Two for Dinner

by Rachel A. Smith

  Before the screen goes black, I tap on the green call button and the list of recent calls pops up. Only a few names appear, with Boss Damien being the last caller. I hadn’t dared to turn my phone back on. It wasn’t necessary since he emailed yesterday afternoon, curtly letting me know the deal negotiations were taking longer than he expected, and he wasn’t sure when he’d return. Having lived with a workaholic for three years, I was used to receiving short, two-line emails. But the agony of knowing you’re not worth the time to even warrant a greeting or a goodbye still stung.

  It’s silly of me to think Damien would treat me differently. He’s a freaking billionaire business mogul and responsible for more companies than I have fingers. And that’s not even taking into consideration all the other employees he has personally. His email is a reminder I’d only met the man three days ago and probably meant nothing to him. I am just another fling. A weekend distraction.

  Blinking back tears and inhaling deeply, I hit the call button. Maybe he’ll be too busy to pick up, or he will think it’s Chef Eric and not bother to answer.

  Before I can hit the red button and end the call, I hear Damien’s deep voice. “Hello.”

  Infusing my voice with false cheerfulness, I reply, “I heard you needed to talk to me?”

  There are voices in the background. I probably disrupted a meeting. Expecting him to tell me he’s busy and he’d call back later, I pull the phone away from my ear.

  “Yeah. I wanted to hear your voice.” He lowers his voice, and it’s muffled as if he’s putting his hand over his mouth.

  I press the phone back to my ear, knowing I must have heard him wrong. “My voice?”

  “Yeah. The Farringtons are driving me insane with their asinine excuses.” I hear male groans nearby and the rustling sound of paper. He’s definitely in a meeting, but he isn’t trying to get rid of me.

  My heart does a cartwheel in my chest, but an automatic response slips from my lips. “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Hey, is everything okay? I’m sorry I’m not there with you. But there are inconsistencies in the financials. They are too material for me not to investigate and do more due diligence. I promise the accountants are working as hard and fast as they can to resolve the issue.”

  A wave of guilt washes over me at the sincerity in his voice. I hear his name being called. His team and company need him to focus on the deal, not me.

  I force myself to smile. Not that he can see it, but maybe it will make the words seem less like a lie as they tumble from my mouth. “No need to apologize. I’m fine here. After all, I have Chef Eric to keep me company.”

  He doesn’t respond immediately, and I look down at the phone to see if we got disconnected.

  Damien’s voice is strained when he answers, “Please tell me he’s not hitting on you.”

  “What? Of course not. He’s been nothing but a gentleman. But it has been nice to have someone remind me to eat while I work.” I’m rambling, but I don’t want to get off the phone with him. It’s selfish, but I miss his voice, too. I continue on. “Sometimes I get so caught up in a story, it’s hours before I stop and eat. I was just telling him I’m not sure what I’ll do without him when I return home.”

  “That’s it, I’m flying back tonight. I will not let Eric ply you with food and drink and lure you away from me.”

  Where does he get these ridiculous archaic thoughts from? Then it hits me. “You’ve been reading those historical novels to your grandma, haven’t you?”

  “Maybe for a half hour at lunch yesterday.” He laughs, and it’s good to hear him happy.

  “Seriously, I’ve been engrossed working on a new story, and I haven’t even really noticed the time. You do what you need to there, and I’ll be here working on my book. Hopefully it will be done by the time you get back. Otherwise, you will see a part of me you might not like.”

  “What? You become Miss Eris?”

  “OMG. Did you just refer to me as Eris—as in the cartoon character from Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas? The goddess of discord?”

  “Yep.”

  I envision Damien puffing out his chest, all proud of himself. Granted, it was a very quick and clever reference. “Don’t worry about me. Just close the damn deal.”

  He chuckles. “Oh, it’s good to know you have such confidence in me to close the deal.”

  I giggle because we are no longer talking about the Farrington merger. “I’ll be waiting.”

  “Before I go, I need to know—is there a problem with your phone?”

