Legally in Love Boxed Set 1

by Jennifer Griffith

  “You’re probably wondering how I knew. I wear a lot of hats, Josh, and one of them is being on a patent approval board at the U.S. Patent Office. Don’t blame Morgan. I sleuthed it out myself when I heard you had a work station set up in the shop at the back of the Campus House property.” He smiled, which did a little to soothe Josh’s roiling emotions. “Now, tell me. Progress?”

  “Good progress, sir.” He might as well report, since nothing he did could ever be kept private, apparently.

  “Good! That’s what I want to hear. That was half the reason for this whole scholarship experiment, you know—getting you to a position where you had a chance to complete your research. Your mother would have wanted that.” Seagram looked self-satisfied, like a frog with a gallon Ziploc full of flies, but Josh couldn’t help feeling invaded. What business was it of Seagram’s what Josh’s research amounted to? Oh, yeah. Josh took the cash and the house, and in exchange handed over all rights to his private life.

  Seagram rattled on about different things—local politics, the state of academics at Clarendon College, the likelihood of a super volcano—until he hit on something that reeled Josh’s attention back in. “We’re looking forward to a little Hyatt, aren’t we?” Seagram chuckled. “Now that first semester finals are over, you can get started on first trimester baby-making.”

  Now, that was an invasion of privacy, if ever— The heat around Josh’s collar spiked.

  Morgan took that volley, though. “Oh, Mr. Seagram. You want to pry into our little secrets. Don’t you know, a man and wife are the only ones allowed to have those kinds of discussions?” She gave a tittering, flirty laugh that defused the situation.

  She never uses that laugh on me. Why not?

  Seagram chuckled. “Point taken. But if you’re not going to have a babe in arms the moment of graduation, do you already have an accounting job lined up, Morgan? I’ve got an opening at my corporation with your name on it, whenever you like. And Josh, if you’re not averse, I’d rather hire you in the research biology lab at my Starry Point facility right out of the gate than wait around for you to take a bunch of classes you’ve already obviously surpassed with your own research efforts. You’d have your own lab setup, your own team. This work you’re doing is not only important to science, it’s got implications for national security. Now, don’t go protesting. I’ve had an eye on you for the past three years and kept tabs on all the progress you’ve been making. Clarendon is all fine and good, but it’s only a means to an end, the end being a steady, well-paying job. What’s the harm in leap-frogging straight to where you’re meant to be?”

  Josh and Morgan exchanged glances. Her eyes registered pure fear, which mirrored the panic in Josh’s own heart. But a second look at Seagram showed nothing but beatific warmth.

  A bell sounded from the kitchen area, and Seagram stood. “I believe that’s our dinner. I’ll go see to the final details and then call you as soon as everything is ready. Just get cozy on the couch there, kids.”

  Josh gave Seagram a wan smile and, coerced, snaked an arm around Morgan’s shoulders. As soon as Seagram was out of earshot, Morgan wrenched toward Josh.

  “We have to tell him. We have to, Josh. This is going too far.”

  Josh’s mouth was a desert, and his mind reeled with the offer spinning in front of him like a Christmas ornament on the tree, sparkling, alluring. If he reached out and took the pretty present, he could abandon school classes and tests and Laos and Mali and Burkina Faso, get back to bio-tech research full time, have his own lab…

  “Are you even listening?” The love seat was so narrow, Morgan’s leg had pressed halfway on top of his, and he glanced down at it now. No, he wasn’t listening. He was looking. And liking it. So, so many reasons to stay in this farce and make it real. Two of them were long and lean and ended with open toe, sling-back shoes.

  “Come on, Josh. This is serious. I can’t let things get worse. Siggy is going to be hurt.”

  Just then, Seagram reappeared. “Did I tell you? I’ve had eleven couples contact me and say they got married just to apply for the scholarship. You’re both doing a bang-up job. I can’t thank you enough.”

