The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield

by Ninya Tippett

  His brow lifted, his blue eyes glinting with wry amusement. “Eloquently put, as usual.”

  “Nah, just lazy. I save my nasty creatives for showdowns,” I said with a shrug, smiling a little when I saw him roll his eyes in exasperation, like someone who realized he should’ve known better.

  “You’re irreverent,” he muttered.

  “You’re irritating,” I answered without heat or hesitation.

  He exhaled loudly and shook his head. You’d think after a few confrontations, he’d be used to me by now.

  “I heard Brandon is still handling the pulp mill crisis,” he said, changing the topic. “It’s a small one he could’ve left to the operational director.”

  “Brandon is a little more hands on than that,” I answered, bristling at the criticism I could detect in Francis’s statement. “He doesn’t like to just sit from his throne and watch the world burn around him, thinking that there’ll be servants to put out the fire.”

  Francis’s smiled with that same half-disdained, half-amused proportion to it. “I can see why Brandon is so obsessed with you. You’re as fiercely loyal as a dog.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I wonder how you get dates. You have the same good genes as the Maxfields, you’re wealthy and placed high up on the ladder, but you’ve got about as much charm as a tree stump.”

  He didn’t seem offended by that as he shrugged. “Just lazy. I reserve my charm for those I actually care to flatter.”

  “Oh, right!” I said with a cheerful clap of my hands although I was mildly irritated by his mimicking my line from earlier. “You reserve it for goddesses like Simone. How’s that working out anyway? Are we going to hear wedding bells soon?”

  He narrowed his eyes, his voice low and soft when he answered, “No. Not everyone has a secret agenda for getting hitched. There’s no million-dollar check in it for me.”

  I felt my insides turn into ice as his words settled in my gut like a mini iceberg.

  Of course, he knew. How could I forget?

  Simone confirmed with Brandon that Francis knew something and had proof.

  He knew about the million dollars. He must have one hell of an accurate proof.

  Like the contract.

  He couldn’t possibly have it. My copy was still sitting safely in a shoe box in a crevice in the wall inside the linen closet in the hallway at my house. It was where I used to keep my important documents like passports and bank stuff. I’d left the contract there when I moved in with Brandon, thinking I was going to go back to it in a year and knowing I would be uneasy to have it within reach, knowing the lie it represented.

  Brandon must still have his because I was certain he would’ve said something by now if he’d lost it.

  My hands felt clammy as I steadily met Francis’s stare. The urge to flee felt like a bad itch on my feet but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he could cow me with the truth—even with the rest of the Maxfields within earshot of a declaration in case Francis decided to make one.

  I quickly glanced at the others in the corner of my eye, making sure that no one was paying us too much attention. We were standing together practically halfway out to the patio and everyone else seemed busy talking to each other inside.

  “What I don’t get is,” I said in an equally soft voice despite the erratic pounding of my heart. “What’s in it for you, Francis?”

  He frowned slightly. “You don’t know?”

  I arched a brow at him. “Would I ask if I did?”

  “Not much of a team, you two, after all,” he mocked.

  The comment rankled but I focused on the answers I wanted to find. “What’s in it for you, Francis?”

  His eyes glinted as a smug smile turned up one corner of his mouth. “A whole damn lot. For the first time in years, I’m the one with the upper-hand. Brandon can finally stop playing God.”

  Oh, Brand. What did you do?

  Resentment was clear in Francis’s icy blue gaze, anger sharp under his lowly murmured words.

  Reason with him, Charlotte. Come on. Give it a shot. See if you can reach into the cage to feed the tiger without getting your arm chewed off.

  “Do you really want to cause a lot of people unhappiness just to get ahead on your rivalry with Brandon?” I asked. “You admitted to caring a lot about the old man before. Do you really want to put him through that misery?”

  He scoffed. “Shouldn’t you have asked yourself that question before you agreed to yours and Brandon’s arrangement? Don’t try to lay guilt on me, Charlotte. I merely know the lie and wonder how to best use it to right things. You and your husband perpetrated it.”

  Anger and panic fused inside me but I kept the polite expression fixed on my face. “You’re no better than the people who committed the crime if you go out of your way to profit from it.”

  A smile broke out on his face. “There is no truer statement. You should tell Brandon that and maybe he’ll realize exactly what he’d done to me.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, floundering as I sought for the right words to say, when I heard the voice I would know anywhere.

  “Charlotte, love.”

  Brandon.

  I whipped around and saw him standing by the archway that led to the living room from the front hall, wearing a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark gray pants and expensive leather shoes.

  He looked like he ordinarily would coming home from the office except that he was slightly wrinkled, his dark hair disheveled, his jaw scruffy, and his face almost gaunt with exhaustion.

  His mouth though was crooked with a smile, his hazel eyes shining happily.

  “Brandon!”

  Later, people would comment on how fast I ran across the living room, clumsily dodging those who were in my way, before I flung myself into Brandon’s arms.

  His arms locked around me as he lifted me off my feet and swung me around in a half-circle until my back was to the hall, his broad shoulders blocking us from the view of his family who would mostly likely stare openly and roll their eyes.

