The Marriage Merger

by Leiber, Vivian

  “Good idea. No sex,” she agreed, actually feeling relieved. Sex was an unknown, and putting it off-limits made this engagement easier on her than...well, than a real engagement would be.

  “A friendship could get hurt,” Sam continued, “if one of us were inexperienced and had expectations. And I wouldn’t want you hurt.”

  She brought her shoulders back and raised her head high.

  “I am not inexperienced.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Sam Wainwright, we’ve never talked about my love life, but I have a lot more going for me than you’d think. You’d be very surprised.”

  She crossed her fingers in her lap.

  “I didn’t say you didn’t have any men in your life. I was just asking.”

  “Well, you’ve asked and I’ve answered. I’m experienced... enough.”

  “And your expectations?”

  “None,” she said, which was strictly true. The reality was that she didn’t expect him to notice her.

  But he hadn’t asked her about hopes and dreams and wishes.

  “And I wear silk to bed every night. Wipe that look of disbelief off your face.”

  She dared him to challenge her. He studied her, the full panoply of emotions from puzzlement to bafflement to confusion crossing his features.

  “I think there must be a lot about you I don’t know,” he said at last. “Silk, huh?”

  “Yes. You were thinking I’m a cotton nightgown kind of woman.”

  “Flannel would have been my first guess.”

  “Silk. Red silk. Yes, red. Bright red.” And before he could follow that up, she fired off her own salvo. “What do you wear to bed?”

  Sam shrugged.

  “Nothin’,” he said. “Nothin’ at all.”

  The mental picture that came to Patricia’s mind was sharp, clear and way too vivid.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed. And then, before he could say another word, she shoved her glasses on her face and flipped open her notebook filled with her evaluations of the job candidates. “Enough personal stuff. Shall we think about the assistant manager for the Vail facility?”

  Chapter Three

  “I think that wraps things up,” Sam said at the end of the hour. “You’ve picked some strong candidates. You always do.”

  “Thank you,” Patricia said, pulling the files together in a neat stack. “About that other matter...”

  Sam looked up from his paperwork.

  “You don’t have to do it if you’ve reconsidered.”

  “No, I haven’t reconsidered. It’s just I don’t even know where to begin with questions for you. Sam, I know a lot about your professional life, and I now know that you wear...”

  “Nothing to bed,” Sam prompted.

  “Nothing to bed. But at the party, Rex could very well ask me some questions I wouldn’t know the answers to. Maybe we should work this all out Not during business hours, of course.”

  It wasn’t asking him out for a date.

  But it still took a lot of gumption.

  “Let’s have dinner tonight,” Sam suggested.

  “Meet you in the break room, say around six?”

  At least four times a month they ate dinner together in the break room when work kept them late. Sometimes they’d order in Chinese food or a pizza. That was if Patricia remembered to take care of it. When Sam was in charge of dinner, it was chips, candy and a can of pop from the vending machine. He always sprung for the quarters, but Patricia always felt guilty afterward—all that salt, sugar and empty calories.

  Sam shook his head.

  “Dehlia’s,” he said, naming the swankiest restaurant in Phoenix. “If you’re my fiancée, you’d be familiar with it Melissa sure was. Oh. and by the way, here’s this. I’ve had this in my pocket for two days. I keep looking at it, wondering what I’m doing wrong in life.”

  He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a ring with a pear-shape—heck, pear-size—diamond. A familiar ring—Patricia had helped him pick it out after Melissa had rejected his first choice. Melissa had insisted that four carats was an absolute minimum, that anything less would signal to others that he did not respect her. Patricia had wondered why Sam hadn’t given Melissa the boot then and there.

  But no, he had asked Patricia to come with him during a Wednesday lunch hour to see a breathtaking array of gems at James Little Jewelers. The respect and attention the jeweler gave to Sam led Patricia to believe Melissa was a regular customer. Or that Sam was.

