by Daria White
“I get it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “All I have to do is show up.”
Her eyes softened. “No, that’s not all I want you to do.”
He smiled. “So you are marrying aside from my good looks?”
“Well… I can’t deny that ‘Mr. Eligible Bachelor.’” She giggled.
“Hilarious.” This time he rubbed his forehead.
“Babe, you need to relax. You’re working too hard.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“But you look exhausted. Maybe you need to take some time off.”
He focused his eyes on her. She couldn’t be serious. “You’re the one running all over the world with your gigs. Maybe I’m not the only one who needs to slow down.”
She sat back. Lance noticed the headboard behind her. Andrea had to be in her hotel room. Her stare went blank. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Whatever you want it to mean.” Was he picking a fight? Lance didn’t want to, but the words already left his mouth.
“So you can work. I can’t?” She asked.
“I didn’t say that.” He sighed. “Look, Babe. We’re tired and I don’t want to say anything I’ll regret.”
“I won’t argue with you there.” Her lips flattened into a thin line as she glanced around her room.
“Andrea?”
“You have something else to say?”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s a start.”
“Forgive me?”
“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.” Was she teasing him? Was that a slight smile on her face? Lance would have asked, but he didn’t in case she wasn’t in the mood.
“I’ll call you later.”
“That’d be nice,” she said.
She hung up without saying goodbye and Lance tossed his tablet on his bed, hearing it plop. After a shower, he climbed into bed and emailed his assistant. Flowers wouldn’t solve his problems with Andrea, but a dozen tulips would be a start.
She would forgive him. Their fights weren’t serious, and he didn’t want to waste time arguing over petty things. He would send a card along with the flowers to her. Until he talked to her again, he settled for sleep.
Chapter 9
His office phone beeped, and Lance answered to his assistant. His father called for him in his office. Why did it feel like going to a principal’s office?
Lance straightened his tie, and then he closed his laptop. He shut his eyes and took a cleansing breath. He flexed his fingers.
No sense in procrastinating. Lance made his way to his father’s corner office without even bothering to knock. He knew the routine too well. Time was money and if his father called for him, there was no point in double checking in with him with a knock.
“I was thinking you wouldn’t make it in today.” His father’s head was down, possibly reading over another deal. His glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. A coffee mug sat on the corner of his wooden desk. Lance took the cushioned seat across from him.
He ignored his father’s comment, not wanting to pick an argument. Instead, his eyes diverted to the plain walls, decorated with pictures of company leaders. Between his father and his business partner, Bill Lawrence, the junior partners, and interns, they handled all the mergers and closing deals. The whir of his father’s laptop filled Lance’s ears, along with the steady drone of the air conditioning.
Lance inhaled cleaning supplies mixed with air freshener. Then he averted his attention from his dad’s laptop to the sheets of paper his father stared at. It had to be a contract in his hand.
“What are your thoughts on Petros merging with Billings?” His father asked.
“The terms and conditions are fine. Petros will benefit from collaborating,” he said.
“Any layoffs with the office headquarters moving?”
“Not this time.” He made sure of it.
His father nodded in obvious approval. “Well done. The Wilkes account is underway too. What about the Bramble account?”
Another vast deal this year for the firm. Lance adjusted in his seat. “In the bag.”
“Good. I will need you to travel to New York to make sure it closes.”
Lance stared at his father. Another trip. “I can’t video conference?”
His father raised a thick eyebrow. “Mr. Bramble prefers an actual meeting. We work with our clients based on their needs. You know that.”
“I know, but he didn’t get back with me about a scheduled meeting date.”
“He didn’t have to,” his father said. “This is something, I decided. I’m only sending you since you are one of my best lawyers.”
The compliment should have made Lance proud, but his skin only itched. He scratched his wrist. His father was showing him off again.
Lance’s father continued. “If you want to take my place someday, I need to know you’re committed. There are no special privileges because you’re my son. You’re one of the best, but that doesn’t mean I won’t push you to be greater.”
“Noted,” he murmured under his breath. He bobbed his head in a clearer response to his father.
This was his father’s business. Lance did the leg work, although his dad wouldn’t admit the idea. He couldn’t help but think his father’s obsession was because of his sister. After her death, his father immersed himself in his law practice. Late nights at the office. Missed family dinners.
How were they supposed to heal as a family if no one talked? The times he tried, his father told him to grow up. Life was tough and he couldn’t wallow. Following the most influential man in his life, he complied, but as the years passed it got tougher to hold his emotions inside.
There was a time he had someone he could talk to. He blinked and stood from his seat. “I’ll be there. Anything else?”
His father motioned for him to leave. Lance didn’t linger. He’d been dismissed, so he walked back to his office. He didn’t have time to unplug before the board meeting, so he left his office again and headed down the carpeted hallway. He was first to arrive entering the room, so he took his seat.
Clearing his throat, he focused on his papers. The memories lingered like an unloved guest. The peace he experienced when he and Chantelle were together compared to nothing he had ever felt before. She listened to him when his parents were too busy keeping up appearances. He’d never forget the first few days after Amelia’s funeral. He had skipped lunch at school and escaped to the basketball court.
