“There’s nothing wrong with me.” I slam my hand on the table.
“You’re married to that ego of yours and in love with the women of your past,” Hayley snaps her fingers and then points her index finger at me. “Emma doesn’t know about you and Chloe, does she?”
I shake my head.
“I’ve never seen what real love looks like,” Hayley says. “However, seeing your parents, Jake and Emma, and your devotion for them—Chloe and Jordan—make me believe that it exists and gives me hope that one day I’ll find a love like that.”
Hayley thinks they are the explanation of why I can’t love and refuse to have a relationship. Hayley’s practicality ends when it comes to family and love, then she completely loses it.
Chapter 22
Hayley
“Spoiled,” I call Mitch, as his driver takes us back from the airport. “Private jets, drivers, what’s next, a mansion?”
“You want me to buy you a mansion, Muffet?” he asks and I answer shaking my head as I look outside the car window and watch the Hudson River as we cross the bridge. He’s infuriating and sometimes-no, most of the times-adorable. “Look, my parents are about to close on a triplet on Fifth Avenue, I can tell them that you want it and they’ll buy it for us. They can find something else and use our apartment in the meantime.”
Mitchel Knight has several tones; he uses the taunting one the most with me and I hate it. One day without behaving like a child is too much to ask from him, even a few hours. I guess it’s his way of spicing things up in my so called boring life. Not that I’ll ever admit to him that I’d rather deal with his childish comments than my own family. I rotate my neck and stare at him.
“Cool mint,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
“Your eyes are like cool mints, kind of different. I’d appreciate them if they didn’t intend to kill me when you direct them toward me.”
“Not sure what bothers me the most, your attitude about money—” As I say so, he tilts his chin and crooks his eyebrow. His arrogance makes me want to slap him, but I don’t believe in actual physical violence while my opponent is too close and looking kind of hot. “Or the way you love to taunt me on an hourly basis.”
“Hourly?” I don’t respond, and he keeps talking. “First it was daily, then twice a day, now hourly. Babe, you love to exaggerate the truth… that’s pretty close to lying. About the money, what do you want me to do? I have it, so I use it, end of story. There’s no way I will ever apologize for being who I am. If you want a fifty million dollar home, I’ll buy it because I can.”
“See, you’re doing it.” I turn my body toward him. “You know I hate lying and you’re calling me a liar. A fifty million dollar home? Insanity. As I said, you’re a spoiled brat; you wouldn’t survive on the salary of an average person, not even one day.”
“I can do anything,” he cups my chin with his index finger. “One day with a small salary is nothing. You can’t say anything; your family has money. Could you survive with me on my salary?”
“My family has money.” I pull out of his grip. “What I have is my own. You are already aware of the deal with my business. I give myself a salary and the rest goes to pay the bills. I have, of course, a small cushion so I don’t need you to support me.”
My gaze moves from his eyes to the window and then back at him; I prop my chin in my palms quailing the need to shake him. I suddenly realize his hardened look is set directly on me, as if I had slapped him hard.
“Yes, you’re right.” The tendons of his neck tighten along with his voice. “I forgot you’re allergic to money, fish, peanuts and apparently me. You can’t go one second without telling me what’s wrong with me, what I need to change or—”
“You don’t need to change, damn it but at least admit you tease me all day long, Mitch,” I touch his arm. “It always sounds like you’re complaining about the person I am and how I need to be better-different. Do you have any idea how often I listen to Mom telling me how imperfect I am? That maybe if I change she’d like me some? She loves me, but she doesn’t like me very much. Mom makes me feel inadequate.” My voice cracks, but I continue. “Same goes for everyone else in my family. I always try so hard to win their approval, valedictorian, top GPA, which I achieved through advanced placement classes. I had so many credits that I was able to obtain an associate degree.”
I can feel my chest constricting as my words flow like water through my fingers.
“Instead of going to law school, med school or any of those typical careers, I continued with my stupid hobby as Mom calls it. My two older brothers shared the sentiment, instead of saying ‘Great valedictorian speech’ after my graduation, they said… ‘You’re shitting me, baking pastries isn’t a career.’ Everyone in my family has some kind of input about my choices. Where I should live, how I should dress… I try, but there are days I can’t. Why do you think I hate to receive expensive presents or favors? Because if I do, that will give that person some power to take charge of my life. One thing I’ve learned throughout the years is that money talks and whoever has the most, governs the rest—at least within the Welsh family.”
“My family is different,” Mitch’s tone comes out flat. “If you gave them a chance, gave all of us a chance; you would understand.”
“I plan to avoid your parents because I like them, Mitch.” They’re warm and friendly. “The truth will come out as soon as they ask, ‘How did you two meet again?’ You said it before, I’m a terrible liar. I like to pretend that I live outside that powerful world I grew up in, which is the same world you live in. For example, you snap your fingers and things happen. That’s not me—I hate that. As I just said, you wouldn’t survive if you didn’t have said power. I’ve never in my life used a credit card, can you handle that?”
“I can handle whatever you throw at me.” His half smile creases into a mocking grin. “But can you handle me without complaining?”