  Patricia looked at the ring he held out to her. It threw the morning sunlight out in quick brush strokes of color.

  “It’s too big.”

  “I know,” Sam said. “I always thought it screamed money instead of saying anything about love. But would you wear it?”

  “As long as you don’t get mad if I accidentally blind you with it.”

  She took the ring and put it on her left ring finger. The ring was heavy and clumsy on her hand. Unexpectedly she felt melancholy. It isn’t supposed to be like this, she thought.

  An engagement to fool other people was wrong; it was playing with something sacred.

  Somebody was going to get hurt.

  And it would most likely be her.

  “The ring’s not you,” Sam said, clearly misinterpreting her sudden change of mood. “Want me to get you another one?”

  Patricia shook her head.

  “This is only for a few weeks,” she said. “And I’ll return it in a suitable huff when we break up.”

  He smiled, in just that way he had—a little more on the left side than the right. With a mischievous twinkle in his dark eyes. As always, provoking her heart to flip-flop—thaddump, thaddump—like a fresh-caught fish at the bottom of a boat.

  “Thanks,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “Just don’t slap me as hard as Melissa did.”

  “Promise.”

  She gathered up her file folders and notepad. Just as she reached the door, he called her name.

  “I’m not really good at saying things about emotions,” he said. “But thank you. You’re a real friend.”

  He seemed about to say more, but then he cleared his throat.

  “See you at Dehlia’s at eight.”

  Patricia shrugged a reasonable facsimile of goodbye and hustled down the terra-cotta-tiled hallway. When she got to her office, she threw down the files and slammed the door for privacy.

  Friend.

  That’s what she was. Nothing more. Six months she had been in this office—and Sam would never, ever look at her with the eyes of a lover. She had to keep this in mind—she was a friend doing another friend a favor.

  Friend.

  And yet, all the force of reality and sensible thinking couldn’t completely squelch her hope. As tender and fragile as a desert bloom and as determined to survive without water or encouragement. He’d see her at dinner, he’d look across the table, he’d realize that he had been a fool for six solid months...

  “I’ve got to get out more,” she said quietly, pulling off her suit jacket Although the Barrington offices were air-conditioned, her white cotton blouse was damp with sweat. She tugged at the three covered buttons at its collar.

  She had to go on those blind dates that her office friends kept trying to set up. She had to stop dreaming about Sam every night. She had to discipline herself not to think about him every waking minute. She had to join the singles group at her church. She had to meet those men her mother kept sending over from France. She had to forget about him....

  And she would, somehow.

  After they broke up, she thought, looking down at the brilliant diamond on her hand.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Patricia apologized, closing the door behind her. The women at the round Formica-topped table turned around to greet her. One sky-blue plastic chair had been reserved for her. Since August in Phoenix is as close to the blazes of Hades as anybody should ever get, the women ate indoors... and stuck the thermostat on sixty-five although the room never got any
cooler than eighty. Patricia thought the lunchroom was particularly stifling today. She took off her jacket, slid into her seat and gave everyone a shy smile. “I had some paperwork.”

  “Anything about the Third?” Sophia asked, tossing her curly blond hair as if the query was merely casual chitchat.

  They all knew she was determined to marry the mysterious son of Rex II, the son who was taking over Barrington in just another week. No one had seen him—not even Sophia who had become his personal assistant. “Any information at all?”

  “No, but what about Mike?” Patricia asked. She opened her hunch bag. She slid the homemade brownie in front of Olivia, who had developed quite a sweet tooth during her pregnancy. “Mike from the mail room is awfully cute.”

  “No way. He’s not doing anything with his life and I want to do something with mine. I want a house and kids and a husband. Someone with some ambition and charm and family interests.”

  “Someone like the Third?” teased Rachel, the diminutive brunette from Accounting.

  As the women laughed, Sophia shook her finger at Rachel.

  “You mark my words, I’m going to have Rex the Third’s ring on my hand in six months,” she said confidently.

