Not the Marrying Kind

by Nicola Marsh

  “Makes you wonder why parents like ours have kids in the first place, huh?”

  “Damned straight.”

  Silence stretched between them, but this time it was comfortable, not awkward.

  In sharing their private thoughts, they’d bonded far beyond any ring. For the first time ever, Poppy had let a guy get close enough to form a real connection. And shockingly, it didn’t send her into a tailspin.

  As he held her tight, his silent strength so appealing, she had to admit she liked it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Divorce Diva Daily recommends:

  Playlist: “Beat It” by Michael Jackson

  Movie: Broadcast News

  Cocktail: Pick-Me-Up

  Beck put his game face on, the same one he’d used to great effect growing up.

  Every time his folks promised him a Christmas gift and forgot. Every time they missed his birthday. Every time he came home to find no food on the table and welfare shot up their arms.

  Then there were the countless times at school when he pretended every jibe, every putdown, every taunt didn’t hurt. Yeah, he’d become an expert of the game face from an early age and it had served him well in business. He didn’t play poker, but if he did, he’d win a squillion.

  He squared his shoulders and strode into the boardroom, ready to kick some corporate ass.

  This deal was his.

  He’d used whatever means necessary, including marrying a woman he was fast developing feelings for. A woman with the potential to undermine him far better than any business rival.

  As eight assessing stares swung his way, he quit thinking about Poppy. Time enough to contemplate his complicated personal life later.

  “Thanks for coming, gentlemen.”

  A few nodded, while Stan, the unofficial spokesperson, stood and shook his hand. “Looking forward to hearing what you have to say, Blackwood.”

  Beck nodded and Stan resumed his seat.

  The irony wasn’t lost on Beck. The investors had already heard what he had to say, basically salivated at the deal he’d put forward. If it hadn’t been for his site manager’s indiscretion and the investors’ old-school mentality, he wouldn’t have to go through any of this. But he would. He’d jump through their metaphorical hoops and add a cartwheel for good measure to secure this deal.

  He jabbed at a few buttons on his laptop and brought up a new PowerPoint presentation, a rehashing of the old with some minor adjustments. For the next thirty minutes he used his game face to great effect, adding animation when needed, producing the right enthusiasm to wow.

  Judging by the enthusiastic applause and general backslapping by the end of his presentation, he’d succeeded. There were no questions. He hadn’t expected any. They’d all been asked last time. When the group collectively looked toward Stan for guidance, Beck inadvertently held his breath.

  “You made some good points today, Blackwood. Expanded on your proposal from last time.” Stan paused and glanced around the group, making a grand show of equanimity. “What do you think, gentlemen? This proposal looks solid to me.”

  Murmurs of agreement filtered through the room and Beck exhaled in relief.

  “I think we’ve got ourselves a deal.”

  Beck resisted the urge to punch the air in victory. He settled for a sedate handshake with Stan and the other investors before they scuttled out.

  He’d done it.

  Achieved a lifelong goal.

  To make people sit up and take notice, to look at him with respect, not derision.

  The faster he got Stan’s signature on the dotted line, the faster he could get back to Poppy and celebrate.

  “You did good, better than the other contender.” Stan gathered up his things. “Your company has cleaned up its act and so have you.”

  Inwardly Beck seethed. One indiscretion by an employee and people like Stan tarnished his company. As for him, he’d never been all that wild to begin with, but amazing what a convenient marriage could do for a guy’s reputation.

  “Come by my office Monday and I’ll sign off on the deal.”

  Beck’s internal happy dance faltered. “I’ve got the documents ready to go now.”

  Stan stared at him as if he’d asked him to sign a new Declaration of Independence. “My attorney will need to look it over again, in case you’ve made amendments.”

  “I haven’t,” Beck said, his tone extremely well modulated when he felt like yelling in frustration.

  “Good. Then it shouldn’t take long and we’ll be ready to proceed Monday.”

  Beck had no choice.

