Til Death Do Us Part

by Eliza Watson

  Barley started retching all over Charlie’s dress and the seat. Cassidy winced. She’d never get her car clean. Yet leaving the staff and Barley stranded wasn’t an option. The fur on the poor thing’s face was wet and matted. He looked and sounded on his deathbed.

  Ten minutes later, she zipped into the vet’s lot and parked. Everyone flew from the car and barreled into the clinic. A middle-aged woman in a Scooby-Doo patterned uniform sat behind the reception desk, talking to a woman holding a Chihuahua.

  Charlie scurried up to the desk. “Barley’s sick.”

  The receptionist eyed Charlie’s dress rather than the sick cat in his arms. “The doctor is with a patient right now, but if you take a seat, I’ll let him know—”

  “Bollocks. We need to see him now.” Fiona snatched Barley from Charlie’s arms and plopped him down on the receptionist’s open files. Barley started retching on them.

  The woman sprang from her chair, slapping a hand over her mouth. “I’ll go get the doctor.”

  She returned with a gray-haired man in blue scrubs and a white jacket who promptly took Barley into the examining room. Charlie and Fiona tagged along to supervise. Hector dropped down in a chair, staring straight ahead in silence. Cassidy had to get home. She had a ton to do. She had to mentally process everything she’d just discovered in Ryan’s old bedroom and tweak the personality questionnaire, do some more research online…

  “What if they have to operate?” Charlotte’s eyes misted over. She clutched her chiffon dress, crumpling it in her hands. “What if Barley dies?” A loud wail, rather than a dainty sob, erupted from her.

  Cassidy swallowed the lump of emotion in her throat, eyeing the car keys in her hand. She tossed the keys into her purse, then slid an arm around Charlotte’s shoulder. “It’ll be all right. The doctor knows what he’s doing.”

  If he didn’t, Fiona would certainly clue him in.

  * * *

  Ryan strode into the vet’s reception area to find Cassidy and the entire staff, except Fiona. Cassidy was flipping through a horse magazine. Charlotte’s heels clicked against the tile floor as she paced. Hector sat slumped in a chair, staring at his bare feet. Charlie was petting a poodle next to him.

  Charlotte glanced over at Ryan with mascara-smeared, puffy eyes. “Where were you? I called you three hours ago. Barley could have died.” She ran over and collapsed against him, lying her head on his chest, sobbing.

  He embraced her. “I’m sorry. I was in a meeting.” His multimillion-dollar client wouldn’t have understood blowing off a meeting to tend to a sick cat. Besides, he’d been sure Barley would be fine.

  Hector and Charlie looked disappointed in him. Cassidy’s expression was unreadable.

  “How’s he doing?” he asked.

  “He’s still in surgery,” Charlotte said in a weak voice.

  “Where’s Fiona?”

  “She’s sitting outside the operating room. Refused to leave,” Charlie said.

  Cassidy stood, her wrinkled green tweed suit looking as worn and tired as she did. She glanced over at him. “I should get going.”

  Surprising she was still here. She could have spent the last three hours hunting down his fiancée instead. He didn’t want her prying into his personal life, yet he was glad she’d been there for the staff. It wasn’t like she could have pumped them for info on him with the state they were in anyway.

  So why had she stayed?

  She said good-bye to everyone and promised to call later to check on Barley. They walked outside in silence. Did she also think he should have canceled his meeting to be here? The staff didn’t understand what it was like in the “real” world and the demands his job placed on him. Cassidy certainly should. Not that he cared if she did or not.

  “Suppose you think I should have come sooner,” he said.

  She shrugged. “Not at all.” Yet her voice held a hint of disapproval, which bugged him.

  As they walked toward her car, a gentle fall breeze blew a few strands loose from the clip in her hair. The wisps brushed her cheeks. She swept the strands behind her ear.

  “What exactly happened?” he asked.

  “Seems Barley swallowed one of his glitter balls. He’s going to be fine.”

