Soft Target

by Mia Kay

  “Woof.”

  Maggie dropped her head to the bar and hid her face in the crook of her elbow. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

  “Not a problem.” Gray picked up the bouquet. “Let’s go out back. If you’d like.”

  “I would, thanks.” She lengthened her stride to catch up, and he took her hand once they descended the stairs.

  When the glass shattered at her feet and her muscles turned to rubber, he was there to catch her. Leaning against him, she closed her eyes and listened to the wind in the trees. She’d done this for years, pretending it was the ocean. The sunshine helped. She missed the beach. Maybe she should go there first.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  And just like that, her fantasy changed. He was next to her, holding her hand the way he’d done when they’d looked at clouds. His other hand tightened on her stomach, keeping her still.

  “Yeah.” She should move. “Yes. Thanks. I should... Scrabble.”

  He stroked her stomach with his thumb. “I was thinking. Maybe we can revise our agreement.”

  If he didn’t quit whispering, she was going to melt into a puddle with the ruined irises. “How?”

  “No fraternization in the building,” he murmured as he kissed the tender spot beneath her ear.

  When she turned, intending to say no, his eyes reminded her of the blue flame of a gas stove. They finished melting her muscles, and his kiss melted her bones. He sampled her mouth the way some people ate dessert or drank wine—savoring each flavor and then coming back for another taste, demanding more each time. His soft cotton shirt tickled her fingers as they roamed up his chest to his shoulders. His arms tightened around her and his body rippled and flexed at her touch, frustrating her that fabric was between them.

  Cupping her ass, he tugged her to him and she wriggled closer, wanting his fingers to move. She dragged her lips from his to taste his jawline, shivering as he groaned in her ear and stroked her from hips to neck and back. Her nipples pebbled under her bra until the lace scratched them. She wanted his fingers there, his tongue.

  The roar and rattle of a dump truck and the hiss of air brakes at the intersection recalled them to their surroundings. They stopped, but clung together until they’d regained their composure.

  The breeze between them chilled her skin as they walked back. When they reached her car, she brushed her lips against his cheek.

  He kissed the top of her ear. “Go Scrabble.”

  * * *

  Two hours later, a laughing Faye shooed her out the door. “Go home. Come back when you remember how to spell.”

  “Hey. Everyone has an off day.”

  Off day. Day off. Maggie’s brain whirred as she trotted to the car. Maybe they could take a day off. He could come upstairs. No. The agreement was not in the building. They could go to the Inn. No. That gossip would be spread across town by five tonight. Which was closer, Hastings or Baxter? And how did she broach the subject?

  A sense of dread crept over her as she made her way across town. Deep in her soul, Maggie knew it had nothing to do with trying to seduce her business manager. It’s nothing.

  Still, fear eddied and swept around her as she circled the courthouse. It’s nothing. Everything’s fine.

  On Broadway, her stomach began to churn. By the time she got to the library, she was speeding.

  Nate’s truck was parked in back—in the middle of the day. Oh God.

  She tiptoed up the steps, through the door and down the hall. In the great room, Gray, Nate, Fitz and Tom Tyler Sr. were gathered around a table. Her attorney, her accountant, her brother and her business manager slash boyfriend. They each looked various shades of awful.

  “Where’s Faith?”

  “She’s fine,” Nate assured her. “Everyone is fine, Maggie.” His words eased her mind, but the anxiety didn’t dissipate.

  “If this is about what happened today with Max,” she began, crossing her eyes at Gray, “I said I was sorry and I’ve already delivered cookies to the station.”

  Gray’s smile was thin. “It isn’t that. Could you come join us?”

  She sat but kept her eyes on his face. In this light he looked green. “You look awful,” she whispered. If possible, that made him greener.

  Tom spoke first. He’d always reminded her of the poker-playing bulldog on those velvet paintings. “Gray’s asked some questions about Mathis and your grandfather’s estate planning. We thought it would be best if everyone was here.”

  Okay.

  “Ollie set up one trust for each of you, and your inheritance went there.” Gray’s voice was strained. “You’ve each gotten cash twice, once at Ollie’s death and once at thirty. What did you do with it?”

  “We invested it in the companies,” she explained. “Was that wrong?”

  He shook his head. “No, but this last trust distribution is the remaining cash and all the stock.”

  “Right, Nate and I each get half at the end of the year when we turn thirty-five.” Maggie looked around the table. Now everyone was green except Fitz, who was frantically scribbling on his notepad. Nate wouldn’t look her in the eye. “What’s wrong?”

  Tom took the floor again. “Ollie did these trusts when you and Nate were children, and there were some odd provisions in there. He’d met with me about changing it, but the accident...”

  Translation: Granddad died without seeing his lawyer.

  “I thought he’d signed it, Maggie. I’m sorry. I’ve been working off the assumption I had a signed amendment, but I don’t. It’s not binding.”

  “Why does this matter? We’ve met every requirement he set.” I’ve done everything he ever wanted. Skip prom, Maggie. Study business, Maggie. Wait, Maggie.

