by Penny Reid
I didn’t delete the entry. If we were going to marry, he should know about my queso obsession. It was a problem.
I sent an email to the executive team, the administrative staff, and the senior architects right away, letting everyone know I would be taking my lunch from 10:30 AM until 1:30 PM, but would be working two hours early and staying late to make up the time.
My boss, the CEO, was out of town for the next two weeks, on a business trip in Helsinki, so I knew she wouldn’t care. When Ms. Opal arrived, she didn’t bring up my strange behavior from the prior day or my modified schedule, instead settling into her desk promptly at 7:20 AM and getting down to business.
Work was uneventful, but I was distracted. I must’ve checked the clock on my computer seven hundred times and almost jumped out of my chair when my cell phone rang at 9:34 AM. It was Eugene. I didn’t answer, opting to text him instead.
Me: I’m at work. What’s going on?
Eugene: He needs to sign the prenup.
Me: I don’t think that’s appropriate.
Eugene: Have him sign the prenup.
Me: I’m already asking a lot of him. It’s not appropriate.
Eugene: I’m serious.
Me: He’s very trustworthy.
Eugene: I don’t care if he’s Moses, he will sign that prenup.
Eugene: Kathleen. Assure me you will have him sign it.
Eugene: YOU MUST NOT GET MARRIED UNTIL HE SIGNS IT
Reading his last text, I couldn’t quite swallow. I’d never known Eugene to be a shouty-caps texter. Before I could respond, my phone buzzed. He was calling me again.
Flustered, and therefore handling my phone like it was a hot potato, I turned it off and tucked it into my backpack. Returning my attention to the pivot charts on my computer screen, I endeavored to decipher what I’d been trying to accomplish before his interruption.
I couldn’t. I was basically useless for the next forty-five minutes, sorting and resorting data, waiting for ten thirty to arrive. Thank goodness it was Thursday and I’d have a chance to catch up on work tomorrow and over the weekend.
Finally, finally it was time. Locking my computer, I was in the elevator by 10:31 AM. Lost to my thoughts, I didn’t see or hear the man in the lobby calling my name until just before he caught me by the elbow.
“Kat. Kat—hey, wait.”
Startled, I tugged my arm from his grip and turned on him. I’m not going to lie, my first panicked thought was that Caleb had arrived and I was too late, that his goons had come to collect me and lock me up.
When I saw who it was, I relaxed, releasing a self-deprecating laugh as my heart slowed. “Stan.”
Stan Willis. One of Quinn and Dan’s most trusted guards. He wore a black suit, black tie, and white shirt.
“Hey. Dan sent me to drive you.” He spun a ring of keys around his finger, his eyes moving over me as though to ensure I was unharmed. “Didn’t you hear me? Are you okay?”
“No, sorry. I was distracted. I’m fine. Sorry.” I fiddled with the buttons at my wrist, taking a moment to compose myself; Eugene’s text messages must’ve aggravated me more than I thought. “Please. Lead the way.”
Stan gave me another concerned once-over, then complied, walking slowly toward the exit and checking over his shoulder a few times to make sure I followed. “The car is right out here.”
He led me to a black SUV parked directly outside the building; it reminded me of the one Dan had driven last night. Stan opened the door to the back seat for me. Soon I was settled and he’d pulled into traffic. Feeling eyes on me, I glanced at the rearview mirror and found him studying me from the driver’s seat.
“Hey, is your phone off? Dan said he tried to call but it went to voicemail.”
“Oh. Yes. It is.” I reached my hand into my backpack, but then thought better of it. If I turned it on then I’d be hitting ignore on Eugene’s calls.
“Don’t worry about it; I’ll just let him know I got you and we’re on our way.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I turned my attention to the window, allowing my hair to fall forward to block me from any further inspection.
My long, thick, dark hair was my favorite feature about myself for exactly this reason; it allowed me to easily hide my face—and therefore my expression and thoughts—at will. It was like wearing a veil but without making an archaic, Miss Havisham-esque fashion statement.
