The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield

by Ninya Tippett

  “You’re Char—You’re Mr. Maxfield’s fiancee?” Winston blurted out, looking completely bewildered as he darted glances back and forth between me and Simone.

  I flashed him a quirky smile. “Busted. It was fun while it lasted, Winnie. Now, don’t you just be nice to me because of Brandon. I know I look like a homeless person and I appreciate that you didn’t just toss me out the door.”

  I probably wasn’t helping because the poor man’s cheeks just turned beet red. “I’m sorry. I should’ve—”

  I laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Sheesh. I was thanking you.”

  “Unbelievable,” Simone muttered under her breath, drawing my attention back to her.

  She looked more than impatient—she looked like she needed to pee since yesterday and no one let her. Yes, she was by far the best-dressed and best-looking of the three of us but that was no reason to interrupt a perfectly pleasant conversation—one that was designed to further postpone the need for me to talk to her after I made the big mistake of announcing my presence.

  “It looks like Brandon isn’t letting you in,” I said with a shrug. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t let you either because I still technically don’t live here yet.”

  Her gray eyes narrowed. “Whether you do or not means nothing. Brandon will never bend to your will.”

  I winced. “Which is unfortunate for you, then, because that means you can’t come in even with an invitation from me, were I being civil to you. You can harangue him all you want but if he doesn’t budge then you’re out of luck.”

  “That’s what you think,” she said haughtily, straightening her shoulders. “Brandon and I have an understanding and he cares about me. The arrival of a pesky nobody like you is immaterial.”

  My nose wrinkled. “How can an immaterial nobody be pesky? If I were really an immaterial nobody, you wouldn’t consider me to be anything now, would you?”

  I knew I was provoking her but I couldn’t stop myself.

  Her eyes were flashing, her nostrils flared, and I knew that she was about to lose it right then and there.

  I sighed and glanced at Winston who looked as uncomfortable as someone who got egged on the forehead, watching mine and Simone’s exchange.

  “Look, before we get really nasty, could we move over to the side so poor Winston here could do his job and look a little less anxious?” I said, gesturing to the side of the grand foyer where some stylish leather seats were laid out for the lounge area. “I don’t imagine he relishes the idea of having to break up a catfight.”

  “Catfight?” Simone repeated, laughing throatily without humor. “I’m not a crass, juvenile sixteen-year-old, Charlotte. I have a lot more dignity than that.”

  I cocked my head up at her, smiling faintly. “Then prove it because right now, storming up the concierge desk, tormenting Winston, throwing your weight around, and mouthing off at someone’s fiancee you’ve never even met before just because Brandon doesn’t want to see you only makes you seem like a crass, juvenile adult.”

  The Always-saying-the-wrong-thing-in-placating-someone-and-antagonizing-them-instead award should really go to you, Charlotte. No one does it better.

  Miraculously, something about what I said must’ve reached Simone because her expression lost a bit of its contempt as if she’d caught herself.

  Winston shot me a look of gratitude as Simone strode toward the lounge area with me right behind her.

  “Look, I know the truth,” she said in a low voice, whirling around all of a sudden I had to halt back on my heels before I could crash into her. “I know what Martin made him do and that he picked you of all people. Brandon told me all this when he suddenly had to put our relationship on hold. You can’t blame me if I hate you.”

  “I don’t,” I answered sincerely despite the sting of Simone’s confession that she knew the truth about mine and Brandon’s situation. “Neither Brandon nor I wanted this and I’m sorry if you’re caught smack in the middle of it too.”

  It was true. I felt sorry for her. Her feelings for Brandon clearly ran deep—which I totally understood—and she wouldn’t be here now, loitering around the main lobby when she could be with him, if it hadn’t been for me.

  She was silent for a moment, studying me intently. “You mean it, don’t you? That you didn’t want this. That Brandon was right when he told me you didn’t know about Martin’s ultimatum until he proposed to you.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t like complicating my life most of the time. This whole thing is a massive complication. I wouldn’t have signed up for it.”

  Not if it meant marrying the one man I could love for all the wrong reasons.

  Simone looked like she was analyzing a mathematical theorem in her head.

  “Listen, Simone,” I started, exhaling deeply. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Brandon but I’d really like to stay out of it.”

  “As if you could when you’re the giant elephant in the room with us,” she snapped irritably.

  I rolled my eyes. “First you call me little, then you call me a giant elephant. Which one is it?”

  “It’s not funny, you know?” Simone gritted her teeth.

  “I wasn’t trying to be,” I retorted and immediately sighed, regretting my continuing snarkiness. “I’m sorry. I’m just very tired. And I’m not feeling well. And I’m—”

  “A giant pain in the ass.”

  Simone and I looked up and saw Brandon striding toward us, his face grim and his hazel eyes narrowed.

  “Looks like you two really have something in common,” I muttered under my breath, glancing at Simone whose entire expression changed into one of utter worship for a second before it faltered with unease.

  “Brand, I—”

  “I don’t really want to hear it, Simone,” he interjected, shooting her a warning look.

  Hurt flickered across her face and I became irritated. “She came to see you, Brandon. Even if you didn’t want to see her, at least be nice about it!”