  “Without the amendment, the original provision stands,” Gray said as he drew in a deep breath. “You and Nate have to be married for at least six months before your thirty-fifth birthdays.”

  “What? I don’t believe you. Let me see it.”

  He put the documents in front of her and kept a hand at her back while she read. The warmth was comforting until she reached the provisions he’d circled.

  “What does this mean?” she whispered.

  “It’s a convoluted explanation,” he replied.

  Translation: It’s a fucked-up mess because Tom Sr. was never the best attorney.

  “Basically, if you’re not married and have no children, what’s left in your share goes to Nate’s children, not Nate. Why Ollie wouldn’t—”

  “Granddad believed in future generations having responsibility,” she sighed. “It’s why I got Grandma’s stock instead of it going to Dad.”

  “Okay. But he didn’t make any provision to keep it in trust for Nate’s future children. Why?”

  Tom cleared his throat. “He and Anne had Ron in their late twenties. Ron wasn’t much older when the twins were born. For Ollie, thirty-five was plenty of time for a family.”

  “So if they didn’t have any by then, they weren’t going to,” Gray summarized. “God, what a mess.”

  “What now?” Maggie croaked.

  “If you’re not married, your trust treats you like you’re dead. And if Nate doesn’t have kids, it treats him like he’s dead. It distributes to Ollie’s next living relatives—his cousins in Florida, or their children if they’re deceased.”

  “They spend money before the ink’s dry! And they didn’t even come to his funeral. Because I’m not married they get half of what I’ve busted my ass for since I was ten years old? How could he do this?”

  “You can argue the provision is against public policy,” Gray reasoned. “I’ll help you.”

  “How long would it take?”

  He frowned, thinking. Her future was hanging in the balance, and he was calculating. The longer he thought, the tighter her
chest grew.

  “We could try for an emergency hearing,” he finally said, “but there’s a provision about fighting his wishes. Win or lose, you may lose simply because you fought.”

  Tom took over again. “We called your cousins’ attorney, just to float it by him. They’ll pursue it. If you fight, they’ll claim you’ve violated the terms.”

  She stared at the floor and clenched her fists to keep from screaming at her grandfather’s attorney. She wanted to go to the cemetery and kick over Ollie Mathis’s headstone.

  “What about Nate’s share? What happens to it?”

  “He’ll get it because he’ll meet the deadline.”

  “Well, that’s something, anyway. I’ve got enough money—”

  Now her brother’s gaze met hers. “But with Grandma’s stock your trust has the controlling interest.”

  Granddad had told her having all her stock in one place would make it easier to manage. Turns out it was just easier to lose. Everything was too damn easy to lose. Cold dread replaced her anger. “So I might lose, I might win only to lose anyway, and I might end up in limbo while an appellate court decides the future of everything we’ve worked for and everyone who depends on us. Then it would be too late.”

  Gray sat back in his chair, a dubious expression on his face. To prove she wasn’t a drama queen, Maggie pressed her point. “They’d own the majority of Mathis, Gray. Even if they kept Nate on, they’d run it into the ground.”

  “Maybe they’d be reasonable,” Gray said.

  She rolled her eyes. “They’re about to sue me because I don’t want to get married.”

  His wry smile twisted as he motioned for her to continue.

  “Fewer jobs, fewer employees, plant closures. Gray, we employ almost five hundred people, multiply that by four to take their families into consideration. That’s two thousand people in Fiddler who depend on us. It doesn’t count Rhett’s company. There’s another thousand.”

  “Faith’s too,” Nate whispered.

  She nodded. “Insurance, retirement, tuition reimbursement, health care. And then there’s the impact of less consumer spending because payrolls will be short. Lower sales tax and property tax collections. And what we donate—tithes, scholarships, matching donations...”

  As Gray’s eyes widened, Fitz slid a piece of paper across to her. It was a list. Rex Simon, Rhett Maxwell, Bill Granger, Max Caldwell, Rick Marcus, Chet Andrews, Barry Stanley.

  All the eligible men in Fiddler were accounted for. All except her business manager.

  “Are we done here?” She looked from man to man. “I need to get ready to open.”

  The other three left, and she walked to the window. The sky was still blue, the sun still shined. Broadway was busy with standard Monday afternoon shopping. Familiar faces smiled and waved, unaware of their peril. Gray came to her side.

  “Is it still prison if the jailers love you?” she asked.

  His fingers closed over her shoulder, but his strained smile wasn’t encouraging. “I have three weeks to fix this. Let me try.”

  * * *

  Maggie spent all evening behind the bar, staring at her friends and alternately considering them as potential stalkers and potential husbands. The longer she stared, the angrier she became.

  By closing, her face ached from smiling but she kept the expression for a few more minutes and turned to Gray. “Can I talk to Nate alone?”

  He tilted his head and his smile widened. “It’s my duty as best man to make sure he’s in one piece for the wedding. Do you promise not to hurt him?”

  She crossed her heart.

  “He’s all yours. I’ll see you in the morning.” He squeezed her fingers as he passed.