The car arrives at a building two blocks from my bakery. The attendant opens the car door and helps me out. Mitch gives instructions to the driver, then jumps out and takes the bags from the trunk.
“Hay, meet Miles, one of the concierges of the building. Miles, my wife, Hayley.” Mitch bobs his head to the tall, bold man in his late forties who opened the car door for me. “Miles, did they move everything as I requested?”
“Yes, sir. Mrs. Knight,” he extends his hand, and I meet it. “It’s a pleasure; let me know if I can be of service. I’ll make sure to send Louie upstairs tomorrow evening, sir, so he can introduce himself to your wife. Congratulations, to the both of you.”
I follow Mitch inside the building, head to the stairs; skipping the elevator to walk up the seven flights. When we reach apartment 7A, he opens the door, and I get a glimpse of my two leather recliners next to his couch. Which as he said last Sunday, would match perfectly.
“Explain.” I point to the chairs. “You stole my furniture?”
“No.” He leaves the bags on the floor, pushes me out the door and then scoops me up at the knees and carries me back inside. “I joined our furniture; do you ever listen to what I say? Last Sunday I said when my parents leave; we would mix our furniture in my apartment. I’ll even buy a new bed, not that I ever slept with anyone before you.”
“I haven’t slept with you,” I remind him, nor do I plan to. I’m working hard on it. “Are you delirious or is this part of that selective memory your brothers talked about?”
“My brothers don’t know shit about me.” He puts me back on the floor once we reach the bedroom. “Selective memory is the best way to say I didn’t pay attention. Like Jay, I have a photographic memory, unlike him, I choose wisely not to say: ‘I didn’t care to listen.’”
“Well then.” I scan the room which has a king size bed, frames of my family and his. The walls are a light greenish, and the comforter is black with white accents. Cozy, but I don’t get why he’s doing this. “Let me remind you, I’ve never slept with you and you have sle
pt with other women. You have everything backwards. Also, where am I going to sleep, the other room?”
“No.” He says. “That’s the guest room. For when my brother or parents visit, hopefully not anytime soon. I’ve only slept with you. I’ve fucked plenty of women I hooked up with but never at my house, and they know the score.”
“Playboy style?” Of course, like my brothers who sleep around and sometimes forget to ask for names. “What’s the so called score?”
“Not sure what that means—playboy style,” he goes to one of the doors and shows me the closet where my clothes are hanging or folded. “The score is we go out, have fun, get some release and do it again some other day when we have time. I keep a woman around for a few months, until they get clingy.”
“You don’t count the others?”
“Chloe never stayed at my old place.” His growl doesn’t go unnoticed. “She had places to go, things to do and I can bet crack to smoke. Back then, I lived in Brooklyn, and she hated my place and hers was off limits—I’ve no idea why. So, cuddling is a thing I only do with fake wives.”
“She smoked crack or is that some way to insult her?”
“Crack, shot cocaine, smoked pot among others and for your information, she died of an overdose, Hayley,” he sighs. “After those months we were together, I didn’t see her until she reappeared as the girlfriend of a friend of ours. Coincidentally Jake had flown from Mom’s grasp and stayed with me to work on his recovery. That’s when we learned about her drug habits and that she was a high paid escort. Yes, I fucked a whore. However, in my defense, I didn’t know, and I never paid her. You like to fantasize about my eternal love for her, but there is none. The only thing I have for her is pity; she’s Emma’s sister and in some freaked way, family. I did stupid things during that time. Drank too much each time she broke up with me, and… The woman made an ass out of me and I swore I would never put myself in that position again. Ever. This is the last time we discuss any Chloe related issues.”
Startled by so much information about her makes me gasp.
“That request sounds reasonable.” I try to form some coherent sentences after his speech left me mute, but my big mouth continued. “Yet, I don’t believe that you aren’t stuck on her,” I say. If it had been a light affair, his wounds would’ve healed by now. Then if I add Jordan to the conversation, he might not like me at all. I bet he had her in his bed. “Chloe’s forgotten. The matter in hand is, can we take my stuff back? I’m not living here; my house is two blocks from here.”
“We agreed you’ll learn to live with me.” He takes my hand and shows me the kitchen that has two ovens and a sub-zero, a bigger kitchen than the one in my studio. “While we live frugally from our normal people incomes—whatever that is.”
“You won’t last more than a month,” I insist.
“I’ll last at least a year,” he says placing his fists on his waist. “How long will you last?”
“We’ll have to wait and see, I guess,” and I’m wondering how he did it again, made me accept another one of his challenges. “You’re going to be the death of me, Knight.”
“You’ll have fun in the meantime, Muffet.”
Chapter 23
Mitch
There’s no peace inside the sanctuary of my office. This woman is going to drive me insane.
“You’re shitting me,” I comb my hair with one hand as I look at the river and wonder if I should dump my wife there. “How did you come up with these fucked up numbers, Hayley Mae?”
“Internet?” her soft laugh comes from the other line.
“Add some vacations, entertainment and don’t forget my leisure expenses.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” she mumbles. “I have to go; Mom is about to enter the shop, thank goodness Dad has already done his scene of the day.”