  Simone gasped, glancing at me.

  I gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. It’s me he’s riled up about.”

  “You got that right,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair. “I went to start your sandwich and then when I looked for you, you were nowhere to be found. I thought of maybe a hundred different things that could’ve happened to you until I called the concierge and was told you were down here. Do you have any idea what you put me through?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Very little, I imagine, except that you’re just overeager to worry and nag about me.”

  “That’s because you don’t always take your welfare into consideration so I have to do it for you,” he countered.

  “I didn’t ask you to and you’re certainly not obliged to volunteer,” I shot back. “You were in the middle of a phone call that sounded like something I didn’t want to interrupt so I just decided to go. I was just heading over to Martin once I got a cab.”

  “A cab?” he repeated. “Why the hell would you take a cab over to my father’s? After what happened to you, you’re just going to jump into a random taxi on your own?”

  I blew out a breath, trying my best not to roll my eyes again. I swear, Brandon would make me cross-eyed someday. “Not everyone is a criminal, Brand, and my life doesn’t stop just because of one unfortunate incident. Did you think I was just going to cower behind Gilles and get driven around in an armored tank wherever I go?”

  His jaw tightened in exasperation. “Don’t be overdramatic, Charlotte.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him. “Don’t be such a mother hen, Brandon.”

  Both of us glared each other off for a moment before Brandon’s scowling mouth softened into a reluctant smile.

  I smiled back.

  And then Simone cleared her throat.

  Brandon closed his eyes briefly, as if just remembering the awkward trio we were making, and glanced at Simone, his brows furrowing together.


  “Simone, I’m sorry for my behavior but now is not really a good time,” he said gently.

  She glanced between me and Brandon, her face now inscrutable. “I can see that. I made a mistake coming here.”

  “No. It was nice to meet you at last,” I said, smiling brightly at her. “I actually heard a lot of great things about you. I admire the whole fair trade campaign you and your company advocate. You’re a very astute and successful businesswoman and philanthropist. The whole Brandon issue aside, I think you’re a very admirable person.”

  “Thanks, Charlotte, for talking like I’m not here,” Brandon muttered under his breath but I could tell he was somehow amused.

  “Hush.” I sent him a pointed look before turning back to Simone who looked caught off guard actually.

  Maybe I said too much. It was true though. I’d asked Felicity about her, and my assistant (God bless her soul for being so sweetly naive sometimes) told me most of what she knew about Simone Clark without giving me an official full report. If I thought that in doing so I’d somehow realize she wasn’t perfect, I thought wrong.

  "Thank you, I guess," she replied slowly as if long-ingrained good manners were prompting her along no matter how flummoxed she was about the situation.

  "You're welcome," I said with a polite nod.

  "We've got to get you over to Dad's, Charlotte," Brandon said, glancing at his watch and drawing out his keys from his jeans' pocket. "I’ll drive you. You're not going anywhere in a taxi."

  "I'm going," Simone announced, seeming to have taken Brandon's statement as cue for herself. She was stiff and subdued—like someone trying to pull herself together.

  "Can we drop you off?" I asked and Brandon gave me a sideways glance.

  Simone shook her head. "No, thanks. I can just call my driver to come and get me."

  So she'd sent her driver away. She was planning to stay for a good amount of time—probably overnight.

  The thought of her and Brandon sleeping on the same bed he and I had been sharing while I was staying at Martin's on the night before our wedding made me ill but I got a grip and steeled myself against the surge of jealousy.

  "It's not a problem dropping you off," I said before swivelling over to Brandon with a meaningful look. "Right, Brand?"

  He opened his mouth, most likely to protest, but he wisely shut it and just nodded instead.

  I beamed at Simone and she looked torn. I turned up the wattage of my smile. I felt for the woman's pain despite everything and I wanted to do something nice for her.

  "Okay," she finally said, squaring her shoulders and thrusting her chin up as her composure returned.

  Atta girl. She's tough.

  I was too. I just wasn't always the most sensitive or the most logical.

  I mean, Simone, Brandon and I in a car for the foreseeable future, depending on where Simone needed to go—all thanks to my often misguided conscience.

  Sometimes, I really needed a good smack in the head.

  The drive from Grand Hills, Brandon's pricey condo building, was nothing short of awkward for the three of us.

  When the valet brought the car over (because apparently, residents in this exclusive high-rise couldn't be bothered to walk down to the parkade and retrieve their vehicle on their own), the seating arrangement was the first struggle.

  Seeing that I was dressed a little less nicely than Simone, I thought I should sit in the back—you know, where dirty socks, soccer balls, empty Cheetos bags and gritty six-year-olds usually belong in a minivan, but Brandon narrowed his eyes at me and, avoiding Simone’s gaze, told me succinctly that I was to sit in the front seat.

  Because he could be dense and said it out loud, I felt more guilty about Simone and insisted that I was perfectly alright in the backseat. Simone, embarrassed beyond measure at that point, protested against that and volunteered to sit in the back. To compromise, I said I would sit in the back with her too. Brandon’s expression kept getting grimmer and grimmer and he bit out that he wasn’t a driver to sit up front alone. So I said I’d drive and Simone could sit up front with me and Brandon could sit in the back. Brandon said there was no way he was letting me drive his heinously expensive car and that I didn’t even have a license.