  “No. But like I said, when I’m working . . .”

  “Okay, Miss Eris, I’ll see you soon.” Damien hangs up, and I’m still a little giddy at the fact he referred to me as a goddess, even if it’s an evil one. Actually, he likes it when I’m wicked.

  Chapter 16

  Damien

  It’s nearly 2 a.m., and my CFO Annette looks over the latest numbers the Farrington group has proposed. It’s been the longest two days of my life. Being away from Irene is pure torture. The deal should be done by now, but Annette found a damn anomaly in the original deal documents. Nothing gets by my CFO. She’s a freaking financial genius. At twenty-six, she has more business savvy than most of my board members.

  Annette stacks the papers in a neat pile and clasps her hands on top of them. “I believe we can make these numbers work.”

  Praise the saints. I glance at my watch. 2:18 a.m. Not at all an appropriate hour to call Michael to arrange our return, but the sooner the company pilot can file flight plans and whatnot, the sooner I can see Irene.

  A set of documents are set in front of me, and Annette nods. I begin the long, arduous task of signing the agreements, handing each page to Charlie to co-sign. It’s my little brother’s first merger, and he looks a little haggard. As soon as I returned, I asked him if he’d be interested in taking the President position over from me. I don’t need to be the Chairman of the Board, CEO, and President. Plus, if I want a life with Irene, changes to my work schedule are a must. Charlie was all too eager to say yes, and after putting him through the wringer for the last two days, I know he’s ready and the perfect man for the job.

  Charlie has his hand out, waiting for the next page. “When are you leaving?”

  Over two days of negotiations, Charlie pried every detail about Irene and my plans going forward from me. He wasn’t the only one. Lydia managed to wheedle the information out of me and then shared it with our grandma.

  I rub the strained muscles in my neck and shoulders. “I’d like to say in a few hours, but the reality is we still have a shitload to do after the Farrington team is gone. And I promised Grandma I would stop by before I left town again.”

  “Annette and I can take care of things.” Charlie gives her his most charming smile, the one women normally go wild over.

  Annette sports a fierce frown. “I can handle the wrap-up.”

  “Are you two sure?”

  My ever-efficient CFO curtly nods. “You will be useless to us until you can be certain she’s the one for you, so just go get it done.” Annette pulls the pile of signed sheets towards her and gives it a once-over again. “Charlie. Seriously. You have the signature of a four-year-old.”

  He shrugs. “Curves aren’t for me.”

  I peer over at his chicken scratch and chuckle. His signature is a jumbled mess of upper and lowercase letters, but they are all uniform on every single page and that’s all that matters to me.

  The corner of Annette’s lips twitch. In the two years she’s worked for Crestwater Entertainment, I’ve never seen her smile while Charlie was in the same room as her. On the few occasions when I’ve asked her to work with him on a project, she complies but never hesitates to reiterate her objections, claiming Charlie is lazy and relies way too heavily on his good looks. My little brother was born with a gifted brain. It takes him less time than most to accomplish the average task, and since he’s a huge procrastinator, it gives others the impression he falls way short of his fu
ll potential. But under a few layers of false bravado, Charlie is as soft and sweet as a marshmallow.

  Finished with the signing, I stand to make the rounds, shaking hands with everyone and welcoming the Farrington team to the Crestwater Entertainment family. Annette is right. No sane person decides their entire future based on one long weekend. It doesn’t matter my gut says Irene is the one.

  Hooking her arm around mine, she says, “Go home. Sleep and take as much time as you need.”

  We walk out of the office building. Michael is already waiting in front of the garage elevators.

  I shorten my stride. “Thanks. I know you and Charlie can handle matters.”

  She sighs. “I hear a but coming . . .”

  “Nah, not this time.” Dark circles beneath her eyes remind me of the long hours she’d put in. “You must be exhausted. Do you need a ride home?”

  Annette shakes her head. “No thanks. I’m fine to drive.”

  A low, deep growl comes from behind us. Charlie’s practically on our heels.