  “Speaking of hands, would you get a load of this,” Olivia said, grasping Patricia’s. “It’s gotta be four carats.”

  “Four point five,” Patricia said gently, steadying her hand by placing it flat on the table. The women leaned over their sandwiches and salads.

  “Wow,” said Sophia.

  “Cubic zirconia?” asked Molly, a copywriter from the advertising department. “I heard they had a sale on costume jewelry at the mall.”

  “No, it’s a diamond,” Patricia said.

  There was a collective gasp.

  “I didn’t know they made diamonds that big for regular people,” Rachel said. “I mean—not royalty or movie stars.”

  Patricia struggled to keep her whole arm from shaking while the women oohed and aahed. She was about to lie to her friends. She hated this part, but she had spent twenty minutes in her office practicing how she would do it.

  There had been no paperwork keeping her busy—it had been rehearsal time.

  And it was now opening night.

  She had her audience’s attention.

  “I’ve got something to tell you.”

  The five women at the table fell silent, mouths open and eyes totally focused on her. She wasn’t used to that kind of attention. She licked her dry lips.

  “I’m engaged.”

  The stillness was terrifying. Could they tell she was lying? Would they be mad at her? Would they not be her friends anymore? Would they make her take her lunch elsewhere?

  Olivia shrieked. So loud that Patricia worried she was in labor. But no, those were joyful sounds. And she threw her arms around Patricia and gave her as much of a hug as her expanding belly permitted. All around the table, the women reached out to touch Patricia and to offer her their best wishes.

  “This is so wonderful!” Rachel gushed.

  “Who’s the lucky guy?” Sophia demanded.

  “Yeah, that’s right!” Olivia said, pulling out of her embrace to regard Patricia somberly. “You never date because you’re always thinking about Sam. And he’s a playboy, except now that he’s engaged... Wait a minute, he broke up with Melissa, didn’t he?”

  Patricia nodded, not trusting herself with words.

  “He did it because he figured out he loved you and not her?” Rachel squealed.

  Patricia opened her mouth to say, yes. But then she paused—these friends would not be fooled. They knew she had despaired of ever getting Sam’s attention and, until this past weekend, had accepted that Melissa was going to have the honor of being called Mrs. Sam Wainwright.

  Rex II will meet me at the retirement party and think we’ve been engaged for a while.

  These women know better.

  At dinner, I’d better tell Sam about the time discrepancy, Patricia thought

  Meanwhile, she had an edge-of-their-seats audience wanting the full scoop on her romance.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact that’s what happened,” she said at last They didn’t budge. No one suggested changing the topic. No one even followed up with a question, because a friend was honor bound to spill all the beans at this point. She took a deep breath. “Remember when I said that I was going to try and; well, you know...”

  “No, I don’t know,” Sophia said. “What did you do to him?”

  “Seduce,” Olivia prompted. “That’s the word you’re looking for. You prim little maiden. You obviously did a good job of seduction.”

  “Seduce,” Patricia said, worrying the collar of her blouse. She wouldn’t have the slightest clue how to seduce a man, but none of these women would know that “Yes, that’s what I did.”

  “You seduced Sam Wainwright?” Rachel demanded. “In his office? During business hours? Weren’t you worried about someone walking in?”

  “We didn’t actually...do anything there.”

  “Nothing?”

  “We kissed, of course,” Patricia said.

  “Of course.” Olivia agreed.

  “Yeah, but you have a ring on your finger,” Cindy pointed. Cindy was planning her own wedding to her boss in the New Product Division. She had had her own romance come true and was genuinely delighted to see Patricia’s happiness. “That’s enough for me. I don’t care what you did in his office, you little hussy, you.”

  The affectionate twinkle in her eye confirmed her “Go, girl!” attitude.

  “More power to you,” Rachel said. “What’d he say when you told him you were interested in him?”

  “That’s assuming they talked,” Olivia said “It could have been a marathon kiss.”

