Honest Betrayal

by Girard, Dara

  He glanced at Fiona. “I don’t know. I’m pretty busy.”

  “But I’ve seen you at the theater before.”

  He shot her a look, his voice cool. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “Stephen’s not into the theater stuff much,” Fiona said.

  Tima only nodded, unconvinced.

  Dinner became rather stilted afterwards and soon ended with no one ordering dessert. A light drizzle had started and the drivers offered to bring the cars around to the front of the restaurant. Fiona, Brenna and Ben chatted under the canopy.

  “I did see you at the theater,” Tima said coming up behind him.

  He continued walking.

  “Why did you lie about it?”

  “You didn’t see me.”

  “You shouldn’t stop yourself from doing things in fear that you’ll out grow others.”

  He spun around. “Are you finished?”

  “Maybe.” She lifted her umbrella. “Here, you’re getting wet.”

  He knocked it out of her hands. The wind set it flying down the parking lot then into a ditch. He swore. He’d never responded to a woman in anger. He stared at her, ashamed as the feather in her headband wilted. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. I knew you didn’t like me. I didn’t realize you had something against umbrellas too.” She pulled a plastic rain cap from her handbag and put it on. “There. All fixed.”

  He turned. “Let me go get—”

  She grabbed his arm. “Don’t worry about it. I needed to get a new one anyway.” She tried to push away the lingering sadness in his gaze. He looked young and lost standing in the rain. “I’m sorry for overstepping my bounds, but I do think you’d make a great lighting director. You get along with people and you’re good at what you do.” She shrugged and walked away.

  He followed. “You don’t know that.”

  “Brenna speaks highly of you.” She stopped in front of her car. He stared. “This is yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “A Mustang.”

  “1974.”

  He ran his hand lovingly over the hood.

  “Do you want to sit inside?”

  He glanced towards the restaurant. “Fiona’s waiting.”

  “So is Ben.”

  “I’ll get your seat wet.”

  “It’ll survive. Any more excuses?”

  He got inside and fawned over the interiors.

  “Come by one day and I’ll show you under the hood.”

  He ran his hand along the dashboard then stopped and sat back. “I just go to look. I don’t want to get too involved.”

  “Or in other words, Fiona doesn’t want you to.”

  He slanted her a harsh look. “I’m not pussy whipped if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m not.”

  He twisted the ring on his finger. “I love her that’s all. I don’t think that’s wrong.”

  She took off her cap and tossed it in the backseat.

  “Do you?”

  She looked in the rearview mirror and reapplied her lipstick. “Doesn’t matter what I think, remember?”

  He glanced at her then looked away. “It’s just sometimes it doesn’t feel enough.”

  “I love this car. It gets me places, provides shelter from the weather, I can sleep in it, eat in it get a DVD and watch a movie, listen to music. But it’s not a home. Sometimes you need that something extra. But only you know what it is. Now get out so I can get back to my date.”

  He got out. “Thanks.”

  She waved his thanks away and drove off.

  ***

  “I can’t believe how long it took you to get the truck,” Fiona said as they walked to his apartment. “Did you forget where you parked it?”

  “No, Tima was showing me her Mustang.”

  “In the rain?”

  “Yes.” He entered the apartment and headed to the bedroom to change. He returned and saw Fiona in front of the TV. He glanced out the window. “It’s stopped raining,” he said. “How about we go for a drive and see the Grand Yardley Hotel?”

  “It’s late and we just came back.”

  “I know it’s late, but the night is the right time to see the sun set behind the towers, to see lights reflecting on the water. We could pack a snack.”

  “If you’re hungry, I could go and make you something.”

  He sighed and sat down beside her. “No, never mind.”

  She touched the side of his face in a tender, fleeting gesture. “You’re acting strange. Is something wrong?”

  “No, nothing’s wrong.” He slid to the ground.

  “Funny how Brenna likes to tell everyone you’re some sort of a lighting genius. I hope it doesn’t embarrass you.”

  “Do you think I should be embarrassed that my sister’s proud of me?”

  “No.”

  After a moment he asked, “Are you proud of me?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “I’m thinking about the theater. Tima said—”

  “She was just being nice. I wouldn’t take anything she said too seriously. You know I visited a gallery once and saw one of her paintings on sale. Oh my god. You should have seen the prices. She makes a lot of money. She dresses tacky, but that blouse of hers was pure silk. I could tell. I bet you your sister set her up to say something to you.”

  “Probably.” He wouldn’t be surprised if she saw him as a kid. Brenna’s little brother. It was a humiliating thought.

  Fiona liked him as he was. He’d never make enough to treat her to fancy restaurants and stuff and that was fine. She didn’t complain like other women would. It was okay that she sometimes didn’t understand him, it wasn’t her job to. It was his fault for being restless not hers. He rested against her leg and stared at the screen.

  ***

  Brenna prepared for the banquet with care. She wasn’t nervous. She knew the gold dress with its plunging neckline and low back looked stunning against her skin. That her hair, which was pulled back and hung in ringlets about her face, complimented her subdued make-up and gold hoop earrings. Tonight she’d give her final performance and play the role well.