  “Thanks for bringing him here. I found him thirteen years ago. He was dumpster diving outside my dorm on campus and couldn’t get out. I heard him crying. Brought him home to Aggie. Can’t imagine the staff losing him so soon after her.”

  “I brought a dog home once, and my parents took him to a pet shop. I cried for days.”

  The sadness in her voice made his chest tighten. What sort of parents didn’t allow their kid to have a pet?

  “You should check out the cats in the guesthouse. There are plenty to choose from. Take two if you’d like.”

  She smiled. “I might just do that.” She unlocked the car door and turned to him. “Audrey. I’d name the cat after my favorite actress, Audrey Hepburn.”

  They both reached for the door handle, their hands touching, the warmth of her skin against his. Their hands still in place, she slowly raised her gaze, meeting his. A wisp of hair flirted with her cheek, and he fought the urge to touch her skin, to sweep the hair behind her ear. Instead, he reluctantly lowered his hand from the car door.

  There was definitely a physical attraction between them, but he wasn’t going to screw things up by having sex with Cassidy. She deserved more than a one-night stand, and he didn’t want her to end up quitting. He needed to get married, and soon.

  She glanced away, opening the car door. The stench of cat vomit poured out. Talk about killing the moment. No way would the women he dated allow a puking cat in their expensive cars. They’d have been more concerned about the car’s upholstery than Barley.

  “Would you like a ride home?”

  She shook her head. “That’s okay. If I open the windows, I’ll be fine.”

  She rummaged through her purse, finally producing a bottle of perfume. She doused the inside of the car with an exotic scent that infiltrated his head, arousing his…senses.

  “I’ll at least pay to have your car cleaned.”

  She smiled, sliding onto the car seat. “I’ll bill you.”

  When this was all said and done, he might just end up owing Cassidy a lot more than money.

  Chapter Twelve

  The following morning, Ryan arrived at work at 6:00 a.m. to return messages, voice mails, and e-mails before heading over to the brewery. Board of directors meetings were a total pain in the ass. It sucked that a family legacy was the only connection he had to Cornwell Brewery. The meetings were a waste of time, which had become a hot commodity since his aunt’s death. He’d experienced a lot of sleepless nights attempting to come to terms with her death and helping the staff do the same. Not to mention, coming to terms with her will.

  Her will had a dual purpose. To ensure Ryan found his true love and to put him in the spotlight. Aggie had feared the media would cause Ryan’s demise, like his parents, if he didn’t learn to deal with it. Or worse yet, he’d end up like his parents. Even from her grave, she was determined to do what she’d believed was best for him.

  He leaned back in his black leather chair, scanning the contents of his desktop. Everything was exactly as it should be. So why couldn’t he shake the feeling something felt off?

  Melanie breezed in, carrying a magazine and a cup emitting steam and a spicy aroma. His assistant was often the only stabilizing force in his hectic life. She kept his agenda on track, was always punctual, and hadn’t missed more than a day or two of work in four years. Some mornings he relied on her energy to jumpstart him, along with his morning espresso.

  He took a drink, but rather than savoring a thick full-bodied coffee, he swallowed a diluted beverage that tasted like licorice. “Thought I said no more tea?”

  Actually, it didn’t taste half bad. Better than the other sludge the last two days. He wouldn’t admit it—he still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of drinking tea—b
ut the last few days he hadn’t felt as tense or been as drained. And the only changes he’d made to his routine were replacing espressos with tea…and Cassidy. But her nosing around had certainly done nothing to reduce his stress level.

  “I knew you were going to say that.” She tossed an open magazine on his desk with an article highlighted in bright orange: “Tea Houses.” “Cassidy’s right, they’re a great investment.”

  “What, you two helping with my research now?”

  “Somebody has to take care of you.” Her tone was teasing yet held a hint of genuine concern.

  “I’m fine.” He glanced up from the magazine, his gaze locking on a framed photo on the wall behind her. His aunt and that French guy, Gilles, stood wrapped in each other’s arms in front of the Eiffel Tower. Aggie stared over at him, vibrant and full of life.

  “What the hell?” he muttered.