  This reality check hit Josh. They were not doing their job. They were total frauds, and Josh knew it. Morgan was right. They needed to face facts and tell the truth. Telling the truth about everything would have consequences: it would mean more years at Clarendon studying the history of Qatar, no job with his own lab, and a different path in life altogether; but it was what he’d been planning in the first place. Just because someone offers you a steak dinner doesn’t mean you won’t like the peanut butter sandwich in your sack lunch as much as you would have in the first place. Well, almost as much.

  Besides, Brielle was part of his sack lunch, the one he’d packed for himself. Not that she’d appreciate being defined as a peanut butter sandwich compared to a future with Morgan and Seagram’s facility as steak dinner. He silently cursed. Josh’s decision-making process swung wider than the two-story high pendulum at the Portland Science Center.

  Seagram was still chuckling, as he boomed back into the room and dropped his next bombshell, proceeding with making Josh’s life even more complex. “In fact, I’ve decided to reward you. Can I give you your Christmas presents early? Oh, look how cozy you are, sitting on the couch. Everyone should get such a good start in marriage and in life.” He sighed, and then came over and handed Josh a box, and another to Morgan.

  “Go ahead. Open them right now.” The old man’s eyes sparkled from behind his wire-rimmed glasses and Josh could see the smile from behind the beard.

  Josh was worried. The job offer was one thing, the house another, and the money they could pay back. But what was in the box?

  Morgan had lifted her box’s lid. “Car keys?” The words hit Josh like a slap. Morgan stuttered, “I don’t know what to say.” She sounded like she really didn’t know what to do. He looked over and saw that they belonged to an Italian sports car. Morgan would look so hot in that.

  “Say you’ll take that old truck of yours to Junque for Jesus and drive this until you can afford something that runs when the temperature dips below seventy degrees. It’s not new. It’s something from my collection I’ve had for a while but don’t have enough time to drive. It’s reliable, though.”

  Josh was the goldfish in the water of the unplugged blender. The tension was killing him. He lifted the lid of his box. There, too, sat car keys. “Oh, hey. Sorry, but my Explorer is doing fine. I can’t accept this. It’s too much.” And from the brand of car that decorated the keychain, it really was too much.

  “This, my son, was your mother’s favorite make of car.” What Mr. Seagram said was true. Josh’s mom wasn’t much for material things, but she had a soft spot for car design and followed the evolution of the Land Rover style over the years but had died before Bronco got around to buying her one—probably based on the fact it was British-made, not American. “You’ll be driving it for her sake.”

  What could Josh say to that? His arguments died in his throat. Instead, he spluttered, “Thank you, Mr. Seagram. Thank you so much.”

  “Look, kids. My wife and I weren’t blessed with children. I know you’re not nearly invested in me as I am in you, but over the past few months, I have come to regard you as my own. And when I brought up future children of yours, I guess I was kind of fishing. I’m sorry. What I should have asked directly is whether you’d consider allowing me to be the godparent to your children.” A tear had sprung to his eye and slid down his cheek, making Josh feel like the dirt he was.

  Then they went into the dining room where the weight of the chains of obligation weighed a thousand pounds heavier on Josh. They endured a gourmet dinner of epic proportions and eked out responses to Seagram’s further conversation until they finally escaped—in their new cars from Seagram’s fleet.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Morgan couldn’t have been more confused by Josh’s reaction to her in her red dress on the nigh
t of Seagram’s party. After weeks of fully ignoring her, he’d suddenly plugged in and come at her with a full-on attack, after which, someone somewhere unplugged him again, because she hadn’t seen but a shadow of him as he trailed up to bed in the mornings after his shift at the water treatment plant.

  Meanwhile, the preparation of the house for the camera crew’s arrival on Christmas was left up to Morgan—with a little help here and there from Svetlana. Okay, a lot of help. For a woman who obviously was raised in an impoverished country, she knew how to create sheer opulence with Christmas decorations. She ordered a tree from the department store twice as tall as the one Morgan had picked out at WalMart—and it came pre-decorated, pre-lit, and it could play a series of lovely, chiming holiday tunes when activated with a remote control. The white and gold ornaments sparkled, giving a warm glow to the whole room, which was draped with garland, bedecked with white and gold bows. The mantel had six different nativity sets from all over the world, as well as nutcrackers in several heights and enough angel hair that if she covered it in paper and stuffed it against the wall, it could insulate the whole ground floor of the house.