  When Hunter knocked on the door a half hour later, she took a deep breath and answered. She greeted him with a bright smile. “Hi.”

  He stared at her. “Where’s your dress?”

  Her smiled dimmed. “You’re supposed to be my fiancée not my father.”

  “So I’ll repeat the question. Where’s your dress?”

  “You don’t approve?”

  “It doesn’t look like you.”

  “I have hidden depths.”

  “Interesting since you’ve barely hidden anything else.”

  Her confidence began to falter. Perhaps this wasn’t the appropriate dress for a director’s wife. “You really don’t like it?”

  His eyes trailed the length of her. “You look sensational.”

  She swallowed trying not to choke on the compliment. “Thank you. Come in.”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her and promptly crashed into the side table. He softly swore and rubbed his knee.

  Brenna went towards him. “Are you okay?”

  Hunter held up a hand, fending her off. If she touched him, he may not be able to control himself. He was sure if he touched her dress, it would fall apart in his hands. The image made him groan. “I’m fine.” He limped to the couch and sat, trying to determine exactly what ‘fine’ meant. Physically he was fine; mentally he was a mess. He couldn’t think clearly. She was beautiful. Every bit the queen he’d met that afternoon weeks ago and he wanted her.

  He wanted her to be his. He wanted the charade to end, to really claim her and present her as his future wife. He didn’t want this to be their last night together. He scowled and turned away.

  “Perhaps this was a bad idea,” he said.

  She sat next to him and frowned. “You can’t back out now. Do you know how much this dress cos
t?”

  He inched away. “I’ll pay you. What is it—one, two thousand?”

  She hesitated the cost was considerably less than that. “Uh...no, but that’s not the point. We’ve come this far.”

  He rubbed his hands together, attempting to put everything into perspective. Okay, so he was attracted to her. Very attracted. He had been from the beginning. Tonight was different because of the dress. Yes, it was the dress’s fault. It was form-fitting yet left enough mystery to keep a man interested. It coated her like liquid gold, transforming her into a goddess.

  He drummed his fingers on his knee. The plan, he had to think about the plan. She was right. It was sound. Once he secured the director’s position, he’d focus on persuading her. He’d have lots of fun trying to. He jumped to his feet. Focus. He had to focus. Tonight was important. “This is the plan.” He looked at her. She gazed up at him offering her full attention. He couldn’t think of anything sexier than a woman hanging on his every word. He dove into her eyes, losing all thought.

  “What’s the plan?” she asked.

  He blinked. “Umm...”

  “Do we go to the party and introduce ourselves?”

  “Right.”

  “And basically follow the same routine that we did with my family?”

  “Correct.”

  She flashed a wicked grin. “Your plan sounds perfect.”

  He missed her sarcasm and nodded pleased. “Thank you.”

  Brenna’s grin turned to concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Hunter began to pace. He had to remember that this was Brenna. The woman he’d argued with days ago. The woman who’d slapped him. He touched his cheek, trying to conjure up the memory that was quickly fading. “So this is our last night.”

  She tilted her head to the side as she watched him, unsure of his strange mood. “Yes.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back. “I realize that you find my views of marriage archaic.”

  “While you find mine unrealistic.”

  He made a noncommittal sound not wanting to start another argument. “However, I feel that we do get on rather well.”

  She shrugged. “When we’re not arguing.”

  He stopped. “We don’t argue that much.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “No—” He continued pacing.

  She stood. “Are you trying to make a point or is this an odd attempt at small talk?”

  “Yes, I have a point.” Hunter opened the door feeling frustrated. “I’m trying to—”

  Brenna grabbed her keys. “You’re nervous. Don’t be nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous.”

  “Tonight I’m going to do everything I can to show them how stable and family oriented you are.”

  He let his shoulders drop knowing the topic was hopeless. “Thank you.” He followed her down the stairs. “I’d be a marriage bonus.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m different than other men.”

  “How?”

  “I’m me.”

  She laughed as she opened the front door to the spring air. “Hunter, I’d never mistaken you for anyone else.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The banquet met with Hunter’s prediction. There was a spiral staircase where Brenna stood to look out at the champagne waterfall, floor-to-ceiling windows and over three hundred guests.

  She seized Hunter’s arm. “You didn’t tell me there would be so many people.”

  He raised a mocking brow. “I thought you weren’t afraid of anything.”

  Her quaking nerves turned to steel. The next hour she played the role of his fiancée like a seasoned actress. Smiling not too wide, but enough to show interest, laughing at the jokes of inebriated managers, and chatting with corporate wives. Hunter never left her side. She wasn’t sure why, but didn’t question it, drawing strength from his presence.

  “Hunter!” a voice called. They both turned and saw a tall man with wavy brown hair and dark-framed glasses. He patted Hunter on the back in greeting. “So you’re still here.”

  Hunter nodded, used to the familiar phrase. “Yes. Daniel, I want you to meet my fiancée, Brenna Garrett.”