  She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, which is uncharacteristic for her. She’s like a sister to me, but she always harps on about maintaining a professional distance. “Good luck. I’m looking forward to meeting Miss Gilliard.”

  This time Charlie mumbles, “Really? My fucking brother?”

  I frown at the quick click-clack of her heels hitting concrete. She normally wears flats. Nimble is not a word that comes to mind when I think of Annette. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen her run in heels. She’s going to sprain an ankle. Charlie breezes past me, probably thinking the same thing. Michael coughs and opens the door for me.

  Before sliding into the back, I ask, “What is going on with those two?”

  He shrugs. “I know nothing.”

  Michael is extremely observant and also a terrible liar. I raise an eyebrow and say, “Really?”

  He might be the world’s worst fibber, but he’s a master of keeping secrets. “Really.”

  I take the hint—Michael’s not going to tell me anything. I get in but slide one last look in Charlie’s direction. I’ve entrusted him with running the family company. I’m going to have to trust he can deal with whatever it is that has Annette acting totally out of character.

  I catch Michael looking back at me in the rearview mirror. “Can you arrange for us to leave at 10 a.m.? We need to stop by my grandmother’s house on our way to the airport.”

  “What time were you planning on waking Mrs. Crestwater this time?”

  “She’s old. Old people never sleep. 8 a.m. isn’t too early.”

  “Aha.” He shoots me a smirk before returning his attention back to the dark road. “I’ll have everything arranged but plan for us to head out at 11 a.m. Your grandma will expect an hour’s worth of reading as retribution for visiting so early.”

  He’s right. Knowing Grandma, she won’t be satisfied until she’s fed us, grilled me about Irene, and received an hour’s worth of swoon-worthy historical romance.

  After meeting Irene, I get how fucking lucky I am to have staff and family who totally get me. Picturing her lounging on the terrace with pencil smudges on her cheek, I can’t wait to see her again. Closing my eyes, I lean my head back against the seat.

  I blink and see sunlight filtering through the window. We are parked outside my grandma’s house. I must have passed out. No doubt Michael swung by my place, packed, and made whatever arrangements necessary. I rake a hand over my face and glance at my watch. 6:30 a.m. Way too early to knock on the front door. Moving my head from side to side, I stretch out my neck and wait for my head to clear. Where the hell is Michael?

  I hear his bark outside. “Slow down.”

  Unlocking the door, I swing it open and get out.

  Squinting, I see him pacing back and forth a few feet away. “When?” He runs a hand through his hair and lets it rest on the back of his neck. “Charlie, are you absolutely sure?” He turns and growls. “Fine. I’ll let him know.”

  “What’s up?”

  “That was Charlie. He and Annette got the final report on Clayton Montgomery you asked for a few days ago. Both the man and his company are strapped and over leveraged. But that’s not what he was calling about. He just found out Clayton chartered a red-eye to St. Thomas, and he thinks the bastard is heading out to the island.”

  “Fuck. Why didn’t Charlie call me?”

  “He did, but it went straight to voicemail, and he thought it was best to let you know right away.”

  I pull out my phone. Dead. I must have forgotten to charge it yesterday.

  None of this made any sense. Irene said Clayton didn’t even let her help with the household expenses. How could he be in financial straits and she not know? Irene may be trusting, but she’s no idiot. I hold out my hand. Michael hands over his phone to me, which I stare at for a moment. Fuck. Clayton’s company is a leader in cell-phone technology. No wonder Irene was prickly over the topic. She probably knew the bastard would track her down using her phone’s location. Dammit.

  I hit the call button on Michael’s cell, and Charlie picks up immediately. “I’m sorry. Annette and I got the email a few hours ago, but we were . . .”

  “I don’t care what is going on between you two. I need to know why Montgomery is making his way to Irene.”

  “He made a deal with her mom. If he married Irene and got her pregnant within a year, Mrs. Gilliard was going to bail him out.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “Nope. The PI even sent over a copy of the fucking agreement.” My brother lets out a deep sigh. “Hey man, I’m really sorry.”

