by Holly Rayner
Though he rarely walked to work—he preferred the efficiency of driving—he realized that his feet were carrying him in that direction. He felt a deep longing for the comfort of his desk, his employees, his office.
At work, he had power. He had prestige. He was Jackson Wylde: owner, top dog, CEO.
Bianca’s words crowded into his thoughts. “I’m just your employee.”
Of course that’s how I’m treating her, he thought. Because that’s what she is! I hired her to pretend to be my wife.
He took out his phone and, as he did nearly every morning, texted his personal assistant. She was in charge of keeping track of his appointments, and it was his habit to check in with her at the start of the day.
It was soothing to know that the text was nothing but a business matter. Nothing to get upset about. No drama. No hurt feelings, he thought with satisfaction.
A response came in almost immediately, with a detailed schedule. At the bottom, there was a note. “Your Ferrari is due for an oil change. Should I arrange for it to be picked up, serviced, and returned to you?”
The mention of the Ferrari made Jackson’s mind turn back to Bianca. He remembered the first night he saw her, standing out in the dim evening light in her oversized coat, auburn waves barely peeking out from beneath her hood. Her eyes had been bright and animated as she explained her plight to get to work on time. She’d apologized with such sincerity, exuding a warmth that he rarely felt from anyone else in his life.
Who needs it? he thought, cutting off that recollection. She can give her love to someone else. I’m fine on my own. I’ve lived alone my whole life—why would I change that now?
He typed up a quick response, approving his assistant’s suggestion, then slipped his phone back into his jacket pocket. Though he wanted to think of anything but Bianca, his mind refused to cooperate.
In his mind’s eye, he could see her face so clearly.
He recalled the way she’d looked when she first sampled a bite of coconut cream layer cake. He remembered the feeling of her weight as she leaned against him when crossing the Heritage Manor dining room in those heels that were so obviously too big. Her smile, quick and authentic. Her figure in that black cocktail dress… those curves…
He could still remember every single country song they’d sung along to at the Corner Bar. And the way she’d looked, bathed in moonlight when sitting on the bench at the edge of the riverboat.
Stop! he commanded himself. This isn’t right. I can’t dwell on this. It’s time to move on—like I have with every other relationship I’ve ever begun. Move on before someone gets hurt.
I should never have slept with her. I shouldn’t have let my emotions get the best of me. Space will be good for us. Emotions lead to messiness… disaster… heartache. Who needs it?
This thought was clear and stern; it came from a part of him that was used to being in charge.
For the past twenty years, and perhaps even longer than that, he’d listened to that inner voice.
A ringing bell sounded, the tone rhythmic and slightly jarring in the hushed morning atmosphere. Jackson, pulled suddenly from his inner monologue, looked up.
An older man, in his seventies at least, stood nearby, just a few feet away in front of a department store. By his side was a metal tripod, painted red. Hanging from the tripod was a red bucket. The man was dressed as Santa, his outfit complete with shiny black boots, a red velvet jumpsuit, and a white beard that masked his lower face. His eyes, above the beard, sparkled with good cheer. He raised the bell in his hands and rang the bell several more times, all the while watching Jackson.
“Merry Christmas, son!” he said.
Son. The word hit Jackson in the chest like a punch, but he wasn’t sure why.
“It’s not Christmas yet,” he said moodily. “But thanks.” He moved his gaze away from the man and stepped forward so that he could pass by.
Son. The word had jarred his consciousness almost as much as the clanging bell.
Suddenly, he knew why.
Dad, he thought. I’ve picked all of these beliefs up from Dad. He was hurt by Mom, and he never trusted a woman again. He never trusted love again.
He focused on work. The Wylde empire he was building, one store at a time. He learned to get fulfillment from the power he wielded on the job.
But is that what I want?
The man dressed as Santa continued to talk, but Jackson was hardly listening.