  He’d be happier when the entire deal was signed, sealed, and delivered, but it was merely a formality. In high-end business, a man’s word was as good as a promise, so he’d sit tight over the weekend and wait.

  “Shall we say eleven Monday morning?” Beck asked.

  “Sure.”

  Beck escorted Stan to the door, grateful he had Poppy to distract him over the next forty-eight hours. He would’ve gone stir-crazy otherwise, watching the clock and waiting for Monday to roll around.

  Stan paused at the door. “You’ll be at the party tomorrow night?”

  Stan made it sound like he’d be attending a brothel rather than Lou’s divorce party.

  “Yeah, so will most of LA and Vegas, from what I hear.”

  Stan frowned. “Rather crass, don’t you think? Celebrating divorce?”

  Beck had no intention of getting into a moral argument with the sanctimonious do-gooder, especially when he was this close to securing his deal. “Lou sees it as celebrating his new life, not the divorce.”

  Stan’s bushy brows shot heavenward. “People should work harder at their marriages, not walk at the first sign of trouble.”

  Great. Beck could only imagine the lectures he’d cop when his divorce came through. The twinge in his chest was surprising. Conscience? Or something deeper? Something involving him and Poppy extending their marriage contract for a little longer… “Guess that’s up to the individuals. No one knows what goes on behind closed doors.”

  “True.” Stan pinned him with a probing stare. “How’s married life treating you?”

  “Couldn’t be better.”

  “Good to hear.” Stan leaned closer, like he was about to impart some long lost secret. “Your newfound stability went a long way to convincing the investors to sign.”

  “Really?” How Beck managed to say it with a straight face he’d never know.

  “Yeah, more people should focus on marriage rather than divorce.” Stan shook his head. “Nasty business, but my wife wants to attend the party and what the boss says goes.”

  Thank goodness Poppy had insisted on preserving her anonymity. Beck had a feeling even his marriage wouldn’t have been enough to save this deal if Stan and his conservative cronies discovered his wife was the one “perpetuating the crassness.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Beck ushered him out the door, his patience at a limit.

  “That you will.” Stan slapped him on the back one last time for good measure and Beck hid his distaste.

  He’d have to tolerate the buffoon for the duration of this deal, but thankfully once construction started in the various states across the country, Stan would be part of the behind-the-scenes moneymen and Beck wouldn’t have to deal with him much.

  When Stan disappeared behind the elevator doors, Beck’s EA glanced up from her desk with a raised eyebrow. He gave a thumbs-up and she grinned.

  He’d done it. Facilitated the deal of a lifetime for his company. And every state across the southern US would soon know who Beck Blackwood was. He should be rounding up his crew and heading to Blackwood’s for a round of drinks…or ten.

  Instead, he glanced at his watch, wondering how much longer it would take Poppy to arrive. He had the distinct urge to celebrate this deal with the one person who knew how much it meant to him.

  His wife.

  A title he was fast becoming attached to. And rather
than the urge to bolt as fast as his jet could fuel up, the idea of being married to her on a more permanent basis was growing on him.

  …

  As Poppy glanced around the room, filled with Californian and Nevadan movers and shakers, A-listers, and a few B-grade movie stars beneath a fairy-light star-studded blue velvet sky, she knew she’d done good.

  She’d gone all out for this party and it showed, from the ice-carved hearts to the fifteen-piece big band, the silver and navy color scheme, to the Michelin-starred hors d’oeuvres.

  People would be talking about Lou Robinson’s divorce party for a long time to come.

  In turn, Sara’s business would boom. Once she let her sis in on the secret, of course.

  Plenty of time for that. For now, she’d continue building clientele, Beck would become the biggest name in high-end construction America had ever seen, and they’d continue to grow closer. And that was really what had her floating tonight. Sure, a successful party was important, but not half as important as realizing the guy she’d married had opened her eyes to a world of possibilities.