If there was one literary character I didn’t wish to imitate, it was Miss Havisham. Maybe also every Edgar Allan Poe character ever. Except the Raven. That bird was cool.
Sooner than expected, Stan was pulling up to the County Clerk's office, stopping in a loading zone and jumping out to open my door. Before he could, I’d opened it myself, spotting Dan standing on the steps talking on his cell.
I gathered a deep breath through my nose, balling my hands into fists to combat jitters as I hungrily devoured the sight of him. I needed to look my fill before he spotted my ogling. Truly, I needed to work on subtle ogling. I was not at all good at it.
Dan stood in profile, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a phone to his ear. He wore a white T-shirt, jeans, and brown boots, and looked absolutely delicious. Absolutely. Delicious. I say delicious because my mouth began to water as though a platter of fancy French fromage had just been placed before me.
Dan turned, and I sensed he was about to look my way, so I dropped my eyes to the sidewalk.
At that moment I heard Stan shut the door behind me and sensed him take a step backward. “Hey. I’ll drive you back to Fairbanks after, okay?”
“Yes. That’s great. Thank you.” I gave him a quick smile, gathered a bracing breath, and lifted my chin to meet Dan as he approached. Here we go.
He still held the phone to his ear. Reaching me, he mouthed, I’m sorry while rolling his eyes, and slid his hand into mine, entwining our fingers.
I shrugged and shook my head quickly, hoping to communicate that he shouldn’t apologize. Together, we climbed the steps to the courthouse and through the gilt-edged art deco doors.
It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the interior, but Dan seemed to know exactly where we were going, guiding me down a short hall until we came to a security line.
“Hey, listen. I have to let you go. I have to go through a metal detector and I don’t think they want me on my phone in here.” He gave me a tight smile, nodding as he listened to the person on the other end of the call. “Okay. Okay. Uh-huh. Okay. Yeah. Bye.”
Closing his eyes briefly, he dropped the phone from his ear and ended the call, releasing a low sound of frustration.
“Is everything all right?” I thought I sounded pretty good considering he was holding my hand.
Let me repeat that: Dan O’Malley was holding my hand. We were holding hands.
I could’ve died happy in that moment, and that probably made me a complete wackadoodle. Clearly, I couldn’t stay focused around this man. I should’ve been anxious about the list I’d be sharing over lunch. I should’ve been worried about my malicious cousin and his array of lying witnesses. I should have been thinking of ways to adequately express my gratitude for what Dan was doing.
But instead, I was thinking about how very, very nice his hand felt in mine, and mine in his, and how strong and big it felt, and how it made me feel like I . . . belonged. Here. With him.
Wackadoodle. Not to be confused with a wack job. One is fun and fancy-free, the other is nasty and malicious.
“Yeah. Fine.” Dan glanced toward the metal detector and heaved a sigh. “I’m going to have to call him back when we’re finished.”
“It’s okay. Thank you so much for taking the time and I’m so sorry to—”
“No more apologizing.” His eyes cut to mine and his frown intensified. “And stop thanking me.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Well, you’re gonna, or else I’ll start charging you a tax.” His expression turned matter-of-fact. And also—if I was reading him correctly—a little teasing
.
“A tax?”
“Yeah.” He smirked, lifting his chin. “Every time you apologize you have to . . . uh . . .” His eyes narrowed.
“I have to what?”
“Shh. I’m thinking. It’s gonna be good though.”
I rolled my lips between my teeth so I wouldn’t respond with, Define good.
Turning away, I shook my head at myself. And shook myself.
What was I doing? Teasing? Or flirting? Flirting was not an option. Flirting might send him running in the opposite direction, calling the whole thing off. Or it might catapult us to awkward level ten. Thousand. Awkward level ten thousand.
Do you want to make things worse?