  “Svetlana, it’s amazing. You’ve outdone yourself.” Morgan gave her a hug and went over to the tree and pulled out a small gift for the woman. It wasn’t much, but Morgan had handmade a necklace out of more agates she’d collected on Cannon Bay beach. Svetlana looked good in black, and the agates would set that off.

  “Thank you so much, Mrs. Hyatt,” Svetlana gushed through her strong accent. “I didn’t get you anything.”

  “Are you kidding? You’ve given me everything, every day since I moved in here. From the full refrigerator to the clean linens to the mopped floor. You’ve been the reason I could focus on school and restore my GPA to health.”

  “I don’t know what is GPA, but I am glad it is healthy. You should be healthy, Mrs. Hyatt. I have never worked for someone who always does her own dishes. You are very special woman. I am very sorry that I have not kept your secret.” Svetlana pulled a sorry frown.

  Secret? But before Morgan could ask, a buzzer went off in the kitchen. Her pies were done, and if she left them too long, they’d crack right down the top. She dashed in there, and by the time she came back to the living room, Svetlana had left for the day.

  Ah, this room. It was gorgeous. It was the most gorgeous, appealing Christmas display Morgan could imagine. She’d wanted to double check it with Josh, to make sure he agreed it was just right, but he was avoiding her again.

  It stung.

  How could he switch from boiling hot to below-Kelvin-zero cold toward her in the blink of an eye? Her heart was taking a beating from it. When he’d gone all beast on her before Siggy’s party, she’d let herself think this is it, he’s finally coming around. That evening, she’d felt so close to him, despite the jolt of being given cars by Seagram. She’d known Josh would be able to help her figure out what to do about that, and she’d planned to talk to him about it at length while they relaxed in front of the fire when he was done with work. But then, just as instantly, he reverted to his cave, leaving Morgan with emotional whiplash.

  It was time she had a talk with him. Now that finals were over and the pressure of schoolwork was off, she was going to have to address the situation. If that meant telling him how she really felt, so be it. And then, at least, she’d know whether he was in this or not. Because she couldn’t really bear this back and forth. Life had taught her she had to be flexible when things didn’t go her way, and Morgan had learned to be elastic, but even elastics could snap.

  ∞∞∞

  Josh finished the last line of his letter to Brielle. Love, Josh. It always looked so strange on the page. Still, he folded it and put it in the drawer. This was his shortest letter ever, and the hardest to write. Somewhere in this stack he’d come clean with Brielle about the truth of his marriage. However, telling her where he was at emotionally at this point still remained up for debate.

  This particular missive turned out to be nothing but a miss. I miss you. I hope there’s Schnitzel for your Christmas Eve this year. Those Germans had better be treating you right. It seemed hollow. But months without seeing her made what they’d had feel far away, much farther than just a continent and an ocean’s span.

  He’d tried to sleep after his night shift, but it was no use. The smells of pumpkin pie kept waking up his stomach, which growled. He hadn’t eaten pumpkin pie since Mom died, at least not home-baked. Finally, he’d gotten up, showered, and written this letter. He gave a last fleeting glance at his bed, and then he realized he ought to go downstairs and see if Morgan needed any help. The cameras were coming in a couple of hours, and he’d left all the work to her. Why’d they decide to move it up to Christmas Eve instead? The plan all along had been Christmas morning. Oh, well. Josh was at the mercy. He’d sold his soul to these people. It would be dark anytime now, and they could show up.

  “Hey, Morgan. Need a hand?” Josh didn’t mean to startle her, but she jumped, bobbling the pie plate she was pulling out of the oven. It nearly dropped, but Josh reached in and steadied it. Fool. He burned his fingertips something fierce. “Ow!” He pulled it back, jamming them in his mouth to cool them.