  Namely, it was okay to risk your heart for a guy…if he was the right one. And that was exactly what she was on the verge of doing, if she hadn’t already done it.

  She’d fallen a little bit in love with her husband last weekend on that mountaintop, a feeling that had only intensified since. Seven days was a long time to miss someone, and the only thing that had stopped her from leaving Red Rock Canyon and heading to Vegas was her own stupid insecurities.

  What if he didn’t feel the same way?

  What if the ring he’d given her had been exactly as he said, a thank-you gift?

  What if she laid it all on the line, only to end up as devastated as her sister?

  Then she’d arrived last night and he’d gone a long way to alleviate her doubts.

  Rather than celebrating his deal’s success with a lavish dinner surrounded by his colleagues as she’d expected, he’d switched off his phone and they’d holed up in his penthouse, feasting on gourmet pizza and each other. And they’d talked some more, sharing their respective childhoods, strengthening the fragile emotional bond they’d established last weekend, until she could’ve quite happily stayed in his arms forever.

  She’d still be there, too, locked in his embrace, if she hadn’t had to work like a maniac today to confirm every party detail so she had to do nothing tonight but mingle like a guest. Ashlee was supposed to run interference for the party, being the staff’s go-to person, but her BFF had pulled out early this morning citing a migraine. Odd, considering her friend rarely had a headache. But Poppy hadn’t had time to ponder Ashlee’s excuse, considering she’d run around all day ensuring this party rocked.

  Thankfully it did, and as the big band launched into a Sinatra medley, she sighed with contentment. In another few hours she would secure twenty grand for Divorce Diva Daily and have enough new business to keep busy. When not lusting after her husband.

  “Great party.” Speak of the devil. Beck slid his arms around her waist from behind.

  She tilted her face up to receive his kiss. “Thanks. I hear this diva chick is hot property in the party planning biz.”

  “She’s hot property, period,” he said, nuzzling her neck until her skin pebbled. He held her tighter, and her butt encountered evidence of how hot he found her.

  “Hold that thought,” she said, wriggling against him, empowered when he groaned.

  “Stop, you’re killing me.”

  “Not yet, but the night is young.” She winked and turned in the circle of his arms, draping her arms around his neck. “I’m glad Lou chose a love theme for this party. Shows he’s not some bitter cynic.”

  “Yeah, gotta hand it to him, the big guy’s a romantic schmuck.”

  She laughed at his mock wince. “Makes me think there’s hope for the rest of us.” Hope for them. And that was what she wanted to tell Beck later. Poppy was done pretending this marriage meant nothing beyond business. Time to make their relationship real.

  She waited for him to disengage, to pull away on the pretext of greeting a long-lost buddy. Instead, his hold on her waist tightened as he met her stare dead-on. “Yeah, who would’ve thought, a confirmed cynic like me could have his mind changed by an incredible woman?”

  Poppy’s heart leaped. “Are you saying—”

  “There you two are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

  Silently cursing Stan Walkerville’s rotten timing, she dragged up a smile for the old guy. By the glower on Beck’s face as he released her, he was just as annoyed by Stan’s interruption. “Enjoying yourself?”

  Stan frowned and jabbed a finger in Beck’s direction. “I don’t take kindly to being made a fool of.”

  To Beck’s credit, he didn’t blink. In fact, his expression didn’t change at all and she admired his ability to maintain a poker face when she would’ve been tempted to sock the guy for speaking to them in that patronizing tone. “Not sure what you mean—”

  “This party,” Stan hissed, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth. “You knew what I thought of this celebrating divorce rubbish yet here you are, smack bang in the thick of it.”

  Unease crept down Poppy’s spine but she dismissed it as being overcautious. She gripped Beck’s hand and held on just in case.

  “Lou’s my CFO and a good friend. I had to be here—”

  “You know what I’m talking about.” Stan’s narrow-eyed glare swung her way. “Turns out your wife is perpetrating this divorce abomination and you’re both choosing to hide the fact.”