Sitting by himself on a bleacher, he had stared into space. His muscles had felt weak and exhausted from the weekend. The tightness in his chest would not loosen. Then he saw Chantelle climbing the steps. Her angelic face glowed in the fluorescent lighting. Lance had not said a word, but sat slouched back against the concrete wall.
“I came to check on you,” she had said.
He bobbed his head, at a loss for words. If he spoke, he would break down and cry. He couldn’t cry. He had to be strong.
“Lance?” Chantelle had coaxed.
He didn’t respond, but only stared back at her.
She nodded and turned to leave, and that’s when he shifted in his seat.
“Stay, Chantelle,” he had said. “Please?”
She gave half a smile and took a seat next to him. Then she laced his fingers with hers and rested her head on his shoulder. Lance shut his eyes, losing himself in her warmth.
They had been friends, but being that close to her, his hypersensitivity to her touch increased. The curls in her hair tickled his cheek. Her soft hand fit in his. He leaned in closer, dropping his mouth to hers. He wasn’t sure if she liked him back, but her breath hitched.
Lance didn’t hold back. He kissed her. She didn’t respond at first, but then he felt her hand touch his cheek. He drew her in closer. His hunger for her increased, and her desire for him showed as her lips covered his. Lance’s heart had raced. He wanted her. He needed her, especially now.
Chantelle then pressed her hands into his
chest. He broke the kiss, not wanting to pressure her. It was the last thing he wanted. She only stared back at him. Her eyes glossed over.
Lance took her hands in his. “Meet me later. Tonight?”
Her lips parted. Chantelle had nodded.
“Lance?” his father said, interrupting his thoughts.
“Yes.” His eyes widened to see more employees occupy the seats in the boardroom. He cleared his throat and straightened his tie.
“We’re waiting on your input.” His father’s hands rested on the rectangular table, laced together. The glare of the sun shined through the window into his eyes. It only intensified his apparent annoyance.
“Right.” He needed to refocus. What were they talking about again?
“The Wilkes account, Lance. We’re waiting on you to update the rest of the board on the Wilkes account.” His father reminded him.
“Yes, the account.” He ignored the tingle that swept down his spine.
***
Curtain framed windows let in natural light. Chantelle laced her fingers together, sitting on the couch in Lance’s home. Her trusty recorder sat on the coffee table as she waited for him. Dottie said he was on an important call and would join her in the living room as soon as he could.
His shelves held books along with picture frames. She smelled the food Dottie must have been cooking in the kitchen. Chantelle relaxed in the soft cushion. So far, so good.
She crossed her legs. Not much sleep the night before, but she was feeling better with no signs of a cold. Though she had a slight chill, her mother cleared her to leave the house. No matter how old she got, Chantelle’s mother would always take care of her.
Lance entered the room. “Sorry about the wait.” He typed away on his cell phone.
His look was pleasant this time. Her stomach hardened at the thought of working with Lance, but nothing would stand in her way. Chantelle had to prove she could pull this off. Mostly to herself.
Brushing her hair behind her ears only made her skin tingle more. Only one man made her feel beautiful on the inside. Like wasted hours of youth, she wouldn’t focus on their history. In the last ten years, she told herself, they did the right thing. At eighteen, it felt like the end of the world. If she didn’t think about it, Chantelle could pretend it never happened. Too bad it did.
Instead, she forced a smile. “It’s okay. I’m sure it was important.”
He sat on the love seat across from her. Lance’s beard brought definition to his chiseled face. His bright smile always made her heart palpitate. Blinking away the notion, she grabbed her recorder.
“Are you ready?” She asked.
“Seems like such a fuss for one day.” He toyed with his cuff links.
“You’re not excited about getting married?” The word left a stale taste in her mouth, but she pressed on.
“I don’t mind getting married, but all this fancy stuff is unnecessary. Who’ll remember the cake or the decorations?”
“It’s a celebration of your love with Andrea. Would you rather get married at a courthouse?” Did she just say that out loud? If she wasn’t careful, this interview would spiral—fast.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “It would be better for me. We can avoid all of this.”
Her finger itched above the record button. He wasn’t getting personal this soon, was he? No way. Surely he knew not to cross the line. They never discussed it, so Chantelle hoped they wouldn’t now. Licking her lips, she cradled the recorder in her hand. “Off the record?” She leaned in closer as if to share his secret.
Lance’s eyes widened. “No, I’m fine. When this is over, I can get back to my life.”
“Okay.” She pressed the record button and grabbed her notebook. “Tell me how you and Andrea met?”
“I originally saw her in person in New York, but we didn’t officially meet,” he said.
“No ‘I fell in love at first sight’ when you first saw her in New York? Did she notice you?”
He gave half a smile. “No, although she was stunning.”
A surprise there. As far as she could remember, all the girls noticed and crushed on Lance, including her. She shook her head.
He continued. “It wasn’t until our annual Taylor Gala that she came with a friend. We met at the hors d’oeuvre table.”
Chantelle made the notes on her notepad. “First date?”
“Ice cream parlor.”