  “I do need a hand, but you don’t need to fully sacrifice yours. Thanks for saving the pie.” She set it down on the stove. “Quick. Let’s run it under cold water.” Morgan pulled him toward the sink, turned the faucet to cold, and placed his hand under the running water. It instantly felt better. “You only had it on the heat for a split second. If we cool it now, it will heal fast.”

  She was stroking his palm, moving his burned fingers one by one under the cool stream. Her touch soothed him even more than the water did. Her gentle caress made him forget all the pain, and all he could feel was her hand, her fingers, Morgan.

  “Morgan.”

  She looked up at him, worry in her deep blue eyes.

  “Thanks. They feel much better.”

  “You need to keep them under cool water. Don’t take them out too soon.” Her eyes never left his, but her hand strayed from the faucet’s stream. She was losing concentration, and he liked the effect he was having on her. Yeah, he liked it a lot.

  Josh took Morgan’s hand, and he led it from the sink and placed it on his shoulder. He took her other hand and placed it on his other shoulder. He planted his own hands firmly on Morgan’s hips and looked down into her fathomless blues.

  “You really are beautiful, you know.”

  Her eyelashes dipped, and she shook her head.

  “I’m so lucky.” He wasn’t sure how else to express all the reasons why that were warring inside him for prominence. “Why are you so good to me?” A thousand memories of their days together flashed through him, from her laughter at his jokes, to the way she bravely came sneaking down the stairs a few weeks ago in the night to defend Seagram’s house from intruders, thinking nothing of her own safety. And looking so good as she did it. Just like now. He liked this girl, and even though she was probably the most attractive woman he’d seen in his life, his attraction to her was a lot more than just to her pretty face or slamming body. She was goodness—and like putting his burned fingers under cool water, she’d healed him, every day, with her touch.

  She looked up at him again, hope alight in her eyes, and he had to admit, it was contagious. He’d gone the rounds in his mind, written the boring letters to Brielle about classes and avoiding the things he really cared about like his research—and Morgan.

  There. He admitted it. He cared about her—whether she was just going along to get along, whether she was only being kind, he didn’t care about that. He wanted to make her care about him for real. Looking at her this way, he realized why all his attempts to keep things on a slow burn with her, or off the burner completely, were useless. She had lit his fire.

  “Morgan, you’re amazing.” Ugh. It sounded so hollow compared to the pithy reasons he ought to be able to express.

  Something clouded her face. She visibly
gulped. “Josh? We should talk.”

  Heat shot from Josh’s scalp down to his toes in a quick wave. She was going to tell him that he shouldn’t look at her like that, that she wasn’t interested in being anything but business acquaintances, that he was pushing things too far. He should have known this would be coming, but now that it was hitting, he wasn’t sure how he was going to handle it.

  Or would she admit feelings for him, too? And if so, what was he going to do?

  They were at a crossroads.

  “You’re right.” He took her to the living room, and had a brief moment of indecision about whether to sit beside her with his arm around her shoulder, or whether they should sit across from one another where he could see into her eyes. He wasn’t sure which was more distracting or dangerous to his logical reasoning.

  Morgan sat on the couch, and then she decided for him by taking his hand and pulling him down beside her. She rested her head on his shoulder and bent her long legs over his lap. This was cozy.

  “Like this? Is this how we should sit for the camera?”

  Oh. Business. She meant they needed to talk business. Cold water splashed on the heat that had crept into Josh’s torso. “Uh, sure. Whatever you think.” He was such a fool. She wasn’t past the professional relationship stage, and here he was thinking long term. Fool.

  “And how do you think we should act for the camera? What are we going to say?”

  Josh gathered his wits. “It depends on what they ask us. Is it going to be Darshelle again? And the same two cameramen?”

  “Ernesto and Walt, yes. I got a message from Darshelle with a list of the interview questions.”

  “Interview.” Josh’s mind said this with an exclamation point. How was he going to answer this time? Before, they’d gotten lucky.

  “I’m nervous about some of them, and you know I’m not very good about talking to people.”