  “Oh, Brand. I’m so happy you’re home,” I murmured to him just before he caught my mouth in a sweet but urgent kiss, his hand cupping the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair.

  The smell, feel and taste of him invaded my senses—much like that painful relief when your blood rushed back to your veins after your circulation was cut off.

  With great reluctance, I let him step back when he broke our kiss, willing to trade the ministrations of his mouth for a close-up glance of his face.

  “I’ve missed you, Charlotte,” he murmured with a smile, kissing the tip of my nose and the space between my brows almost reverently. “I had no idea how hellishly long two days without you was going to be.”

  I grinned and stood on my tiptoes to kiss him again, clutching the front of his shirt, when we heard someone sigh loudly.

  “I understand you’re both ecstatic to be reunited but maybe you should sit with us and eat first before getting the hell out of here,” Martin said with a knowing smirk when Brandon and I broke apart to face the amused expressions of our audience.

  Brandon scratched his head and gave his father a sheepish grin.”Good idea, Dad. And hello, everyone. Sorry, I was distracted from the moment I walked in.”

  Anna grinned at her brother as the rest of the family got up on their feet to head to the dining room. “Don’t worry, it’s a good kind of distraction, Brand. I swear, sometimes, when you’re smiling and looking all dreamy-eyed gazing at your wife, I forget you’re my brilliant, powerful older brother.”

  Brandon smiled put an arm around my shoulder as he followed the rest toward the dining room. “Thank you, Anna. Although I’m wondering if you’re just softening me up so I don’t scold you for dragging Charlotte and Tessa out to a college party last night.”

  Anna gave a dismissive shrug. “Oh, please. I don’t remember a whole lot but I’m pretty sure that Charlotte was as sober as a fr
esh breathalyzer stick last night. Besides, she’s still young even though she’s already married and making important strides in society. She can afford a little bit of fun partying with people her age.”

  “Up to a point,” I said to Anna with a smile. “When people my age start to get really wasted and do things they will never want to talk about in public again, I’m reminded why I was never a big party-person in the first place.”

  Anna and I laughed but when I glanced up at Brandon, I could tell by the knit of his brows that he’d taken in what Anna had said with grave seriousness.

  He was about to say something as we filed into the dining room where a couple of Martin’s house staff was laying out an assortment of dishes on the long, elegantly set up dining table, but Francis suddenly came up behind us.

  I’d totally forgotten about him!

  “Good to see you, Brand,” he said in a friendly tone that didn’t quite mask the hint of derision in his voice. “I was wondering whether I was going to have to fly to Virginia to see you.”

  My heart had resumed its nervous pounding as I felt Brandon stiffen at his cousin’s comment.

  Anna had excused herself and went ahead of us to take her spot at the table while we all paused by the doorway.

  “I wasn’t running from my responsibilities, if that’s what you’re implying,” Brandon bit out. “I was doing the exact opposite, in fact, but you wouldn’t recognize accountability if it looked you right in the eye now, would you, Frans?”

  I glanced at the dining room and saw that Jake and Martin both had their eyes on us. The tension between the cousins was palpable you could hit your head on it and get bruised but the last thing I wanted was for them to hash it out here, right before dinner and in front of the family.

  “Why don’t we all sit down and eat dinner and take this conversation somewhere else later?” I murmured to the two men, gripping Brandon’s arm with enough pressure that he would hopefully take the hint.

  When they both refused to back down, I practically wedged myself between them, hissing softly through clenched teeth, “You can pummel each other later like pigs in the mud and I’ll referee but right now, you’re both going to sit down like civilized people and eat the damned dinner.”

  “Everything alright there, Char?” Martin spoke up, his voice soft but firm with a wealth of unspoken meaning behind it.

  Brandon and Francis broke their death stare and glanced at the dining table where everyone sat watching us. Even Mattie was gazing at us with wide blue eyes behind his glasses.

  I beamed at them. “Oh, yes. All’s good. These two are just... catching up, Brandon-and-Francis edition.”

  I practically shoved Brandon into a seat, quickly taking the spot next to him, as Francis rounded the table and sat on the opposite side, a good two plate settings away.

  Good. The last thing these two need is more conversation over dinner.

  The meal was delicious and full of lively chatter from Martin and the younger Maxfield siblings.

  Jake was not-so-covertly casting longing stares at Tessa who couldn’t fight a blush to save her life whenever she caught him looking.

  I knew Anna noticed but pretended not to but I wasn’t certain about Martin.

  He was still on a restricted diet but seemed to enjoy himself and the food since most of us made sure to include enough dishes that met his dietary requirements. He listened and advised Brandon when his son talked about the pulp mill issue in Virginia and its most recent updates.

  Francis, to my everlasting relief, didn’t throw in any provoking, double-meaning comments into the conversation, but from the corner of my eye, I could see him studying Brandon intently.

  When the main meal was done and we finally gorged ourselves with the sans rival I made for dessert, we moved back to the living room to have some tea and coffee while Mattie played a little for us.

  I’d gone to the kitchen to help slice the leftover sans rival into portions and put them in disposable containers for those who wanted some to take home with them. I was just heading back when I passed by the den which also served as a home library.