“Good luck, Muffin,” I hang up and look at the email she sent again, one I hope she revises.
Of course, I can go for months being normal; my expenses are low key but this is ridiculous. I’ll renegotiate this treaty; twelve months abiding by this insanity should get me something in exchange. S-E-X.
“Mr. Knight,” my assistant knocks at the open door. “Mr. Welsh is looking for you, sir.”
Augustine Welsh doesn’t wait for me to welcome him into my office, he walks around my assistant and enters.
“Knight, I want to review that contract.” The man doesn’t trust me, and I give him points for looking after his child. Not that I’d embezzled her, still, I’m glad to see he cares. “For all I know, you can take away her business under her nose and she’d be left without her future.”
“Future?”
Yesterday he reminded her that the open enrollment for the summer online courses to start her college classes would remain open only for another two weeks. She needs to think about her future, the bakery isn’t a forever deal. Now he wants to talk about me ruining her future?
“Of course,” he tells me. “She’s making a name for herself. Right now it’s a few cakes per week but soon she’ll be able to do more and I can see her in a year or two being the person all Manhattan wants to hire to bake their wedding, christening, birthday or any occasion cakes.”
I grind my teeth, avoiding a fight, just yesterday he recommended her to start looking at a different career path.
“Hayley, this shop won’t last forever,” he said with that soft condescending voice he pulls only with her. “Your numbers are dropping, you want to avoid heading to bankruptcy. You better listen to me; Hayley or you’ll end up in a bad place.”
Her numbers are perfect; she’s doing great and there’s no way in hell she’ll end up closing if she continues working hard. I don’t understand this man.
“You could fuel her business and accelerate the process, Mr. Welsh.” As soon as I say it, I want to bite my tongue for giving him ideas when the last thing Hayley wants is her family’s intrusion. “As for my agreement with her, I’ll pay fair price for her products.”
“Contract,” he extends his hand.
I print it and hand it to him because there’s nothing sketchy about the document; everything is straight forward. She bakes for me; I’m her priority, after my order is filled, she can do her thing. My restaurants are in this case taking most of her daily production. The cupcake orders would decrease the time she’ll have available for her store products. If her customers can’t get it there, they can drop by my stores where we’ll fill their order. All part of my plan for convincing her to get help by hiring personnel.
“You can’t demand almost a hundred percent of her production.” Welsh says while scanning the document. “You’re technically hiring her to work for you without paying her as an employee. What’s the motive?”
“You’re confused, sir.”
“She’ll determine the quantities,” Welsh demands. “If production needs to increase, then you’ll suggest her to hire a third party to assist. No, she’ll hire them as early as tomorrow.”
I agree with him, while inside I’m congratulating myself for doing a great job. From what I gathered, he steers her away from growing. Now he’s doing what I want without knowing it. One point for us, zero to her insane family.
“I’m taking this with me and will have my son rewrite it. Listen, Knight, if you try to jeopardize the only thing she has right now, I’ll make sure you don’t take another breath.”
The only thing she has right now? I want to punch him. If it weren’t for his stupid advice, Hayley would run a much different bakery by now.
“I assure you, sir—”
“You think I’m new at this?” He sets his jaw, and those pale eyes turn into fire with the same intensity his daughter’s do when she’s upset. Though, she doesn’t say much while that’s happening, only letting the fireworks consume her, most of the time unnoticed by whoever is in front of her. “You don’t succeed in my line of work without knowing how to detect bullshit and this, Knight, has the notorious smell of it.”
With tha
t, he makes his way outside my office. I pat myself on the back, with the right strategy; this might be easier than I thought. We—she—have a great product. One we can market nationwide through a website while…
“Knight,” I look up and find Augustine Welsh stomping his way back into my office and like his child, pointing his index finger at me. I wonder why they do it; does it have magical powers I don’t know about? “Don’t try to mess with her emotionally either, she’s not the kind of girl you are used to.”
“I wasn’t planning on it, sir.”
The man cares more for Hayley than I expected; that’s good for Hayl. She needs someone on her side.
*
When I arrive home, she’s wearing yet another hideous t-shirt with a logo of some old band I haven’t heard in years—Depeche Mode. Her torn jeans are baggy and the relief of not having to try to keep my dick down washes over my entire body.
“Dad called,” a lighthearted smile creases her lips. “He emailed me a new contract, something less predatory, as he said, Muffin boy.”
“Man, Muffin Man.” I wink at her. “I received it too; did you do some of the revisions?”
Hayley shrugs and heads to the kitchen. I follow and find some ingredients out and a bunch of utensils.
“What are you making me?” The scent of sweet bread is starting to overtake my home.
“You,” she shakes her head. “Nothing, I’m trying to make piña colada frosting, since I can’t eat pineapple, I’ll use you as my guinea pig.”
“Liquor in it?” I ask when I spot the melon liquor and rum. Too girly. “Should I remind you what happened the last time you got me drunk? Or is this a way to take advantage of me Mrs. Knight?”
“In your dreams, Mitchel,” she starts mixing. “Did you sign the contract?”
Standing By: A Knight's Tale #2 Page 14