  I never got a chance to kiss him or to tell him how I felt, Patricia thought. But she plowed ahead with her story.

  “I told him I had always been attracted to him.”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Sophia interjected and was promptly shushed by the rest of the table.

  “And that’s when he told me that he had always felt the same way,” Patricia said, while her brain chanted fantasy, fantasy, fantasy. “And then he just...kissed me.”

  “And asked you to marry him,” Sophia finished. She shook her head and sighed. “That’s incredible. And so romantic. I wonder if it’ll be like that with me and Rex the Third.”

  “Would you stop talking about him?” Cindy demanded. “We’re concentrating on Patricia.”

  “Sorry, Patricia,” Sophia said. “I didn’t mean to change the topic.”

  Patricia would have been happy enough to talk about the Third.

  “I’m a little baffled here,” Olivia said, breaking apart the brownie. “We know he broke up last week with Melissa. And then this morning you came to his office and all you said was...”

  “Stop it, Olivia,” Rachel said. “You’re sounding like a lawyer cross-examining a witness.”

  “But I am a lawyer.”

  “Well, can it Because this is romance we’re talking about,” Rachel said. “I think we need to plan a bridal shower. What do you say, girls?”

  “No, really, that’s okay,” Patricia said, panic swelling as her friends started talking all at once. She hadn’t considered this possibility. “You’re awfully nice, but I don’t need one. Really I don’t”

  “Why wouldn’t you?” Olivia asked. She bit into the brownie. “I mean, is there a problem you’re not telling us about?”

  “No, of course not,” Patricia said. “I’d be delighted.”

  “Let’s have it at my house,” Cindy said.

  “No, mine,” Rachel countered.

  As a good-natured argument erupted, Patricia quietly pulled her sandwich out of its plastic wrap. She didn’t feel much like eating. It was getting so complicated. A simple favor for Sam was turning into a web of deception. She started to push away her food and noticed Olivia looking at her.

  Could Olivia tell she was
lying to them?

  “If you’re not going to eat that sandwich, can I have it?” Olivia asked. “I swear you make the best chicken salad in Arizona.”

  “Sure,” Patricia said. “I’m too excited to eat.”

  “I got that way before my wedding, too,” Olivia said. “I’m so happy for you. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

  Patricia looked around the table. The five women had let her enter their circle of friendship. They cared about her. They were planning a bridal shower for her.

  How would she ever explain to them that she had lied about her happiness in order to give Sam his?

  Chapter Four

  When business travel took Patricia to hotels, spas and restaurants that competed with the Barrington Corporation’s holdings, Patricia usually paid close attention to details—sometimes even jotting down notes.

  But as she edged her blue hatchback up the palmlined drive to Dehlia’s, Patricia felt not a smidgen of professional interest in the strong, lean lines of the architecture or the smart salute of the doorman waiting to greet her.

  She didn’t have the slightest urge to take the spiral-bound notebook from her briefcase and write down “valet parking attendants wear bright red bow ties” or “good location with view of desert sunset.”

  Instead, she felt a sense of awe, coupled with a sinking feeling that she had made a terrible error in judgment. Oh, not in getting engaged to Sam. She had successfully persuaded the girls to put off a bridal shower for at least a month, and she knew that she would explain everything to them the week after Rex II left. She didn’t count on forgiveness but she did count on their essential goodness. Her mother, thanks to the diplomatic corps, was far away in Paris and would never know—a good thing since Mrs. Peel’s advice was exactly the sort of thing Patricia generally avoided. Patricia would like her life to be less... exciting than that of her mother.

  This engagement was a great idea—if nothing else, she’d get to see a side of Sam that he generally kept well hidden. The what-does-he-want-in-a-woman-and-not-in-an-employee side.

  But, her spirits faltered when she saw the crowd gathering outside the heavy mesquite door of the restaurant. Phoenix snowbirds are long gone by August and year-rounders who can’t get out of town are accustomed to quick service and a generally casual atmosphere.