by Tessa Layne
"Only a bowl of popcorn," he teases.
I whip out my phone on the way to the elevator and shoot Stockton a text. I only ever text him when there's an emergency, and this definitely counts as one.
P: HELP!! Your mother has kidnapped me. I don't know wth you are, but you better get your ass to the KC Taco Company asap.
Five minutes later, when I check my phone again, I can see it's been delivered but not viewed. I try again.
P: Is your battery dead? Fine time for your battery to die. I think your mother is going to eat me for lunch.
I have a bad feeling about this. I've known Honore nearly as long as I've known Stockton, and she's never once offered to take me to lunch. Of course, I was never engaged to her son, either. We step onto the streetcar, and even though her eyes are shielded by enormous Jackie-O sunglasses, I can see she's surprised. "Not bad, huh?" I crack my gum. She winces at the loud pop. "When was the last time you came down here?" I already know the answer, but I'm curious to hear what she says.
She shoots me an enigmatic smile, as if to say I know what you're up to. "There's an interior designer I visit here occasionally, and we've had lunch at The Farmhouse."
Score one for Honore. I remind myself again that this is Stockton's mother - ergo she's more intelligent than I've likely given her credit for, and probably just as tough as her son. A worthy opponent. I discover just how worthy a few minutes later when we sit down at my usual table. I've been coming to this place for two years now, ever since Stockton brought me here the night he took me out for my birthday. But always alone since then, and I always make sure to sit in the same corner table. Arty waves at me through the kitchen window. "Kiddo! And what's this? You brought someone with you?"
It's early enough, Arty's only just opened and we're the only ones in the restaurant. Arty comes out from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. I swallow. "Uh, Arty, I'd like you to meet Honore Forde, my ah... future mother-in-law." I try not to choke on the words as heat rushes up my neck.
Arty stops, breaking into a wide grin, then tucking me into his massive arm for a side hug. "No kidding? He finally broke down and asked you? I always knew there was something there." He points to his head. "Always had a feeling, you know?" I'm sure my face is as pink as my hair, and before I can respond, Arty turns to Honore and takes her hand, kissing her fingers. "Mrs. Forde, it's an honor. I'm a huge fan of Stockton and Penny."
Honore's sunglasses are still on, but I can tell her smile is false, even though her speech is as gracious as ever. "I've heard your tacos are legendary."
"The secret ingredient is in here." He taps his heart. "Sit, sit." He moves to pull out a chair for Honore. "I just happen to have a bottle of cava in the back I was saving for a rainy day. How about I make you something special?"
Honore nods, every bit the grande dame. "Why thank you." She turns to me when Arty leaves. "So the two of you... come here often?"
"It's a favorite of Stockton's," I say, omitting the fact that I've only been here with him once, two years ago. But thanks to Arty, I know he's in here as often as me.
Arty bustles back with two wine glasses stuffed with fruit skewers. "An Arty special. Blood orange mimosas with tropical fruit. I'll save the harder stuff for when Stockton's in." He winks as he leaves us.
Honore raises her glass and my stomach gives a slow, dreadful lurch, but she doesn't offer a toast. Instead, she leans in, all business. "So. How much money did my son pay you for this little stunt?"
I choke on my drink, nearly spraying my fake future mother-in-law. "You think he's paying me?"
The corner of her mouth tips up in a Mona Lisa smile that doesn't come close to reaching her eyes. The way she folds her hands reminds me of a praying mantis. "Come, come. Do you think I'm so naive to think you're really the kind of person Stockton would choose for his life partner?"
"Yes. I do," I reply, too stung to bait her. "Stockton's interested in more than just a pretty face and the right pedigree."
"You know this isn't the first time Stockton's tried this tactic with me."
"Oh?"
"Oh yes." Her smile becomes downright predatory. "But a little digging and a check with the right number of zeroes and she realized that she and Stockton were terrible for each other."