Jackson removed his wallet from his pocket, pulled out a few large bills, and stuffed them into the red metal bucket.
He started walking again, this time faster. Is that where my fulfillment is going to come from—forever? Until I die? From work, money, being an employer?
It’s safe, at least.
He’d always trained his managers to be able to do proper risk assessments. If a risk was big and the reward was small, he trained them not to take it.
I have everything I need, he thought. My life is good. I can’t complain.
Rufus continued to pull. “Hey, give it a rest, okay?” Jackson said. “I told you, we’re not going to see Peaches today.”
Rufus slowed his pace slightly, which gave Jackson’s aching shoulder a break. When a call came through from one of his district managers, he took it. For the next twenty minutes, he talked over sales figures and monthly projections. He rounded a corner and saw the Wylde Headquarters in the distance.
He hung up the phone as he crossed the lobby, then rode up the elevator as he had so many times before. On the top floor, in the foyer that led to his office, he caught sight of a portrait of his father. It was a black and white photo, and Jackson was struck for the first time by the likeness between himself and the man in the image.
I’m so much like him, he thought. But do I really need to follow so closely in his footsteps?
“Jackson, glad you’re here,” a voice said.
He turned and saw a consultant he’d recently hired striding in his direction. “I have the team gathered in the conference room to talk over our strategy for Indiana,” she said. “Will you be joining us?”
Before he could answer, his secretary caught his eye and gave a wave. She jumped up from her seat and bustled over, a stack of mail in her hands.
“Good morning! Here’s your mail,” she said cheerfully, extending the pile of envelopes. “I can put it in on your desk if you like.”
One envelope caught Jackson’s eye. It was square and bright red, like the velvet of the Santa suit he’d just seen.
He accepted the stack, removed the red envelope, and then handed the rest back to his secretary. “Yes, on my desk would be great,” he said to her. Then to the consultant, “I’ll be right in. I’ve had a few ideas on that front.”
The two bustled away. Jackson unhitched Rufus from his leash. As Rufus trotted off toward his usual bed, Jackson opened the envelope in his hands.
It was a Christmas card—one of those custom ones that you could order online.
On the front was a picture of Jackson’s childhood home. The white wood frame was decked out in sparkling Christmas lights. The message, “Happy Holidays, from my home to yours,” was written in cursive font along the bottom edge.
For the second time that morning, Jackson felt like he was being punched in the chest. The sensation of impact was sudden and unexpected. He tried to push it aside as he flipped the card open and read the handwritten note inside.
Jackson. I’m so proud of you. You’ve grown into a wonderful man. Looking forward to your wedding day.
Mom
He closed the card. Well, at least my plan is working, he thought. I may have messed up with Bianca, but if the wedding plays out like I expect it will, Mom has to give me the house.
And that’s what all of this has been about—hasn’t it?
Chapter 16
Bianca
A Week Later
“What do you think?” Nicky asked, shaking the sparkly silver garland so that it shimmied slightly. She’d draped it ov
er the bulletin board in the community room, along with a string of red and green lights.
“It looks good there,” Bianca said. She stepped back and squinted. “Maybe it takes away from the lights a little bit. Hey, how about over here? We could tack it up around the doorway.”
“Perfect. You have an eye for this stuff, don’t you?” Nicky stepped down off of the chair she’d been standing on and walked over toward the doorway. As she passed a table that was filled with boxes and plastic bins of decorations, she swiped a container of thumbtacks. “Give me a hand with this, will you?” She dragged a folding metal chair over to the open door of the Riverside Assisted Living community room.
Bianca abandoned her task of draping tinsel over branches of the fake Christmas tree that she and Nicky had erected just an hour before.
One manager or another, Bianca wasn’t sure who, had insisted that the facility remain holiday-décor-free until the actual day of Christmas Eve. He’d been adamant that the staff not favor one winter holiday over another. The staff, and many of the residents, had rebelled against this policy, and after much back-and-forth, the manager had finally agreed that one room—and one room only—could be decked out. The chore had fallen onto Nicky and Bianca’s shoulders, since both happened to be working that day.
