by Amy Brent
Knowing that those were crazy thoughts induced by too much work and not enough sleep, I kept my distance and tried to remain professional and out of his business. But my efforts only lasted until after dinner when all the other passengers were either sleeping or with their headphones on. He pressed the call button for yet another refill of his bourbon and I was quick to answer.
“You know that there’s a limit of how much you can drink in the air, right?” I asked him in a friendly tone I hoped would alleviate some of my intrusion.
He raised one perfectly groomed black brow and retorted, “And what would that limit be?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted with a shrug, then added, “But I think you’re at least two shots beyond it.”
Mr. Walker sighed and nodded, but remained quiet for a few seconds. Then, just as I was about to turn around and walk away, he said, “I just buried my father today. I’ve looked up to him my whole life and considered his old ass my best friend, and in return, all I received was this letter right here.” He raised the envelope he had been holding in the air and looked at it. “His last goddamned words for me and they were disappointing as shit.”
His words tugged at my heartstrings, and though I knew I should keep quiet and just listen, my curiosity got the best of me. “Why were they disappointing?”
“Because they proved that he never really knew me,” he deadpanned, demonstrating that by some miracle he was a lot less drunk than I initially thought. “The only thing I’ve ever wanted was to be him—the powerful CEO of the company I helped to build—but instead of giving me that, he slapped me with a marriage clause.”
My brows pulled together in confusion. “A what?”
“A marriage clause,” he repeated. “Apparently, being married to my work wasn’t good enough for him, and so, he wrote a will stating that I can only receive his shares in the company and assume my rightful place there after I’m married.”
“Wow,” I said, not really knowing what else to say.
Chuckling, Mr. Walker nodded and agreed, “Yeah, wow. Unbelievable, right?”
I looked at him—really seeing him for the first time—and tried to put myself in his father’s shoes. Despite his powerful appearance, there was a loneliness in his eyes that was confirmed by the fact that he was on a plane, alone, on the day he buried his father. As a mother, I had to admit that the thought of leaving your child alone and lonely in the word has a very bitter taste.
“Not really,” I said before measuring my words. His face hardened, but since I had already put my foot in my mouth, I had no other option than to explain myself. “I’m the mother of a twenty-two-year-old who is in a committed relationship with becoming a doctor, and I worry that if I die tomorrow, she’ll be left alone and with no one to care for her. So, I understand your father. If I knew that there was a sure way to assure that wouldn’t happen with Jessica, I promise you I would take it.”
He was silent for a few moments as he pondered my words. Then, he asked, “But do you think it’s fair for him to meddle like that? To force me to have a relationship when I clearly don’t want one.”
“No, it’s not fair, but most dying wishes aren’t. My mother, for example, asked me to bake a pie for my cheating father with her ashes mixed in.”
Mr. Walker blinked a few times at me before bursting into a fit of laughter. Once his outburst subsided, he asked, “Did you do it?”
“Of course, not,” I assured with a shake of my head. “She’s in her urn right at the center of my mantel. I loved my mother too much to let her turn into shit, especially my bastard of father’s shit. What I did instead, was tell him that she had confessed to me, on her deathbed, that I might not be his daughter. It was BS, but the look on his face was the revenge we both needed and a much better sight than a mouthful of ash.”
He raised his brows at me and gave me a smirk that was almost admiring. “And you don’t feel like you cheated by not honoring her request?”
I shook my head. “Not at all. What she asked for was revenge, not the actual pie, and though I didn’t follow it to the letter, I still honored her wish. Maybe it was the same for your dad. Maybe he knew that you couldn’t just pull a wife out of your hat, but he still wanted you to open yourself to the possibility of having a family. What you have to figure out is how to give him what he wanted while still remaining true to yourself.”
After a few more seconds of silence, he surprised me with a smile and a question. “Are you happy as a flight attendant . . .” he trailed off as he read my name off my employee card, and finished, “Pam?”
I raised a brow and nodded, “As a matter of fact, I am. Pays like shit, but it’s fun.”
“Too bad,” he said with a click of his tongue. “If you were unhappy I would invite you to come work as my advisor. You seem like a brilliant woman.”
Despite myself, I blushed at his comment but before I could reply, there was a ding, and a light came up a few rows down. I looked at it and sighed.
“Well, thank you for the offer and the compliment, Mr. Walker, but I’m afraid that’s all the insight and advice I have. Now, if you’ll excuse me, duty calls.”
He nodded, and I turned to walk away. Before I could even take a step, however, his voice reached my ears again. “Thank you, Pam.”
“You’re welcome, sir. I really hope you find a way to honor your father and get your company.”
As I walked away, I couldn’t help the feeling of mission accomplished flowing in my veins.