  Poppy swayed as her blood pressure dropped, the shock of Stan’s revelation ripping through her earlier confidence. That had been her problem, being too happy. With the job she’d done here, with the diva business, with her marriage. Pride falls and all that.

  “Let’s go discuss this somewhere more private—”

  “No.” Stan took a step closer and Beck held his ground. “There’s nothing to discuss. Either your wife stops this revolting business or our deal is off. Got it?”

  Beck showed the first signs of emotion, tension pinching his mouth. “Let’s be reasonable—”

  “I am.” Stan jerked a thumb over his shoulder at his wife, surrounded by a posse of equally nipped and tucked middle-aged women. “Bessie’s a senior minister in our church. I can’t be seen associating with anything distasteful, which is why I nixed your deal in the first place.”

  Beck opened his mouth to respond but Stan held up his hand. “You’re a smart businessman, Blackwood, but my patience is running thin. This is your last chance.”

  He jabbed a pudgy finger in Poppy’s direction. “Get your wife under control or kiss our deal good-bye.”

  Stan gave them both one last death glare for good measure before stalking away.

  “How the hell did he find out?” Poppy asked.

  Beck stared at her, wild-eyed. “Do you think that matters?” He swore and released her hand. “I’ve worked on this frigging deal for eighteen months and now it’s all down the toilet because of…”

  He didn’t need to complete the sentence. His body language and inability to look at her spoke volumes. Despite the fact that he’d put her in an untenable position, forcing her to accept his proposal, he blamed her business for this. Irrationally blamed her, when he’d been in control of this fiasco right from the very beginning.

  And in that moment, with her heart aching and the slow burn of tears stinging her eyes, she knew exactly why she hadn’t let any guy get this close before.

  Love hurt like a bitch.

  Uh-oh.

  She loved him? Sheesh, the good times just kept on rolling.

  “Go on, say it. It’s because of me.”

  He shook his head and turned away. She had her answer right there.

  “Don’t you dare turn your back on me after all I’ve done for you.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, incredulity warring with anger. “Yeah, you’ve been a real gi
rl scout. Altruistic. Not doing any of this for your own benefit.”

  A torrent of furious, hurtful retorts bubbled up and threatened to spill from her lips, so she clamped them shut. They’d already garnered a few curious glances from partygoers nearby, and no way would she give them fodder for tomorrow’s gossip columns.

  “This isn’t the place.” She snagged his arm and half dragged him away from the revelers. “Let’s go sort this out.”

  They headed for the door, and it irked that even at a time like this, he managed to paste a smooth smile on his face for the crowd.

  The consummate performer. And that’s when it hit her.

  He’d been playing her all along.

  The ring, the divulging of past truths, the time spent together—it was all a lie. A ruse by a player who had an objective in mind and would do anything to achieve it. Once the deal had been inked, he still needed her beside him, playing the dutiful wife, demonstrating to his precious fricking investors he was the man for the job.

  Well, screw them. And screw him.

  “In here.” She opened the door to a supply closet and yanked him inside. When he didn’t say anything, merely stared at her with blank, cool indifference, she lost it.

  “What’s it going to be? Your wife or your all-important deal?”

  “Calm down.” His icy tone raised goose bumps of trepidation and she surreptitiously rubbed her arms. “I can’t think with you carrying on like a banshee.”

  “Banshee?” Of course her voice screeched like one and she curled her fingers into her palms to stop from slugging him. “I told you how important it was for me to remain anonymous. Yet here we are, with that pompous jackass knowing everything and threatening you.”

  She wrapped her arms around her middle and hugged tight. Yeah, like that would stop the pain. “How the hell did he find out?”

  “Who frigging cares? Everything I’ve worked so hard for is in the balance.” He slammed the wall with his fist and she silently applauded. At last, some sign of emotion. “There’s only one solution here.”

  She knew what was coming before he spoke and it saddened her beyond belief that he’d expect it of her. “What’s that?”