I blink, too stunned to mount a snarky comeback. I take a large gulp of my mimosa, mind whirling. "Wow, Honore. So you want to pay me to go away? I think Stockton might have a thing or two to say about that." A familiar but long-forgotten pain knifes through me. "I get I'm not the 'right kind of woman'," I use my fingers to quote. "But Stockton already knows my dirty secrets so I doubt that's going to work."
"Whatever he's offered you, I'll double it."
A bitter laugh bursts from my throat. If only she knew. "I have all the money I need, thanks." I lean forward, placing my left hand on the table between us so that my ring catches the light. "And for the record, your son didn't offer me anything." Technically true where our bargain is concerned, and true in all the other ways I wish weren't.
I drain the rest of my glass and for a split second, ask myself what in the hell I'm doing. I could take Honore's money and walk away right now. All the way to the job I turned down Friday afternoon in Silicon Valley. But kissing Stockton made one thing crystal clear. I'm hopelessly in love with him. And while I know our arrangement is only temporary, I'll see it through to the bitter end.
"Arty," I call, holding up my empty glass. "We need another round." I swing my gaze back to Honore, deciding to take the bull by the horns. "Is this about my hair? Or my tattoos?"
"Your appearance is just the tip of the iceberg, my dear. You'll never be accepted."
"Are we living in a Jane Austen film? Because I'm pretty sure this is the twenty-first century, and I really don't care what your friends think of me."
"You will when you're isolated at the events you'll be required to attend as Stockton's wife."
"You mean like the other night? I'll write a check, thanks. I don't need your faux friends."
Honore gasps. "Young lady-"
"Shut it, Honore," I say, holding up a finger. "Do you know I'm financially independent? Because your son and Harrison, and the rest of the C-team have a great compensation package? Do you know I turned down a lucrative job offer in San Francisco because I'm in love with your son?" It feels liberating to confess the truth to someone, even though Honore will never believe it and Stockton, if he were to overhear, would applaud my acting. "So you can huff and puff and try to blow our house down, but the fact of the matter is that we're stuck with each other and for Stockton's sake, I suggest we figure out how to come to some kind of a truce."
Honore has the class to look embarrassed. Two pink spots appear across her cheeks. "I still maintain you're all wrong for him. I mean... look at you." She waves her hands. "That hair."
"You're really going to die on that hill?"
"It's hideous. Completely wrong for your complexion."
I smirk. "Of course it is. Shock factor is everything."
"And obviously there's nothing to be done about... those." She waves a hand again, as if the flowers on my arm are going to come to life and strangle her.
"I like them." I grin wickedly. "And I have more."
"And your clothing. I don't think I've seen you wear anything other than black. You're too young for black. It washes you out." She makes a flamboyant gesture my direction. "It's too harsh. All of it. It screams angry young woman, not happy beautiful bride."
I'm startled out of a comeback. "Maybe I am that, Honore," I say quietly, but with a steely edge in my voice that dares her to take this conversation further.
She narrows her eyes, boring into me with an intensity that reminds me of Stockton. I have the distinct impression she's staring right into the deepest, ugliest part of my soul. And I can't have that. Nobody gets to see those wounds, not Stockton, and certainly not his mother. I give in to the urge to run. I'll pay for it later, I know, but the way she's staring at me - l
ike she's figured me out - is too much.
I push back from the table. "I'm sorry. But I have to get back to the office." I mumble something about a meeting, and flee before Arty returns with our second round of beverages.
Chapter Twelve
Stockton
Steele and I don't arrive back at the office until after two. I'm in a piss-poor mood after arguing for the better part of the meeting why Penny should be allowed clearance to work on this project. "I think we should turn it down," I say flatly as we disembark from the helicopter.
"I think you're not seeing straight," Steele chides.
"Don't tell me you're siding with them," I grit. "Penny's our number one asset."
"She's not a physicist," Mac Pacelli our COO and the biggest guy in our boat reminds me, rightly. "This falls under R&D. Penny's a math whiz, and a genius at breaking codes and thinking like a hacker."
"But the security implications of quantum computing alone should put her on the team. You know that."
Mac shakes his head. "But she doesn't have the chops to help develop it. You know that."