  A heated argument was clearly ensuing behind the closed door and one of the rising male voices was my husband’s.

  The others were still in the living room which was down the long hall from the kitchen and with Mattie playing the piano (one of the few in the house), they probably haven’t heard anything yet.

  I pressed my ear to the door to see if I could make anything out clearly but their words were muffled by the wooden barrier.

  Door number one: Brandon beating Francis into a bloody pulp. Door number two: Francis decorating Brandon's face with bruises. Door number three: Maybe they're both just sitting there, yelling each other’s ears off.

  Unable to stand back and listen helplessly, I pushed the door open.

  The two cousins were practically nose to nose with each other, their faces and ears red with quickly fraying tempers, their fists curled and primed for some good old punch-trading.

  They both paused and swung their gazes toward me.

  I held my hands up. "You're both looking daggers at me right now. If looks could kill, I'd be ground beef in the second it takes you to blink."

  Francis gave me a baleful look. "Call off your hound, Brand."

  I glared at him. "What is it with you and dogs? One might think you have some weird, kinky fetish or something."

  Francis only looked more murderous and Brandon grabbed me by the elbow and tucked me to his side.

  "Leave her out of this," he told Francis. "She has nothing to do with this. She doesn't even know."

  I turned my withering stare to my husband. "Now, there's an understatement."

  Brandon glanced at me with pleading eyes. "Charlotte, please."

  "I'm going to go now before the two of you make me vomit my dinner," Francis said crudely. He paused and leveled Brandon a narrowed look. "This is your last warning, Brand. The next time, I won't ask nicely anymore."

  My husband stiffened as he returned Francis's menacing gaze. "And as I've said, it's not my decision to make."

  Francis's mouth twisted into a sneer. "You say that but we both know what talent you have in making people think that the choice is all theirs when you're really the one moving the pawn pieces around the board."

  I glanced at Brandon, catching the fury flickering in the depths of his fiery hazel eyes. "The decisions I've made, I've made for the sake of those I'm trying to care for and protect."

  "Your good intentions be damned, Brand," Francis scoffed. "You'll give me what I want or I take you down. Your secret for mine. I can destroy you in your father's eyes as easily as you can do it to me."

  With that, Francis turned around and strode out of the room.

  The room fell amazingly quiet after that, with nothing more than the sound of our short breaths.

  Then Brandon sighed out loud, almost literally deflating as he dropped to one of the big, comfortable arm chairs scattered around the room, and closed his eyes.

  I stood in front of him, my hands planted on my hips.

  He looked so exhausted, so distressed, that a part of me wanted to wrap him up in my arms and hold him close until everything was right in the world again but I had to put my foot down this time.

  Do you know what happens to those who carry a cross too big and heavy for them? They topple over and get crushed under it. Even with nice, broad shoulders like Brandon’s.

  “It’s time to spill, Brand,” I finally said. “Francis knows about the contract. He didn’t even try to be subtle about it when he spoke to me tonight. What do you have on him that’s tempting him to use what he has on us?”

  Brandon opened his eyes and looked up at me. “I have the same thing he has on me—a secret.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, all the little voices that had been niggling me in the back of my head coming out to the forefront. “Just one secret? I’m thinking there’s two—Nicole and Zach, to be specific.”

&
nbsp; “Did you tell him about them?” Brandon asked with a frown. “Because you promised—”

  “No, I didn’t,” I snapped. “I endured his pity instead when he realized you kept me in the dark, like some accomplice you’re about to double-cross.”

  Brandon’s face turned bleak as he straightened off the back of the chair and pressed his forehead against my stomach, his arms circling my hips. My arms instinctively went up around his shoulders, my hands gliding through his thick, wavy hair.

  Dammit.

  Putting my foot down was a lot harder to do when Brandon was breaking my heart with his tenderness.

  “You’re the last person I would sell out, Charlotte,” he murmured against the wispy material of my dress. “I’d let my soul burn in hell for eternity first before I ever let you near the fire.”

  I ached for the man I loved, the man I married, the man who was all too willing to suffer everything alone if it meant freeing me from another moment of distress.

  “And you know I’m stubborn enough to tell the devil to go to hell then reach in and drag you out, even if I’m burned clean to the bone,” I told him softly, lowering my head to press a kiss on his hair.

  He rumbled out a laugh, lifting his head halfway up that I could see the laughter sparkling in his bright hazel eyes.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if you cursed the devil to his own den,” he said, his arms tightening around me. “Because you’re stubborn and loyal and unrelenting like that.”

  “I know!” I agreed impishly. “Which is why I don’t understand why you left me out like you did. I could’ve been so much help. I’m cunning and devious and clever and tough-skinned and bull-headed and—”

  “Charlotte.”

  “—and fearless and artfully witty and—”

  “Charlotte.”

  I paused. “Yeah?”

  Brandon grinned at me before pulling me down to his lap so we were practically eye-level. “I know you’re all of those things,” he said gently, cupping the side of my face. “But you’ve lived most of your life with too many worries—from where the food’s going to come next, to whether you’re going to find yourself tossed out in the streets when the bank takes away your house. You’re only nineteen—”