Chapter 4 – Ben
Pam’s words stayed in my mind for the rest of the week. I couldn’t stop thinking that she had a very valid point and maybe I was looking at this whole marriage clause wrong. Maybe it really was just about my father wanting to make sure I was okay and, if that was the case, then I could find a way out of this mess without signing away my life to a wife I didn’t want.
Knowing that there was only one place for me to get the answers I needed, the first thing I did after returning from NYC was to drive over to Hank’s house. I parked my Bentley in the driveway of his modest home—or at least, modest by Bel Air standards—and made my way to his front door. After three knocks, his face appeared on the other side of the glass.
“Benji,” he greeted me by the nickname only he and dad ever used and pulled me in for a tight hug. Being called Benji at forty was odd, but after recent events, it was a nostalgic oddity I enjoyed. “I wasn’t expecting you,” he added.
I nodded as we pulled away. “I know, but I just got back and wanted to talk to you before the board meeting tomorrow. Is now a bad time?”
His lips parted into one of the broad smiles I had seen my entire life. “It’s never a bad time for you, son. C’mon in.”
He stepped away from the threshold and opened the door wider, welcoming me into his home. The house hadn’t changed one bit from when I was a kid. The walls were still painted the same cream color, and the floors were still covered with the same ethnic rugs. He guided me through the long corridor that connected the foyer to the double doors of his home office.
The smell of paper and wood filled my nostrils as we walked inside the old-school wood paneled room. I smirked thinking of the many times I sat in the corner while Dad and Hank talked business at the long table by the window.
“Do you want something to drink?” Hank asked as I took a seat at one of the chairs facing his side of the desk.
Needing a clear head to properly navigate the delicate subject, I passed on the drink and waited until he was seated. Just as I opened my mouth to finally start the conversation I needed to have, Hank put on his reading glasses and pulled a folder from his top drawer. He tossed a stack of papers over to me and placed a second one right in front of him.
“What’s that?” I asked, looking down at the papers.
Hank raised a brow at me. “What you came here for, and don’t deny it. You and I are gonna read your dad’s will together and see what we can do about your situation. I really want to help you, s
on, and I’ve told Kevin that much, but I’m bound by law to uphold his wishes. I hope you understand that.”
I sighed but still nodded. Hank wasn’t only my father’s friend. He was family, and I knew he was on my side. He’d always been.
“Okay,” I started picking the papers up from his desk. “What does this thing states.”
With a small smile on his lips, Hank picked up his version of the will and started explaining me the terms clause by clause. Aside from some money to charity and personal belongings he wanted his closest friends to have, I had received everything dad owned. The money, the houses, the cars, the art and jewels, everything, except for his shares and duties to our company, was now mine.
Then, after that was settled, we arrived at the damned marriage clause. The text was quite straightforward. A mere seven line, meddling paragraph that wreaked havoc in my personal life.
Once we were done reading it, I removed my glasses and propped my forehead in my palm. “Can’t I buy his shares instead, then?” I demanded, trying to find another way.
Hank pulled his glasses off as well and shook his head. “No, to protect what is rightfully yours, Kevin has already transferred the bonds to your name. However, they are bound to the marriage clause and will only be released after your first wedding anniversary.”
“And what if I don’t get married? Then a third of the company will just be in limbo forever?”
“No,” Hank assured. “The fourth article of that clause states that if you die without an heir, those shares will be divided equally through the members of the board.”
It took a while for the information to sink in. Once it did, I tossed my glasses and the will over Hank’s desk and stood up. Pacing back and forth, I tried to calm my mind, but it was impossible. I brought a hand to the back of my neck and tried to massage the tension away, but it was also a losing battle.
“I understand that my father wanted to make sure I was okay after he died, but marriage, Hank? I’m a forty-three-year-old man, if I’m not married yet is because I know it won’t make me happy. That was him, not me.”
The exasperation in my tone must have been so apparent that Hank got up as well, filled two glasses with bourbon and brought one of them to me. I downed the contents in one gulp as I listened to him say, “I know, and I told him that, but he was adamant that you at least give family life a shot. That’s why the marriage has to last only a year.”
Hanks words shined on me like a light at the end of the tunnel. They also brought Pam and the story of her mother’s last request back to my mind.
This whole time I had thought that to fulfill my dad’s last wish I would have to forgo my bachelor ways and commit myself to a woman for life. However, if all my father wanted was for me to try marriage for one year, there was a way for me to give him what he wanted while also keeping the freedom I needed and the life I loved, just as Pam had given her mother revenge without actually feeding her father the ashes. I just had to make sure my brewing plan would work before I put my foot in my mouth.
“And if I give marriage a try and it doesn’t work out, will I lose the company?” I asked Hank in my leveled and business like voice.
He tilted his head at me knowing I was up to something. “No. If you make it to a whole year of marriage and then get a divorce, the shares and the company will remain yours. But I must warn you that article five says that before you can completely take over, the board and I have to make sure she’s actually a wife and not one of the gold-digging floozies you hang out with. She’ll have to live with you, attend events and prove that she’s a part of your life and not just a prop.”