He's right, and I hate it. And I hate that this project is likely going to pull me away from the office even more than when we were working on the Amsterdam deal two years ago. "Fine. But we go back to them and demand they agree that when we say it's time for her to be pulled in, she gets the necessary clearance."
"Of course." Steele claps me on the shoulder and pauses, pulling me to a stop next to him.
"I'm happy for you and all, you've gotta know that. But this is why office relationships are bad, man. They cloud your judgment."
"Like yours was clouded with Sparky?" I toss back, feeling raw and defensive.
He squeezes my shoulder. "Sparky and I were always on the same page about the boat. The boat came first. And there were no billion-dollar deals on the line with us."
Owen, our CFO chimes in. "We can't afford to let this deal go, Stockton. You know that. This technology is coming, and it's in our best interest to be the ones leading the charge. We don't want to be second in this race."
I shrug away Stockton's hand, hating that he's right. That they're all right. Again.
"What happens if something goes wrong between the two of you?" Owen asks.
"It won't," I growl.
"It might," says Stockton. "Then what? Who leaves? If I lose either of you, our whole technology division goes up in smoke."
"I'm marrying her, for chrissakes," I shout, the strain from the day finally bubbling over. "What kind of guarantee do you want?"
Steele narrows his eyes. "I don't know. Something that assures me this whole thing isn't some kind of a game to you? You know, like it was last time?"
Last time. He had to bring that up. I'm not surprised - I've been bracing for it. But his words act like a match anyways, setting a light to the pressure that's slowly been building inside of me since I left Penny standing in her doorway Friday night. I glare at my best friend, refraining from punching him only because he's right. It is a game.
Was a game.
It doesn't feel like a game right now, and I'll have to sort through that with a bottle of scotch - after I find Penny. I spin away and storm down the three flights of stairs that lead from the helipad to the C-suite floor, Harrison, Mac and Owen hot on my heels.
"Stockton, wait. You know what I meant," Steele calls after me.
"Hold up, Stockton," hollers Owen from behind him.
I pull open the door and stalk down the hall. "Penny," I bellow. "Where are you?" I'm half-afraid she'll be gone. I missed all of her texts today - our meetings barred recording devices. And by the time I read them, the only thing I could do was say sorry. meetings. She deserves better than that. And I'm determined to make it up to her. "Penny," I bark, barreling into our office.
Her wide green eyes meet mine, at first irritated, then confused, then worried. "What is it?"
"This," I growl, rounding her desk and taking her face between my hands. I kiss her, demanding she bend to me, my veins turning to liquid fire when she softens and responds, hands coming to my lapels. With a groan, I pull her to her feet, wrapping an arm around her tiny waist. Her mouth is like heaven, like home, and I feel the tension that's been slicing through me all day begin to dissipate. I stroke against her tongue taking my fill, and only stop when I register one of the guys clearing his throat. I ease back and meet Stockton's eyes with a glare. "Is that enough of a guarantee?" I meet each of their eyes before I turn back to Penny. "I'm sorry about today." I take her hand and pull her with me toward the hall.
She pulls her hand from my grip. "Wait. Where are we going? What's going on?" She looks from me to Steele, to Owen and Mac, then back to me again.
"Get your bag. I'll explain."
"Why not explain to me now?" she demands.
I glance to Steele, who's lounging in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. "Because we're having this conversation in private. Not here," I say roughly, daring them all with my eyes to argue.
"Be my guest." Stockton bows with a sweep of his hand. "See you at the gym tomorrow?"
"Of course." We have a regatta in Boston this weekend and an unspoken rule that whatever happens at the office stays out of the boat. I place a hand at the small of Penny's back and usher her out of the office to the bank of elevators.
"What's going on?" she says with a mixture of irritation and worry I find utterly endearing.
I shake my head, thoughts pinging like pinballs. She asks again when we reach the lobby and I shake my head again, steering her toward the giant revolving door. As soon as we hit the sidewalk she stops, hands on hips. "I'm not going a step further until you tell me what is going on."