Bianca was glad for the change in routine. She liked playing interior decorator more than running the halls in search of the next filled bedpan.
“I can’t believe you didn’t take today off,” Nicky said through clenched teeth. She plucked a thumbtack from between her lips and stuck it into the silver garland. “Your wedding is tomorrow. You’re insane!”
“Everything’s ready,” Bianca said. “We did a ton of legwork early on in the month, and it’s paying off now. The whole to-do list is done.”
Well, I hope it is anyway, she thought. She really didn’t know if Jackson had managed to tick the last few items off, as she hadn’t heard from him in a week—not since walking out of his penthouse in his button-down shirt. He hadn’t texted to ask for help, so she had to assume that everything was complete. Either he got it all done on his own, or he had one of his staff members handle it, she thought.
She thought bitterly of his personal assistant, his secretary, and his housekeeper. All were women that Jackson seemed to feel comfortable calling on for a helping hand.
Now he can add me to his list of employees, she thought, with a pang of discomfort. And I’d better remember that’s all I am to him.
Nothing more.
He made that abundantly clear.
“Well, even so,” Nicky said. “I think you’re crazy. I didn’t work on the day before my wedding. I took the day off to get a mani and pedi.”
“You, at the nail salon?” Bianca asked incredulously. She just couldn’t imagine the woman before her sitting in one of those reclining chairs, being pampered. Nicky chopped off her frizzy black-and-gray hair about once a year, when it started getting in her face, and never wore a speck of makeup. Beauty salons were not her cup of tea.
“But you never fuss about things like that,” Bianca said.
Nicky chuckled. “Getting married is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. I figured if I was ever going to get pampered, that was the time. The truth is, it was kind of fun.”
She stepped off of the chair with a grunt. “Now—you’ve been awfully tight-lipped about this wedding. What’s the deal? Aren’t you excited?”
Bianca didn’t answer. Nicky held up the container of tacks. Bianca grabbed two and stuck them into the garland.
“Come on now,” Nicky said. “You’ve always been so humble. But when a girl lands a guy like you did, she ought to brag! I don’t mind. You think I’m going to be jealous of you? My Mikey might be an oaf, but I love him, and I always will. I’m just happy for you that you finally found a good man for yourself after all those losers you went through. It’s about time…”
She continued to chat as she moved over to the table to browse through a box of assorted ornaments. “I guess all that waiting paid off, though, because boy did you hit the jackpot. You scored the hottest, richest man in Memphis! Heck—maybe even in the whole world!”
She smiled and turned, something green in her hands. “What do you think, a little sprig of mistletoe over the door?”
Bianca scrunched up her nose and shook her head. “I don’t think we want to give Mr. Sanders another reason to try to kiss any of the ladies. Did you know I had to go talk to him two days back? Poor Donna stopped by his room to ask to borrow a towel. All of hers were in the dirty laundry. Well, he handed her a towel all right, along with a smooch on the cheek.”
Nicky lowered the mistletoe. “Right. Good thinking.” She started digging through the box, looking for an alternative. “So come on, spill! I want some juicy details about your upcoming nuptials. Don’t worry about bragging. Let it out!”
Bianca stepped down off of the chair. She bit her lip. “Umm…”
To buy some time, she walked across the room and pretended to be completely absorbed in assessing the tree. But from the corner of her eye, she could see that Nicky was watching, waiting for an answer.
“It’s actually not going that great,” Bianca said softly. She picked up a blue bulb ornament from one of the boxes at her feet and hung it by a hook on one of the tree’s fake evergreen branches. “We had… well… an argument last week.”
“Oh, pff,” Nicky said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “That’s normal. It would actually be incredibly abnormal for the two of you to sail through wedding preparations without having one fight. What was the spat about?”