  The back door closed, and Maggie turned to her brother. “No, Nathan. I won’t do it. I’ve got Faye’s house, this place, and Grandma’s money. I won’t do this.”

  “Mags—”

  “No.” She shook her head. “He can’t make me do this from the grave.”

  “He’s making me do it too! I’m going to squeak in just under the wire.”

  “Well isn’t that great for you!” she sneered.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nate, all your life you’ve wanted to build things, and look at what you get to do for a living. You wanted to be surrounded by your friends, and you are. You fell in love, and you’re getting married like a normal person. You don’t have to change houses or church pews, or even bedrooms. You have everything.”

  “Are you saying you don’t want to do this anymore?” he asked, his eyes wide.

  “I’m saying I don’t know what I want, but I deserve to find out.”

  “Is this about David?”

  “This is about me. I’ve done this since I was ten years old. I have a carefully crafted life of working in the background and not garnering attention so no one would think I was hoarding all the blessings or getting a bigger break or whatever the hell Grandma was worried about. I couldn’t be a cheerleader or homecoming queen. I couldn’t even win a fucking spelling bee. I have given everything, and this job just keeps taking. When is it enough?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Is this because Faith doesn’t want to step in?”

  “Fitz gave me a list! Tom tells me he’s sorry, you stare at your shoes, and Fitz gives me a list of men to choose from, most of whom work for us.”

  “Rhett doesn’t.”

  “He has a girlfriend.”

  “Rex Simon is single.”

  “Listen to yourself. Am I supposed to trade the rest of my life for gravel?”

  Nate thumped onto a bar stool wearing an expression she hadn’t seen in ten years. She plopped onto the opposite stool and stared back. The tick of the clock filled the silence between them. When he stood, he looked years older.

  “We’ll figure this out. Maybe Gray will find a solution.”

  Gray hadn’t even put his name on the list.

  She walked her brother out and then trudged to her apartment, clutching a copy of the trust. She curled on the sofa and read the document until her eyes blurred. That’s when she saw the loophole. Married for six months before our birthday. Nothing about after.

  Married, but not permanently. She sat upright and put her feet on the floor, borrowing its solidity. Could she do this?

  Pacing, she continued to think over her plan. Without realizing it, she was in her closet staring at her box of dream vacations. If this worked, it would give her a perfect excuse to leave. As far as everyone was concerned, she’d be following her husband. Just like they’d expected her to follow David. She’d be free.

  Her gaze flitted around the room as excitement thrummed under her skin. And maybe he’d stop once he realized she refused to be a pawn in his game.

  Her hope renewed, Maggie went to bed and stared at the ceiling and the leafy shadows cast by the streetlight. She’d do it after Nate’s wedding so he couldn’t stop her. Then she’d return, show off her fake husband and stay long enough to be sure her stalker got the message. After that, she’d run away from home.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Two weeks later, Gray was again in the country club ballroom in his tux and exhausted. All day he’d bounced between corralling Nate, who’d become a nervous groom, and keeping an eye on Maggie while she fussed over Faith.

  Now the wedding was over. Nate was Faith’s responsibility, and Gray had Maggie to himself. If he could find her. Walking past a window, he saw her hair glowing silver in the moonlight and slipped outside.

  Her hiding spot was behind a hedge on a bench that overlooked the first tee box and a small pond too close to be a water hazard. Its still surface had trapped the moon. When his shadow fell across her lap, she jumped like a startled animal.

  “Geez, clear your throat or somethi
ng.”

  Without waiting on an invitation, he sat and shared her view, relieved the rest of her body was still attached to her head. The steady beat from the ballroom accompanied the chirp of crickets and the thrum of frogs. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

  “I didn’t feel like it.” Her tapping feet betrayed her.

  “Tell me the truth.”

  “My accountant keeps pointing me to ‘inoffensive’ men.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s like open auditions for some bizarre reality show.”

  “I’ll find an answer.”

  “I know you’re trying, but I’m running out of time.”

  He pulled her thumbnail away from her teeth. “What else is bothering you?”

  It took her a long time to answer. “The note he sent the Monday after the auction. He’s someone I know. And they’re all here.”

  The song drifting on the air was one she’d been playing at the bar for weeks. He stood and tugged her hand. “Dance with me.”

  “Here?” Despite her protest, she swayed in his arms.

  “Why not?”

  He’d looked for ways to be close to her all day, whispering conversations while she’d fixed his tie or they’d waited for pictures. Now he relished the feel of her laughter against him and the softness under his hands as they relaxed into the music. It’s just a dance. I can dance with her.

  He leaned close to smell her perfume. “You could have knocked me over when Abby issued orders from behind the camera.”

  “I told you, she’ll talk when it’s necessary.” Her whisper danced along his skin.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen wedding photos with poker games and piggyback rides.” His bones still ached from where she’d clung to him, and his fingers still tingled from touching her. And when she’d messed him up for his poker picture—parts of him she’d never touched ached from that.

  “Abby likes unconventional poses.”

  “The guys are excited about the week off,” he said. “When did you and Nate decide to do that?”