  Before I could suggest anything else, Brandon leaned down and wrapped an arm around my thighs, tossing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes before dumping me in the front seat, strapping on my seatbelt and pressing his fob key to lock the door in place. Then he opened the door of the backseat for Simone and helped her in without a trace of his uncivilized behavior with me. Maybe I brought out the barbaric in him but I rested my case and just sulked in my seat as Brandon drove off. My midsection ached from when he thoughtlessly tossed me over his shoulder but it was nothing compared to my irritation.

  Thankfully, Simone’s condo was only a few blocks away. Not sure if I liked its proximity to Brandon’s place but it shortened the awkward silence in the car.

  As Brandon pulled up in front of the entrance, I slowly turned in my seat, fighting the discomfort, to face Simone who was unbuckling her seatbelt.

  “Will you be alright?” I asked.

  She glanced at Brandon briefly before gracing me with a faint smile and a quick nod.

  “Thank you for the ride home,” she said politely.

  I grinned. “No problem. Have a good evening, Simone.”

  She said nothing more before she slipped out of the car and hurried inside the building.

  “She’s very beautiful,” I remarked after a moment of silence passed as Brandon pulled back out on the road.

  “She is,” he answered without glancing at me and it stung even though I knew that Brandon was only confirming what I already said. No matter how we looked at this mess, Simone Clark was an undeniable beauty.

  “I can see why you fell in love with her.”

  And I can see where your brain used to be, Charlotte, before it got eaten by maggots. What the hell was that for?

  “I’m not in love with her,” Brandon said quietly, his eyes still focused on the road. “It was never like that with Simone.”

  “What was it like then?” I demanded.

  He finally gave me a quick glance, his expression wryly amused. “We were friends. We were attracted to each other. Things were very casual at first but after a couple of months, I found it convenient when she suggested we saw each other exclusively. I didn’t have to start over with a new woman each time—going through all the get-to-know-you stages and the initial flirtations and ensuring correct expectations. It was just easier to be with someone who knew exactly what I wanted and what I couldn’t offer.”

  My jaw dropped. “You’re saying you dated her because she was convenient?”

  He winced at my appalled tone. “We both found it convenient. I didn’t pressure her for time or attention which she mostly pours into her career. I wasn’t one of those whimpering idiots who kept following her around like dogs, asking her to get married and have babies. Simone wants none of that. She’s been married before and she finds a full-blown romantic relationship demanding and exhausting. Our arrangement was just as convenient for her as it was convenient for me so don’t make me out to be such a bad guy.”

  “A woman about to tear out her perfectly-pampered hair, falling apart in your main lobby, doesn’t strike me as someone who only had convenience invested in your arrangement,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “And seriously, how many women do you have arrangements with? Are you building yourself a harem or something?”

  He laughed. “God, no. I barely have the energy or the sanity to keep up with you.”

  My eyes narrowed, unconvinced. “I don’t know about that. Simone seemed expectant about getting entry into your condo earlier. She said the concierge never had a problem letting her in before.”

  The implication dawned on me and I groaned out loud, squeezing my eyes shut. “Oh, God. Don’t tell me. Please.”

  “I didn’t have sex with her at my condo, Charlotte, if tha
t’s what you’re thinking.”

  I kept squeezing my eyes close, ignoring the hand that Brandon placed on my knee.

  “We were friends before we started seeing each other. She’d come over for small dinner parties with friends or for a quick drink and conversation. I told you before—I don’t bring my romantic affairs home.”

  There should be some relief from that reassurance but the idea of him meeting up with some woman at her apartment or some discreet hotel somewhere bothered me more. I was afraid to be one of those women who sat around at home, helplessly aware that their husbands were out with their mistresses. It was really ironic for me to worry about that considering I once practically told Brandon to have his affairs somewhere else—not to stop having them.

  “Charlotte, open your eyes. Look at me.”

  “No.”

  “Charlotte, come on. Look at me.”

  “I don’t want to because it’ll hurt.”

  The hand he had on my knee tightened its grip. “It’ll hurt? Why?”

  “Just because.”

  “Charlotte...”

  “It’ll hurt because if I open my eyes and look at you right now, I might smack you in the face and my both my hands are still a little bit injured,” I grumbled. “Plus, we might get into an accident and get seriously hurt.”

  “We’re pulled over, you know?” he said gently, as if addressing a child. “We have been for the last two minutes.”

  That got my eyes popping open.

  True enough, we were parked at a distant corner of Martin’s curved driveway, just a short distance away from the front steps of his majestic house.

  “Oh.” I bit my lip and sagged against the seat, turning my head over to the side and pressing my nose against the cool glass of the window. It had started to drizzle outside, fine drops of rain splattering against the car.

  “Charlotte, did Simone say anything unpleasant or offensive to you?” he asked, his tone more serious this time, his hand not budging one bit from my left knee.

  “Nothing I haven’t heard before,” I said with a light shrug, turning my head back to face him.

  His brows knitted with a frown. “I’m sorry.”