"Not. Here. C'mon. We're walking." I'm too keyed up to call for Edward, and the afternoon is balmy, with only a hint of the humidity that will turn oppressive in another few weeks. By the time we've walked the four blocks to my building, my pulse has dropped to a more normal pace. But I'm still pissed. About everything.
And the arousal from kissing Penny still runs through me like a live wire. I hold open the door and motion for Penny to enter, then escort her to the private elevator that whisks us up to the penthouse level. "Harrison and Owen live down that way," I point out as I lay my hand on the keyless entry. "Remind me to set you up with access." I drop my briefcase in the entryway and head straight for the liquor cabinet. I pull out my bottle of forty-year-old Craigellachie and measure out four fingers. "Sip?" I offer knowing full-well what's next. But even in a foul mood, I love her reaction.
She wrinkles her nose and makes a face of pure disgust. "Eww, no."
"Try this, then. I think it's more your speed." I pull out a bottle of twelve-year Redbreast. An Irish whiskey that's a little sweeter and softer, just like her when she lets down her guard. I pour three fingers full and hand her the glass. She takes a cautious sip, and grimaces. "It's strong."
"You'll get used to it."
She places her drink on an ebony end table and begins to investigate the space, taking in the floor to ceiling windows, the artwork, and the kitchen island before sinking into the oversized leather sofa in front of the fireplace, and pulling off her pink chucks.
"Make yourself at home," I call out wryly.
She props her orange striped socks on the iron and carved wood coffee table and stretches her arms across the back of the sofa. "Nice place."
I huff out a laugh and brace myself with a strong pull of the scotch, feeling like a douche. "I shouldn't have pulled you away from the office. I'm sorry."
She gives me a strong dose of side-eye. "Stop the presses. Stockton Forde is sorry?"
"It happens." I force myself to remain at the bar. What I really want is to drop onto the couch and pull Penny into my lap, tell her about my day, then run my fingers through her hair until the curls fall out of her messy topknot.
"So are you going to tell me what that outburst was about?"
"I apologize for that, too. I never should have kissed you like that
at the office." Although, I'm not sorry at all. I like kissing Penny. Far too much.
Her mouth pulls into a perfect rose, corner twitching like she's trying really hard not to smile, and it makes me wonder for a fraction of a second if she's not sorry either. "You're on a roll, don't stop now."
I drain my glass and set it on the cabinet. "I'm sorry you got ambushed by my mother."
Penny lets out a half-hysterical giggle. "Yeah, about that. She offered to double whatever you're paying me to break off our 'fake engagement'." She air quotes before narrowing her eyes. "She said this wasn't your first time?"
Shit.
I curse and close the distance between us, towering over her. "What did she say? Tell me everything."
Penny shrinks back into the couch, crossing her arms. "Not if you're going to stand over me like an interrogator."
I drop to the coffee table with another curse. "What did she say, Penny?"
She glares at me. "Don't worry, our secret's safe. But I want to know about this previous time."
I scrub a hand over my face. This day can go to hell. "I was twenty-three, and full of myself."
"Glad to see you haven't changed much," she deadpans.
"We were just starting to pull together funding for what would become Steele Conglomerate, and I wanted to break into my trust fund. But in order to do that before I hit thirty, I had to be married. My girlfriend at the time was studying for medical school and agreed to marry me for the three years she'd be in med school in exchange for a portion of my trust-fund and an amicable divorce. My mother found out and paid her double to break up with me."
Penny's eyes go round. "Holy shit."
"Obviously, it didn't matter. We got the start-up money from Harrison's fund, which is why the company's Steele Conglomerate and not Forde or Pacelli Conglomerate. And by the time I hit thirty, I was worth more than my trust fund, so it didn't really matter. But I don't understand why she'd offer you money to break things off. She's been trying to marry me off and get me in the family way for years."
Penny's face pulls tight and her plump lower lip pushes out. Arousal spikes through me. I want to swipe my thumb across that lip, bite it, taste it. And weirdly, I want to do what I can to erase the frown that's developed.