Before I could answer any of those questions, we had to separate as we came to the bag check. I left my backpack on the belt and walked through the metal detector. Dan followed, slipping his hand in mine once more, waiting for me to grab my bag before moving us to the reception desk.
As we approached, his cell rang. Visibly frustrated, he released me and pulled out his phone, checking the screen and answering it.
“Just a minute,” Dan said to the person on his cell. Moving the phone away and to the side, he lowered his voice and said to me, “Ask for Luis De Capo. He’s expecting us.”
I nodded once and approached the woman at reception when she waved me forward; Dan stood off to the side, talking on his cell.
“Hi.”
“Birth certificate?” She barely looked at me.
“Sorry. We’re here to see Luis De Capo.” I fiddled with my bag strap. “He’s expecting us.”
“Yes. Okay—he’s at the end of the line. Go ahead.” She indicated to a long, high counter with areas separated by black privacy screens; I turned my attention to the last cubby. It was the only one without a line.
Walking to Dan, I tilted my head in the direction the receptionist had indicated and he nodded, falling into step next to me. Moving to the counter, I spotted a man sitting on a stool working at his computer.
“Hello?”
He turned his head at my greeting, giving me a surprised but welcoming smile. Then his eyes moved beyond me to Dan and he abruptly stood.
“Hey. You’re here.”
“Sorry, Luis. All the emergencies are happening today.” Dan gestured to his cell as he tucked it in his back pocket, giving the man behind the counter a wan smile.
“No problem. Are you . . .” The man named Luis looked between Dan and me. “Are you the ones getting married?”
“That’s right, we—” His phone rang. Again. “Fucking helpless motherfuckers. Can’t do a single fucking thing on their own,” Dan growled, pulling out his phone as well as two folded pieces of paper, placing them on the counter. “Shit, I gotta take this. Here’s our info. I’ll be right back.”
Luis watched Dan move some steps away, then shifted his gaze to me; his eyes were wide and full of wonder. “I had no idea.”
“Pardon?”
“Congratulations. This is so great.” Luis beamed at me. “If I’d known he was the one getting married, I would’ve picked up some champagne or something.”
I returned his smile. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”
“Are you kidding?” Luis took the papers Dan had placed on the counter and continued as he scanned the documents, “Dan’s the man. And that makes you the woman.” As his eyes moved over the paper, his smile fell away. Luis blinked as though startled, his stare cutting to mine.
“Your name is Kathleen Caravel-Tyson?” The way he said my name, like he recognized it, sent a wave of foreboding goosebumps racing over my skin.
This was always the way. People didn’t recognize me, as there were very few pictures of me anywhere, but they usually recognized my real name.
I swallowed, uncertain what to do, but ended up nodding.
He lowered his voice. “The Kathleen Caravel-Tyson?”
Tucking my hair behind my ears unnecessarily, I said nothing, attempting to clear my face of any expression. Who I was—or wasn’t—was not his business.
His mouth formed an O, as though he were going to whistle, but he made no sound. Turning back to his computer, he went to work entering our information and sneaking curious glances at me every so often. My mind was working overtime. And I was sweating.
I didn’t know this guy. Dan trusted this guy, so I had to trust him, too. But I hated—hated—trusting people I didn’t know. I’d rather walk a tightrope between two skyscrapers than trust my well-being to a stranger.
Speaking of trusting people, the papers Dan had handed over were copies of my passport and birth certificate, my real passport and birth certificate. I had originals of both in my bag, so where the heck had he obtained his copies?
Equally confusing, and even more concerning? That meant Dan already knew my name.
Which led me to wonder, what else does he know?
The breadcrumb trail Eugene had helped Zachariah Tyson assemble pointed everyone seeking Kathleen Caravel-Tyson to a heavily guarded compound in Russia, owned by my father’s good friend, Sergey Kroft. The board of directors had been led to believe I lived just outside of St. Petersburg, where I’d been receiving an education from private tutors for the last ten years.
