Stealing the Bride

by Lee, Nadia

  “Tolyan?” Nate’s eyes bug out. “She wants good publicity, not a horror movie.”

  “Okay, you have a point. How about Yuna? She has the money to bid on you.”

  “She turned me down. Said if she wins me, her mom’s going to send us ten thousand china patterns she’s been saving and start planning a wedding.” Nate’s face scrunches as though he’s bit into a slice of lemon. “I like her, but I’m not marrying her, and I certainly don’t want the Hae Min Group after me. Barron will murder me.”

  True enough. His grand-uncle is old-fashioned about certain things. “Don’t you know any other women?”

  “Lots. But they’d all want to turn it into something more. I could ask my assistant, but she says she doesn’t want to because she’s worried about what people might think.” Nate looks vaguely insulted. “Like it matters what other people think. What she should be worried about is what I think of her performance.”

  This, I can help him with. “Fire her and get a new one who is willing to bid on you.”

  “Can’t.” He sighs, deflating a bit. “She’s good at her job.”

  Our food arrives, interrupting his morose self-pity. When our server’s gone, Nate says, “You know, I lent you my jet. This is the least you can do. All you have to do is give your candy girl the ticket to the event and tell her to bid on me. I don’t care how high it goes; I’ll cover everything. Anything to escape the psycho.”

  I take a bite of my paella. It’s done to perfection. Then a solution occurs to me. “Dude! Just eat some bad shellfish and make yourself sick the day of the auction. Problem solved.”

  “Are you fucking crazy, too? I want to avoid an ex-girlfriend, not die.”

  Melodrama, thy name is Nate. “Fine. I’ll ask, but don’t expect Skittles to say yes. She loves me too much to betray me by bidding on you.” Truth is, I don’t want her bidding on him. Not even to bail him out because…well, damn it, she’s mine.

  “I’m sure everyone’s going to know the score when you guys get married. Poor Nate, dumped like last week’s garbage…”

  The rest of his sarcastic retort fades behind a loud roaring in my head. Married? Skittles and me?

  Normally when people mention marriage—and with me in the equation—my immediate reaction is to recoil. Then run, while my skin breaks out in hives. But…Skittles?

  She’d look amazing in a wedding gown. More beautiful than Curie, really, even though they’re twins, because Skittles just glows. I wonder what kind of flowers should go into her bouquet. Something gorgeous, bright and cheery, just like her.

  At some point, when we’re both ready, we can have babies. Maybe two, unless she only wants one. One’s good, too. Actually, any number’s fine with me. Wouldn’t it be cool to have a chubby toddler who looks just like Skittles waddle toward me while saying, “Dada,” with a baby smile?

  Most definitely. And I’ll get her an Aston Martin. A stroller, that is, since there won’t be any driving for her until she’s at least sixteen. And hire a bodyguard who looks scarier than Tolyan to keep the boys away…

  “Hey, man. Court. Harcourt Blackwood! Did you hear anything I said?” Nate’s voice shatters my pleasant fantasy.

  “What?”

  “I said, I need to know by tonight.”

  Impatient, aren’t we? I haven’t even proposed to Skittles. “Keep this up and you won’t be my best man.”

  He squints at me. “Best man? I don’t care about that. I’m talking about the bidding at the auction!”

  Oh. Right. “I can ask, but listen, don’t get your hopes up.”

  And later that evening, I tell Skittles very casually about Nate’s ridiculous proposal during dinner. I also omit the part about the crazy ex, because Skittles doesn’t need that kind of pressure.

  Okay, the real reason is that I don’t want her saying yes. If she’s going to be bidding at the auction, it should be on me—not that she’ll be able to, since I’m not going to be standing on the block like some side of beef.

  But if not Skittles, then who…? Somebody from Craigslist? Probably not. Nate said he didn’t want people getting any ideas.

  I snap my fingers as the perfect solution occurs. Tony’s assistant! So what if Wei’s male—and heterosexual? Tony often says that Wei’s greatest strength is his flexibility. He can do it, and he has zero desire to go anywhere with Nate, not even if it would mean getting his hands on the Sterling fortune.

  “Sure, I’ll do it,” Skittles says.

  “Okay, I’ll tell Nate you can’t…” My head snaps up. “What?”

  “He’s your friend, and he needs help. I’m willing.”

  “He doesn’t need it that bad.”

  “Obviously he does if he asked you to ask me. Besides, I’ve never been to a bachelor auction before. It’ll be fun.”

  “Fun?” When did “fun” change to include getting your heart punched repeatedly? She’s supposed to say, “No way am I bidding on Nate, Court. You’re the only man for me, even in pretend-world, no matter what.”

  “You can come along if you want.” She giggles. “Besides, it isn’t like I’m bidding my own money. I’ll be bidding his money on him. Talk about incestuous.” Then she rubs the spot between my eyebrows. “Stop frowning. I’m attracted to Nate like…I’m attracted to a catfish.”

  “A catfish?”