  Melanie followed his gaze to the photo. “Oh, ah, Fiona thought they’d be a nice surprise, a tribute to your aunt.”

  That’s what was different. A photo of his aunt and Charles on safari in Kenya replaced the one of the tree on the Serengeti. Of course, she hadn’t allowed any animals to be shot; the trip was purely to view them in their habitats.

  That damn commercial would air later this morning, announcing his quest for a wife. He had to give company employees a heads-up before the media frenzy ensued. A foreboding feeling stiffened his back. For the second time in the past two weeks, his life was about to change. And it wouldn’t be for the better.

  He explained his situation to Melanie.

  “Ohh,” she moaned, hand to her chest, “that’s so sweet you want to fulfill your aunt’s dying wish.”

  If he didn’t, her cats would be sporting diamond collars and dining on caviar. Of course, he’d omitted that minor detail along with the fact that he planned to divorce the woman. Melanie might find that a bit troublesome. Cassidy certainly had. Although Cassidy was more of a dreamer, whereas Melanie was a realist, like himself. He wouldn’t even have told Melanie it was his aunt’s dying wish, but her opinion mattered to him. And she undoubtedly found the whole idea as perverse as he did.

  “I expect everyone to use their utmost discretion on the matter and would appreciate it not becoming idle gossip in the break room. Actually, people are forbidden to discuss it period, inside or outside the office.”

  “Have office wired for audio and video surveillance.” She jotted the memo on her notepad. “And get Taser gun for zapping offenders.”

  “Have I ever told you you’re a smartass?”

  She stopped writing, pushing her glasses up with her pen. “Drink your tea.”

  It would take something a helluva a lot stronger than tea to get him through this day.

  * * *

  Several hours later, Ryan and eleven board members sat at a large oak conference table in Cornwell Brewery, discussing a marketing promotion to tie in with his commercial. His cell phone vibrated at his waist. Thank God. A reason to ditch the damn meeting.

  “Thought you might want to know reporters are starting to camp outside the brewery,” Cassidy said on the other end.

  “Shit.” Every muscle in his body tensed.

  “Don’t worry, I can sneak you out.”

  “Do you charge extra for playing bodyguard?”

  “I consider guarding your body one of my perks.”

  The sexual undertone left him momentarily speechless. An awkward silence filled the line.

  “Ah, just kidding.”

  “Pick me up at the delivery entrance. I’ll give security the okay to let you through the gate.”

  Ryan gladly excused himself from the meeting. He slipped on his dark sunglasses and exited the rear of the building. He scanned the parking lot for Cassidy’s red BMW with a funeral home ad plastered on the side of it. But the only vehicle in sight advertising Thompson’s Funeral Home was a sleek black hearse, glistening in the sunshine.

  The hearse approached, and the tinted driver’s window rolled down. “Need a lift?” Cassidy asked, using a hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

  She apparently hadn’t replaced the sunglasses she’d lost off his balcony. He’d much rather look at her eyes than his own reflection.

  “And don’t get all creeped out. I’m alone,” she said, glancing over her shoulder toward the back of the vehicle. “It was either this or a car that reeks like vomit. Besides, this is the last place reporters would think of looking for you.”

  “Like a hearse in a brewery parking lot won’t attract attention?”

  “Are you going to stand there and argue until someone spots you or get in?”

  He opened the front passenger’s door and slipped inside. He slid down in the black leather seat as Cassidy swung out the main entrance, the media just yards away. Ryan 1, Media 0. A lead that would undoubtedly be short-lived.

  Several blocks later, she glanced over at him slouched down in the seat. “I think it’s safe for you to sit up now. Besides, these windows are tinted.”

  He slowly straightened, eyeing her white cotton blouse and jean skirt, which flirted with the tops of her thighs. A few inches higher and her panties would be showing. An exotic leopard-print thong? A racy red silk one?

  She cleared her throat, and his gaze darted up, meeting her curious stare. He glanced out the window.

  “I talked to Fiona,” she said. “Sounds like Barley is recuperating.”