  Daniel smiled and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.” He turned to Hunter. “So am I ever going to convince you to jump ship and work with me?”

  “I’m making progress where I am.”

  Daniel turned his hazel gaze to Brenna. “Perhaps you can persuade him. The man’s a genius. The ideas he comes up with could change people’s lives, but they all end up in the Randolph warehouse. Tell him he’s being wasted where he is.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I could make him a rich man.”

  “I’m already rich.”

  Daniel quirked a brow. “Do you have an aversion to making more?”

  “I have an obligation to my family.”

  He sighed. “Your family doesn’t know how to use you. Besides I’m family too. I could—”

  Hunter held out his hand. “Let us end this conversation and remain friends.”

  Daniel nodded, recognizing defeat. “Here’s my card.” He handed one to Brenna. “Just in case he loses it—again.” He clasped Hunter on the shoulder. “I admire your integrity, but don’t let it cost you your life. Please think about it.”

  Hunter absently stuck the card in his pocket. “I’ll try.”

  Daniel sent Brenna a grin. “Make sure he does.” He turned and left.

  Brenna watched him intrigued. “Who was that exactly?”

  “A cousin. One of the Merediths.”

  “I see,” Brenna said although she didn’t understand the need for the distinction.

  “For some reason he sees me as an inventor.”

  “But you are. You invented this cane.”

  “True, but I’m more than that. Inventors are the little people of this world. Big business is where a man gains status and prosperity.”

  She stared at him amazed. “You can’t be serious. Think of the inventor of the light bulb or the traffic light or the computer.”

  “Brenna, there are those who invent things and those who get credit for it. Where do you think I want to be?”

  “Not all inventors are swallowed up by corporations. There are successful inventors who are valued in their field.”

  “I want to be bigger than a field.”

  “But—”

  He shook his head. “This discussion is useless. My family has invested in me. They paid for my education and I’ve always received what I wanted. I plan to repay them with my loyalty.”

  “At all costs?”

  “If that’s the price I have to pay—” He stopped and stared at an older man talking to a solemn group. He was slim, clean-shaven with a shark-like smile that reminded Brenna of someone.

  Hunter took her arm and led her away.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I would introduce you to Uncle Walter, but then you’d be forced to talk to him and I’d like to avoid that.”

  “You don’t like him?”

  “Doran’s his son.”

  “Then I suppose we should pity him.”

  “Why? He congratulates himself on that accomplishment. I know my own father would like me to be—” He bit his lip. “Anyway we’re safe now.”

  “Is this the one?” a booming voice asked.

  Brenna jumped; Hunter spun around. “Yes, Grandfather, this is the one. Brenna Garrett.”

  Orson’s cutting dark brown eyes surveyed her. She felt a sense of unease by the scrutiny. She wasn’t easily made anxious, but he came close. “Not quite what I expected.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Brenna said.

  “Don’t make hasty comments, my dear. You don’t know me yet.” He glanced at her cane. “Were you in an accident?”

  “Yes, it happened at conception.”

  “You were born this way? Shame.”

  “I only find poor manners a true shame.”

  Hunter stiffened; Orson sm
iled. “I’m old. I’m allowed to ask rude questions.”

  “But I didn’t give you permission.”

  His smile wavered. “Quite a woman of opinions.”

  “Every woman has opinions I just tend to express mine.”

  “So why did you choose Hunter?”

  “Aside from the obvious attributes, he created this cane for me. I’ve never met a man so clever.”

  Instead of looking pleased, Orson frowned. He slanted Hunter a glance. “Did he? And when did he find the time to do that?”

  “After hours,” Hunter said.

  Brenna shifted awkward by the sudden tension between them. “I think—”

  “What do you do?” Orson cut in impatient.

  “I’m the owner of Love by Design, a matchmaking service.”

  All polite formality left, leaving a cold piercing gaze. “And made quite a clever match for yourself.” Before Brenna could respond he turned. “You two better mingle.”

  Brenna watched him leave. She thought the sense of unease would disappear at his departure, but instead it grew. “I’m not sure I handled that right.”

  “You were fine.” Hunter took her elbow and led her to the ice sculptures. “However, I would prefer that you not mention the cane again.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “You didn’t know.”

  She furrowed her brows confused. “You’d think he’d be proud.”

  He shrugged. “Come. There are more people to meet.”

  ***

  Orson stood by the window eyeing the crowd, pleased with the success of the event. However, his gaze involuntarily continued to wander back to Hunter and his fiancée. Audrey approached him. “What has you looking so grim?”

  “Have you met Hunter’s fiancée?”

  “A very charming young lady.” He tapped his glass pensive. Of course she would say that, simple as she was. She didn’t know the necessity of a good match. He didn’t even know why he’d asked her. He saw his younger son Curtis. “Get that boy over here.”

  “That boy is over sixty.”

  He sent her a look of annoyance. “Which is younger than me. Get him.” Audrey caught Curtis’ attention.

  Curtis came over cautious. “You wanted me?”

  “Have you met Hunter’s fiancée?” Orson asked.