.
“Yes, well. I have a knack for it. Just like I have a knack for baking. Let’s finish our food and leave.”
13
Philip
Charlotte is fine.
My eyes follow her as she moves from stall to stall, eyeing the small pieces of jewelry and the cutlery with unhidden delight. There is no sign that she ran into her ex-fiancé and faced him with no fear just an hour ago.
Right now, she is picking up a blue teapot with white flowers hand-painted on it. Her nimble fingers examine the teapot from all sides, running all over the delicate piece to check for cracks, before she turns to me.
“Well, what do you think?”
I stare at the piece of china and don’t know what to think.
If she wanted to buy a teapot, I could have taken her to the most expensive and exclusive stores where she could have picked up anything her little heart desired. But I had a feeling that she wouldn’t be cooing over any of those expensive pieces, the way she is making small delighted sounds over this second-hand teapot at the flea market.
I had suggested a walk, but she saw the sign for the flea market and grabbed my sleeve, her eyes wide and pleading.
I wasn’t able to say no, so, here we are.
Standing in a crowded field, watching her bargain over a five-dollar teapot. I wonder if she knows that five dollars is chump change. I never want her to be in a position where she will be forced to negotiate for a lower price.
But when she finally gets the price down to two dollars, to the annoyance of the seller, she looks so satisfied that I have to ask her, “Why did you negotiate?”
She snickers, “Because it’s fun. I’m thinking of applying a theme in the bakery by putting small delicate things in glass casing for a more historical feel. I know somebody in the neighborhood who’ll probably help me with the glass thing for cheap, and I can sit with the girls and make up some stupid fantastical history that we can write for the piece.”
“I could have gotten you something with some actual history,” I offer. She shakes her head.
“It’s just for show.” She throws a glance around, and then looks at me, her teeth bared in a smile. “Let’s look for more!”
The way she so casually includes me in her little quest makes me feel just as excited, and we dive into the crowd.
I don’t know at what point the back of my neck started tingling, but I look up to see that Charlotte has left my sight. I look up from the fake African mask I have been looking at, and swing my gaze around the crowd.
She’s nowhere to be seen.
What I do see, however, is two men wearing black jackets. They, too, are scouring the crowd.
It is too hot to wear jackets, and when I see one of them brush by somebody, the jacket gives way to the sight of a concealed gun.
Shit.
I quickly send a message to the two bodyguards whom I asked to wait by the cars, and I start looking for Charlotte.
I try calling her, but she isn’t responding.
My eyes are on the men. I move quickly through the crowd, not calling out her name, lest the men realize that I, too, am looking for her.
When one of the men nudge his partner and points somewhere, I don’t blink, just dart in that direction as they move steadily towards their target.
Fear is a bitter taste in my mouth as adrenaline pumps through my veins.
Why had I thought that Charlotte is safe?
Isn’t that the whole reason we kept the stupid bakery closed?!
I see the head of familiar dark hair, and I reach out and grab Charlotte by the hand. She jumps in shock, and then blinks at me.
“Philip? What—?”
“We need to go. Now!”
She doesn’t hesitate, and quietly lets me guide her through the crowd; her hand clamps in mine in an iron hold.
I glance up and swear when I see the two men heading towards us.
However, my own men are a few steps away.
Closing the distance between us, I growl, “Call for backup. Capture those two.”
They nod and part to let us through.
I don’t relax until I shove a bewildered Charlotte into the car and we are well on our way home.
“P-Philip?” She sounds scared. How can I tell her that I am terrified that they would have got to her before I could?
“We were being followed,” I bite out tersely. “Those men were looking for you.”
She sinks into her seat, her face pale, while I make some calls.
I look at the fear on her face.
“Charlotte. Charlotte, you’re safe now.”
She huddles into herself, all the excitement having leached out of her, only to be replaced by a stark sharp look.
“How did they find me?”
I scowl.
“I don’t know yet. But I plan on finding out.”
The rest of the car drive is spent in strained silence, and I can’t help but worry over how Charlotte is avoiding my gaze.
As soon as we entered the apartment, she quickly goes to our room.
“I need a shower.”
I stare at her retreating back. For the best, probably. Just moments after I hear the sound of the water turning on, the buzzer for the front door goes off.
Fergus and Ian look angry after I recount the details of the small encounter, while Zayn has his usual poker face on, although I sense that he is just as pissed.
“Why would they go after her, knowing that she’s married to me?” I growl, pacing the floor. “She’s in the public eye now. Picking her up sounds like a foolhardy idea.”
Zayn is silent, while Ian leaves the room to attend a call. Then he speaks slowly.
“You might have to consider the fact that we could be dealing with someone else. The kind of men we’re talking about here, loan sharks, they wouldn’t risk their necks like this. There’s a very good chance they aren’t behind this.”
Fergus frowns.
“I’ve brought in the security tapes from the restaurant, both exterior and interior. We can figure out if someone tipped them from the restaurant on Charlotte’s whereabouts.”
I nod at him, my eyes still trained on Zayn.
“Are you saying someone else is behind this?”
Zayn just stares at me.
“Every possibility. I found out that the men in the church are underlings, far below in the organizations of the men that Charlotte identified. They could be acting on their own under somebody else’s instructions.”
“It would make more sense,” Fergus scowls. He leans against the table, supporting himself by his hands. “I’ll have Greg take another look at Erik.”
; I shake my head.
“I don’t think it could be Erik. From how Charlotte talked about him, he seems more of a spineless moron. I doubt he has the brains to pull off something like this. But take a look at his father, maybe.”
“Or his girlfriend,” Charlotte’s voice comes from behind me, and I turn around to see her wearing my shirt, over a pair of loose pants.
She looks completely dwarfed in them, and when she walks over to me, I tuck her under my arm.
“Thebrunette?”
“The way she looked at me when Erik was trying to insult me; she didn’t look smug or self-righteous. She looked absolutely hateful. And then she walked out with her phone to make a call.” Her tone is sharp, and I can sense the anger in it.
Ian walks back in, in time to hear her words, and he studies her as he asks, “Are you sure?”
Charlotte frowns.
“I have a feeling she might be involved.”
I purse my lips as I recall the conversation I overheard between Erik and his friend on the day of the wedding, and I say slowly, “She certainly seems to have a lot of control over Erik. It wouldn’t hurt to check her out.”
Ian reaches over to grab an apple that is lying unattended on the table and bites into it.
“The boys got one of the men. He had a burner on him. Says somebody called him about the location of the restaurant. But aside from that, he’s not saying anything else. We could drop him off at the police station.”
My gaze hardens.
“Let Greg do the interrogation first. He’s more experienced at it. Also, once he’s done, tell him to levy enough charges on the man to lock him up for a good while. And, hand him over to Detective Clarence.”
Charlotte’s form droops against mine, and it occurs to me that she has had an incredibly long day. Although we had an early dinner, the activities of the day must have worn her out.
“Give the tapes to Greg. Let him take a look at them.”
Zayn grabs the tapes, shaking his head.
“I have some time. I want to look at them first.”
Zayn might not have the kind of experience my senior security personnel has, but he has sharp eyes, and I nod.
“Okay, then.” I glance at everyone, and raise a brow. “If you think I’m feeding any of you, you would be wrong.” Ian groans.