  “They’re picking him up later.” He wanted to thank her again for coming to Barley’s rescue, but he didn’t want to sound overly appreciative. Like he owed her one. “How’d you know the vultures were hovering out there waiting for me?”

  “As soon as the commercial aired, I called Melanie to see where you were. Figured wherever you were, the media would be.”

  It felt strange having someone look after him for a change.

  “An early morning time slot isn’t ideal for a beer commercial,” she said. “Most viewers are married women with kids, but it certainly seems to have jump-started things. By the way, you looked good. Like a true celebrity. So you need to start acting like one. Wear a black suit every day.” Her nose crinkled with disapproval as she eyed his suit. “If you don’t already. And the same tie with a white oxford.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “The paparazzi will lose interest in photographing you if you’re always wearing the same outfit.”

  He gave her a questioning look.

  “Believe me, I read the tabloids religiously. The respectable ones, not the ones claiming Elvis is serving Slurpees at the corner 7-Eleven.”

  “That’s reassuring.”

  “The paparazzi doesn’t get squat for photos when a star is repeatedly photographed in the same outfit. Would be like printing the same headline day after day. Can’t believe you didn’t know that. What kind of celebrity are you?”

  “I’m not exactly Brad Pitt.”

  She studied him. “No, more like a young Pierce Brosnan.”

  He assumed a suave demeanor and a British accent. “Just call me Bond, James Bond.”

  “Wow, you made a joke.” The corners of her mouth curled into a smile. “You should do that more often.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “I’ve also heard that wearing reflective material, especially around your face, causes a flash to bounce back to the camera and photos to be overexposed. However, paparazzi rarely use a flash, so I can’t imagine that would work.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think reflective stickers would go well with my suit.”

  “I was talking more like mirrored sunglasses.”

  “Those definitely wouldn’t go well with the suit.”

  “Like I said before, do not, under any circumstances, be seen with a woman.”

  “How about I lock myself away in my condo until you find me a fiancée? And then we can hold the wedding there.”

  “How about you move into the mansion?” she countered.

  “Not happening.” Keeping the staff
far away from the media was critical so they didn’t slip up and reveal something they shouldn’t.

  “The mansion has better security.”

  “My building has security.”

  “Accessing your condo the other day, not to mention your office, didn’t require much effort. And unlike the paparazzi, I’m not able to scale fences or tall buildings. And last, but certainly not least, you need to grant an interview so the media doesn’t have anywhere to go with this story. Lay everything on the line.”

  He shook his head. “No way. No interview.”

  “How about a controlled interview on Good Morning Milwaukee? We could dictate the questions so you aren’t blindsided or put on the spot. It would give you better visibility than the newspaper. I know the host, Rachel. She’d agree to anything to get an interview.”

  Aggie’s eccentricities and outrageous stunts had kept her in the spotlight, giving the illusion she had nothing to hide. Although he didn’t agree with her forcing him into the public eye, it might be up to him to take on that role, at least temporarily. If not for himself, for the safety of the staff.

  “All right,” he agreed reluctantly.

  “At least consider…” She glanced over at him, easing up on the accelerator. “Did you say okay?”

  “I’ll do an interview as long as we control it.”

  She smiled wide. “We will. I promise.”

  Her eyes glistened from all the interview questions and ideas undoubtedly bombarding her mind as she slipped her cell phone from her purse. Her enthusiasm almost made him believe he actually wanted to get married.

  * * *

  “Thompson’s Funeral Home?” Ryan muttered, reading the wooden sign in the front lawn of the yellow Victorian home.

  Cassidy parked the hearse under the porte cochere right where Kenny had left it. “Nobody would ever think of looking for you here.”

  “Hope I have a good fifty years before anyone comes looking for me here. Right now, I need to get back to work.”

  “Precisely what we’re going to do. Work on the interview questions. I promised Rachel I’d have them to her by midafternoon. She’s being very accommodating, promising not to reveal her surprise guest to anyone but her boss. And she canceled that guy who carved the Milwaukee skyline out of a block of cheese to fit you in.”