Her eyes widened at the thought of a model eating ice cream. “Andrea Williams eats ice cream?”
Lance bobbed his head. “She cheats her diet now and then. Her fans know that she’s vegan, but she likes to indulge sometimes. I learned that quickly in our relationship.”
She penned his words. “Okay. So... what makes her special, if you don’t mind me asking? How does she make you feel?” Chantelle asked despite the tightening inside her chest. Did he ever compare Andrea to her? She berated herself for thinking such a thing.
Still, Chantelle recalled the first time she and Lance had shared ice cream at Jake’s Ice Cream Parlor in town. The parlor had a long glass case with dozens of ice cream buckets: chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, coffee, rocky road, and all the other flavors she could imagine. The whir of the blender had rattled, making a milkshake. She could still smell the sugary waffle cone. Lance loved to tease her since she preferred her treat in a cup. Sugary cold ice cream had been their favorite dessert to share.
“She has a good heart.” Lance brought her back to the present. He pressed his lips together and then licked them. Then he glanced at his watch.
“That all?” Chantelle coaxed.
“She’s sweet when she wants to be. She’s focused on her career, but it’ll slow down once we’re married,” he said.
“Why would she slow down?”
“As my wife, she’ll have her hands full making appearances with me. I’m making partner soon, so she’ll be at my side as I entertain clients. Andrea won’t be able to travel as much.”
Chantelle’s eyebrows shot up. “What about her career? She’s established herself as a model. Wouldn’t that complicate things?”
“We’re still talking about it,” he said.
It was best to drop the subject. “So, when did you know you loved her?”
He cleared his throat. “I’d rather not share that. It’s private. As long as the public sees the wedding pictures they should be fine.”
She set her notepad to the side. “I know you’re not one to talk about your feelings but—”
“I haven’t talked to you in ten years, Chantelle. I don’t think that’s your business.”
She eyeballed him and turned off the recorder. Silence passed between them like death. Chantelle bit back what she wanted to say. “Am I missing something here? All I’m saying is the public still enjoys a love story. They want to know how you swept Andrea off her feet. You’ve been an eligible bachelor for a long time. They want to know why you’re tying the knot now.”
He leaned forward in his chair. His eyes narrowed at hers. “My personal life is that. I don’t mind a few questions, but I’m not pouring my feelings out for the world to read. I couldn’t care less about a social media presence or my face plastered on a magazine.”
The Lance Taylor she knew, the boy she loved at eighteen, vanished. The man who sat across from her, he might as well have been a stranger. Chantelle crossed her arms. “Why don’t you just say what you’re upset about?”
“Why should I tell you?”
Biting the inside of her cheek, she exhaled. This was getting nowhere. “Maybe we need to reschedule this interview—when you’ve calmed down.”
His breathing through his nose became audible. Chantelle expected a snarky remark, but he didn’t.
Instead, he clasped his hands tight. “Maybe you should go.”
She gathered her recorder along with her notebook and stood to her feet. She stalked to the foyer, but Chantelle paused at the front door. She couldn’t give in. Perhaps they could finally make amends. Tak
ing a deep breath, she paced back to the living area. Lance still sat in his chair, wringing his hands together.
“I don’t know what your problem is,” she said, “but I’m here to do my job. I’ve already told you if you want someone to replace me, fine, but don’t make my job difficult just because you want to be difficult.”
He sprinted to his feet. “I’m being difficult?”
“You won’t let me do my job.” She cocked her head to the side.
Lance grimaced. “All that magazine does is exploit celebrities for a quick buck. I thought you were better than that.”
She stepped forward. Did she hear him correctly? “Are you kidding me? I would never—”
“How would I know?” His nostrils flared as he stood facing her.
She didn’t cower.
“What’s going on in here?” a female voice interrupted, sounding irritated.
Chantelle shut her eyes for a moment, already knowing who stood behind her. She avoided the voice in years, but there was no mistaking it. She forced a smile and turned to face Lance’s mother. “Hello Mrs. Taylor.”
The woman had her arms folded. “Chantelle Woods. I didn’t expect to see you back in town so soon.”
“She’s here for the interview.” Lance explained.
“You’re the reporter?” His mother asked.
“I am.” Chantelle squared her shoulders.
“Interesting. So... this is how you treat your interviews?” His mother raised an eyebrow.
Chantelle wouldn’t dignify the question with an answer. Ever since she could remember, she wasn’t good enough for Lance, according to Mrs. Taylor. “I was just leaving.”
She didn’t wait for a response. Chantelle wanted to hightail it to her car and never return. Her feet stomped the pavement as she hurried to her vehicle. Lance wasn’t the first unpleasant person she had interviewed. She got through the others without blowing a fuse. Why did she lose control?
Better yet, why did he lose his temper? If he loved Andrea, why did Chantelle’s presence bother him? Was it possible that he—
Chantelle huffed as she drove out of the driveway. She needed to cool down, and only one place did that for her frayed nerves. Afterwards, she would call Brenda and give her an update. She hoped Lance didn’t want her replaced with another reporter. Then again, was this story even worth it to her anymore?