With a real smile forming on my face for the first time in weeks, I said, “C’mon, man. I’d never marry a floozy. I’m not a moron.”
“But you will marry?” Hank asked with a raised brow.
I shrugged, placed my empty glass on top of Hank’s desk and patted his shoulder as I prepared to leave. “That is yet to be determined. All I can say is that I’ve recently met a woman who would fill that position perfectly. I just have to get her to say I do.”
Chapter 5 — Pam
“Do you think it would be a bit much if I went down and kissed the tarmac?” I asked Gina, one of my crewmates for this trip, as we finally finished cleaning the aircraft.
She laughed at my comment while retrieving our suitcases from the crew cabinet. “Maybe, but that all depends on how long you’ve been away from home.”
“If you don’t count the whopping five hours I had at home last Monday before I hauled my ass back to a plane to cover for a friend, I’ve been away for eleven days.”
“And how many flights?” she asked with a raised brow.
I sighed and stole a glance at her as we finally exited the plane and stepped foot on LAX. “Nine.”
Gina’s eyes widened a bit, and her voice sharpened. “Okay, kissing the tarmac sounds about right. I can cover for you if you want.”
We both laughed as we made our way to immigration. This was our first time flying together, and I had thoroughly enjoyed it. She was younger than me but still very competent, funny and had a knack for nicknaming annoying passengers, which was my favorite kind of job humor. Working with her was almost like working with James but with less drama and someone to share the paperwork with.
“Thanks,” I said still giggling. “But I think I’m just going to be grateful I’m back and run home before someone decides to put me on another flight.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Gina agreed with a wink. Then, after a second, she asked, “Are you working that much because of the promotion?”
My brows pulled together in confusion. “What promotion?”
“They’re opening a few slots for international business and first class. There are some requisites to submit an application, and one of them is a minimum amount of flight hours as an international crew member, which is why my ass will be on another flight tomorrow morning.”
First class international was the dream of every flight attendant—this one included—and I was beating myself for not knowing about this. As we waited for immigration and made our way to the crew lounge to turn in our papers, I grilled Gina for information, and by the time we finally arrived at the room, I was confident in my chances.
Despite being extremely tired and in desperate need of a shower, my body was humming with excitement at this new opportunity. Anxious to go home, Gina clocked out and dashed back out in the blink of an eye, leaving me alone in the nearly empty room to browse for more news on the job I so desperately wanted.
Ignoring the handful of girls gathered around a man in a suit at the other end of the room, I walked to the bulletin board and started looking for the information about the promotion that Gina had told me about. Just as she had said, the poster was right at the center of the board, and I wasted no time to start reading it.
I was so engrossed in the information that I only realized someone was calling me when Megan Hansen—a petite and not very nice brunet I had seen in one of James’ parties—yelled my name. Slightly annoyed, I turned around to look at her and saw that not only her eyes but her friends’ as well were focused on me.
“Hi, Megan,” I greeted out of pure politeness.
A wicked smile formed on her face but I barely paid attention to it. My focused suddenly became entirely focused on the handsome and sharp dressed man standing between her and her friends.
Not remembering faces of passengers is kind of an occupational hazard for flight attendants. After all, we see so many people every day it’s hard to tell them apart sometimes. The face staring back at me, however, was one that had made an impact.
Mr. Walker.
Before I had a chance to greet him or ask what he was doing here, Megan’s voice echoed through the air once again. “Ben here was asking for you. Apparently, you two have a thing.”
There was a bite in her words, as if she couldn’t believe a man like Mr. Walker—or Ben, apparently—could ever be interested in me.
Although her words made me thoroughly confused, I refused to let that awful woman get the best of me.
With a pounding heart and a stubborn attitude, I spread a broad smile on my lips and said, “Apparently, we do.” Turning my attention to him, I walked in their direction and added, “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he said with a shrug, as if we really were something. Once I arrived in front of him, he placed a hand on my waist and kissed my cheek. “Thought I could take you out for dinner. There’s something very important I want to talk to you about.”
Our little display, though awkward as hell to me seemed convincing enough to make Megan and her harpies to lose interest and walk away. Once we were alone, I pushed Mr. Walker’s hand away from my waist and raised a brow at him.
“What’s happening here?” I demanded.
With a side smirk on his lips, he looked at the door behind me and said, “Apparently, we just told some mean girls to fuck off. Hadn’t done that in a few years. It was fun.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I retorted with a roll of eyes. “I’m asking about the thing we seem to have and the dinner you want to buy me. What the hell?”
Now, it was his turn to raise a brow at me, but where mine had been challenging his was teasing. “Well, we do have a thing. We talked about our crazy ass parents and their final wishes. That’s a thing. And, you’re a beautiful woman, Pam. Is it that hard to believe I would want to take you to dinner.”