When I ran away, my father couldn’t bear the embarrassment of what I’d done, so he’d crafted a story and used a trusted web of people to make it look real. When I reemerged, I did my part by responding to inquiries about my absence with vague answers.
But my cousin had figured out the truth, obviously.
“Okay, all set.” Luis stood from his stool, his gaze flickering to mine and then away.
It was exactly how people treated me whenever I went to Boston, even by a few members of the board. Like all that money in my bank account meant I could steal their soul and feed it to Cerberus, who I obviously kept chained at a compound in Russia.
Luis passed me the folded sheets of paper as well as a new one: the marriage certificate. “Just—uh—bring this back and you’ll—uh—sign it when you—um—when the—when Lee does the ceremony.”
“Thank you.” I reached for the papers, intent on picking them up, but Dan appeared at my side and covered my hand with his.
I’m not going to lie, I liked it when he did that.
“Thanks for this, Luis.” Dan removed the papers from the counter and I heard him unzip my backpack; he slid them into the main pocket. “Saves us a lot of trouble.”
“No problem,” Luis answered a little too loudly.
Dan seemed to hesitate at Luis’s tone, his movements halting mid-zip of my backpack. Dan glanced at me, then to Luis, then me again. “Something wrong?”
Luis shook his head quickly.
I twisted the buttons at my sleeve, not knowing what to say and figuring, I think it freaks your friend out that I’m worth seventeen billion dollars wouldn’t help the situation, especially if Dan only knew my real name but hadn’t yet realized who I was.
“Oh, wait. She got you, didn’t she?”
I looked to Dan and found him aiming a big smile at his friend, chuckling.
Luis’s stare landed on me, suspicion and confusion written all over his features.
Draping an arm over my shoulders, Dan pulled me against him and leaned a little over the counter, whispering loud enough that I could hear, “Do you really think some billionaire heiress would be getting married to the likes of me?”
Oh . . . okay. So he does know. Well darn.
I was hot, and my heart thundered between my ears, and I was confused, too confused to speak. What else could I do? I followed Dan’s lead.
Giving Luis a self-deprecating shrug, I hoped it was believable. Dan squeezed my shoulders, smoothing his hand down my back until his strong arm settled along my waist; everything about his touch felt possessive, like he was putting on a show for the benefit of a single audience member.
Luis looked to me and then at Dan, the stiffness easing from his features as he blew out an expansive breat
h. “She really had me going.”
Dan chuckled some more, shaking his head at Luis as he backed away from the counter, bringing me with him. “See you next week. And hey, bub. If you see Brady and Giselle, tell them we say hi.”
“Ha-ha.” Luis rolled his eyes, but was also smiling. “Get out of here.”
Keeping me tucked to his side, Dan maneuvered through the sparse collection of people waiting to be called to a window, past reception, glancing behind him as we exited through the front door.
Once outside, his smile fell suddenly and completely away, and he steered us down the steps to the sidewalk. “I should have anticipated that.”
“What?” I kept my eyes forward, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. With all this thinking I was doing, I was surprised my brain had extra capacity for movement.
“That.” He motioned with his head toward the building we’d just left. “Better he doesn’t know until after it’s all said and done. Luis owes me a favor, and he’s a good guy, but—you know—the idea of money does funny things to people.”
It certainly does.
His arm was still at my back, his hand at my waist. My hand had somehow moved to his waist as well, though I didn’t remember that happening. Everything about the last twenty-four hours had been surreal, including this moment. I was tucked snugly against him, and it was strange walking with Dan. Like we knew each other well. Like we regularly spent time in each other’s company.
I couldn’t decide what to ask. I had so many questions, I couldn’t settle on one. Obviously, I needed a moment to sort through my own frantic thoughts before I trusted myself to maintain my composure. So we walked in silence for several blocks while my mind went in circles.
Finally, after much internal debate, I decided to ask the most obvious and benign question first, “Where are we going?”