  “Sorry Irene’s parents are narcissists? Or Montgomery is a pig?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. But what can I do to help?”

  “Call Eric and tell him what’s going on. And tell him to make sure Montgomery doesn’t see Irene before I get there. She needs to know the truth.”

  I see my grandma padding across the lawn towards me as I hang up the phone. “Damien Wesley Crestwater, do you know what time it is?”

  “Yes, Grandma, it’s . . .” I pull back my shirt sleeve and look down at the watch my grandpa gave me. “6:45 in the morning.”

  “You’ve been out here since 5 a.m. What have you been waiting for . . . a bloody invitation?”

  “He was sleeping in the car.” Michael gives her a hug and then releases her. “They finally closed around 2 a.m. this morning, Mrs. Crestwater.”

  Grandma marches over and cups my face. “Well then, you boys need to come in and get some breakfast. I’ll have Henry whip something up quickly.” Michael doesn’t wait and heads straight for the house. Patting my cheek with her soft wrinkled hand to gain my attention, Grandma pins me with a narrowed, knowing look. “You’re not leaving until you shower and eat.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” There’s no arguing with her. She’s the matriarch of the family, and unlike my siblings, she’s more like a mother than a grandmother to me.

  Grandma pats my cheek twice more before releasing me and heading towards the house. “Now, tell me all about this Miss Irene Gilliard Lydia mentioned to me. There is little about the woman but reports from those gossipmongers.” The muscles in my arm tense, and my ever-perceptive grandma stops dead in her tracks to search my face.

  Wide-eyed, she gasps. “You’re in love. Or at the very least, the notion has crossed your mind.”

  Nothing gets past her. “Do you think it’s even possible to fall in love in three days?”

  She poked her boney forefinger into my chest. “Haven’t you been paying attention while reading to me all these years?”

  “That’s fiction. I’m asking if you believe it can really happen in the twenty-first century.”

  She shakes her head. “Ah, my boy. If you have to ask, then I have failed.” Hooking her arm back through mine, we trek back to the house.

  A few feet away from the front door, I break the silence. “Grandma . . .”

  She turns to face me. “You need
to stop focusing on work and really pay attention to what is going on around you, my boy.” Grandma looks down her nose at me even though I’m a solid foot taller than her and adds, “Love in its true form is rare these days. One should seize it if it presents itself.”

  “So you believe it’s possible.”

  “Anything is possible. The real question is, why do you doubt it?”

  Talking to my grandma is like trying to figure out a riddle. You can’t just focus on her words. She always speaks in double entendre. “The feelings I have for Irene are all . . .”

  “Strange. New. Unfamiliar. Nothing like you have experienced in the past. Even a tad scary, perhaps?” She plants her hands on her hips. “You have immersed yourself so deep in your responsibilities you’ve forgotten how to live.”

  I’m waiting for her to poke me in the chest again. Instead, she turns and enters the house mumbling, “Bah. This is all my fault. Feeding him stories about heirs and eldest boys doing their duty. Of all the bloody themes to focus on, he chooses that one.”

  For an old lady, Grandma can move. I practically have to jog to catch up to her. “Hey. Without you and Grandpa, I wouldn’t have any idea what love felt like.” I mirror her head shake. “Would you consider giving me the ring?”

  “Are you ready?”

  I hold my arms out wide and shrug. “I’m not sure. I don’t even know for certain how Irene feels about me. But I like to be prepared.”

  Finally, Grandma’s heartwarming smile returns. “Well, you best tell me all about her first before I decide whether to give you a century-old family heirloom.”

  I can tell by the glint in her eyes she’s already decided to give me the ring, but I play along. “I’ve only known her for three days, but I’ll share with you everything I know.”

  “I demand details.”

  Ushering her down the hall, I reply, “Well, there are some particulars I won’t be sharing with you, Grandma.”

  “And that, my boy, proves to me there is hope for you yet.”

  I open the door to the breakfast room and ask, “How long was it before you knew Grandpa was the one for you?”