Bianca reached for another ornament. There was no way she could tell Nicky the details of her falling-out with Jackson.
She gazed distractedly at the engagement ring on her left finger. It was a replica of a diamond; a piece that Jackson had purchased online, for the sake of their act. At first, she’d enjoyed wearing it. But now, the ring felt clunky and ill-fitting on her finger. In fact, it was slightly too big, as Jackson hadn’t known her ring size when he ordered it. When she had it on, she had to curl her left hand into a fist whenever she gestured so the thing didn’t fly right off of her finger.
“Something personal, hm?” Nicky guessed, reading into Bianca’s silence.
“Mm-hmm,” Bianca said.
“Well, I know how that is,” Nicky said. “And I totally get it that you don’t want to blab about what goes on behind closed doors, especially closed bedroom doors—if you know what I mean. Just know this—whatever it is, you two will work it out.”
Bianca wasn’t so sure. She reached for another ornament.
Nicky went on. “And you’re going to see him tonight at the rehearsal dinner, right?”
Bianca nodded.
“Here’s my advice,” Nicky said. “Whatever it was—whatever personal matter you two had a spat about—just forgive him. Apologize, and then move on. Hon, you’re probably only going to have one wedding day in your life, and you don’t want to go into it mad at each other. These little arguments crop up now and then, so you’d better figure out now how to get past them. You’ll see… it’s all part of being married.”
Nicky smiled. “Once you’ve been with a man for twenty years, like me, you might even start to enjoy the little arguments. Occasionally, they bring you closer. That’s part of the magic of it all.” She winked at Bianca and then looked over her shoulder at the open doorway.
“Hey,” Nicky said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Why don’t you sneak out fifteen minutes early? I can finish up in here on my own. It will give you a little bit of extra time before your rehearsal meal. You could call Jackson.”
Bianca knew she wasn’t going to call Jackson, but the idea of a few extra minutes sounded nice. She barely knew what she was going to wear to the rehearsal at the Madison Lux Hotel or the meal out afterward, and she was nervous about the whole evening.
If she and Jackson were talking, she’d have asked him for a ride to the hotel, which was quite a long drive
from her cottage. As it was, she planned to drive herself and meet up with him at the destination.
It’s going to be so awkward, she thought, as she imagined seeing him for the first time since she walked out on him.
At least I’m getting paid for all of this.
Just focus on the money. That’s all it ever was.
The drive home passed quickly. Soon, she’d walked and fed Peaches, showered, and dressed in a skirt and sleeveless blouse. She almost forgot the fake engagement ring on the corner of her sink, and she had to dart back into the house and grab it at the last minute.
As she’d expected, the drive across the city was long and rife with traffic. The rehearsal was supposed to start with a cocktail hour at 4:30, at a restaurant near the Madison Lux where they would all eat after the run-through was complete.
It was already 4:45 by the time she arrived.
Her palms sweat as she entered the small, crowded restaurant. It was an Italian place—on the fancy side, in Bianca’s opinion. She remembered that when they picked it off of a list of options, Jackson had stated that his mom would approve.
Well, that’s what this whole thing is about, isn’t it? Bianca thought, as she smoothed down her skirt anxiously and looked for a familiar face. Jackson, gaining approval from Mary Wylde.
Tonight isn’t about us at all. In fact, there is no “us.”
I just have to get through tonight and tomorrow, and then my obligations will be much less frequent. Jackson will get what he wants—that quaint old house—and that will be that. I’ll play the part of his wife at family functions. When his mom dies, we’ll go our separate ways.
The thought of going through life without seeing or hearing from Jackson made her feel empty inside. How am I going to move on after all of this? she thought. Other men won’t compare to him.
But at least other men are willing to commit.
She felt slightly angry as she spotted Jackson across the room, standing near the bar. He had a drink in hand and was talking to a woman that looked too much like him not to be his sister.