  “Ever seen one? They aren’t that pretty. I read that Japanese people don’t even eat them. Can you imagine being a fish and being rejected by the Japanese? They eat blowfish. Sea urchins.”

  “Well, yeah. But you’re American.”

  She giggles again. “Want me to demonstrate how I feel about you, Mr. Unhappy Pants?”

  “Yes, I think that would be a good, mollifying start.”

  “Well, then.” She puts both her hands on my cheeks and looks deeply into my eyes. “I’ll do my best so you don’t feel even a smidgeon of jealousy after I’m done.” She lowers her lips until they touch mine. And spends the rest of the night proving her case.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Pascal

  The next two weeks go by peacefully. Actually, that isn’t quite right. They go by perfectly. Happily. I love every moment of my job, and adore every moment I spend with Court at home.

  Home.

  I always thought I wouldn’t feel comfortable calling a boyfriend’s place “home.” After all, it’s his, not mine, even if we’re sharing the space. Even in college, I never felt like the shared rooms at the dorm were mine. Maybe that’s the real reason I always insisted on keeping my apartment. But with Court, it feels like home. Every time I walk in, I feel warm and happy. I can let my hair down, relax and just be myself with the man I love.

  Perfection.

  But at the same time, I wonder if we’re on the same page. I can see us heading to the serious territory—the kind that comes with long-term commitment and maybe even a wedding, if we both decide that’s what we want. But he’s never even hinted he wants to take our relationship to the next level. As a matter of fact, he seems very content with things the way they are. I tap my fingers on my desk and stare at the wall, while my laptop crunches numbers for my projections on the KOSPI.

  It isn’t that I doubt he likes me. I know he does. But I want more than that. I want him to want to move in the same direction, toward the same goals, I do.

  Stop being impatient and greedy, Pascal. One step at a time. You can’t force an emotion on him.

  Pressuring him would be the best way to repel him. Maybe I’m feeling anxious, because sometimes I could swear we’re on the same wavelength when it comes to how we feel about each other.

  He values your opinion and thoughts. Shouldn’t that be enough for now?

  It should be. I mean, he talks about what he’s thinking about doing with his life, asks me what I think about some of the charity projects he finds interesting, and we even had a rousing debate about crude oil pricing in the commodities market, one that proved we could disagree without getting nasty about it.
<
br />   No other man I dated ever took my input into consideration at the level he does. He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t feel something deep for me, right?

  “Hey, Pascal, ready?” Pete says from the open door.

  Startled, I check the time on the laptop. Twelve already?

  It’s taken almost three weeks since I started for OWM to hold my welcome lunch. Gavin’s a busy man, and his boy wasn’t feeling well, then his wife got sick, so he couldn’t find any free time. Whatever spare moments he had, he spent at home. His family-man attitude makes him seem more human and likable, changing my perception of him from a cold-hearted, ultra-sharp fund manager to more of a genuine human being.

  And it also makes me a tad sad, because it reminds me of how my dad used to be. He took off early from work when I broke my ankle once, just to cheer me up. It’s hard to pinpoint when things changed. Or maybe he’s always had the medieval outlook toward women, and I just didn’t notice because I never wanted to. After all, nobody wants to acknowledge something like that about a person they love.

  I gather my purse and leave with Pete and Gavin. Gavin’s in an exceptionally good mood. “Heard from Pete you’re doing well,” he says. “Damn, I’m good.”

  “You are?” I say.

  “Hey, I hired you, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did.” I have to laugh at Gavin’s ego. Everyone at his level has it, but somehow his isn’t overly obnoxious. It’s the general good humor that comes through.

  “Pete was skeptical.”

  Pete gives Gavin a “seriously?” look. “You have to tell her now? Besides, I’m always skeptical when somebody puts a new person on my team without any warning.”

  “Why?” Doesn’t Pete trust Gavin’s judgment?

  “Because I never know if he’s doing it to make me train them or not. He’s done that quite a few times before.”

  Gavin clasps Pete’s shoulder. “Only because I know you’re good. But I bet you didn’t do much training with Pascal.”

  “Nope.” Pete grins.

  I smile, thrilled that at OWM, people I report to will actually praise me and value my contribution. I can’t think of a time that happened at SFG. That puts a damper on my mood, so I push it aside. No gloominess. That’s all in the past. I don’t have to deal with Dad as a boss, only as a parent. It’s been an awkward transition, but I’ve slowly been working on it. I’m pretty sure it’s same for him, too, because since that dinner where Court and I walked out, I haven’t seen him.

  More people from the office join us until we have twelve. We go to a restaurant Gavin chose—a steakhouse.

  “What would you have done if Pascal didn’t like red meat?” Pete jokes.

  “They have great seafood and chicken. If not, there’s always bread,” Gavin says, then winks mischievously. “It’s apparently gluten-free.”

  Another coworker from my floor teases Gavin for watching what he eats, and Gavin says he only does it because his wife wants him to stay svelte. I giggle. There’s not an ounce of fat on the man.

  “Your wife must be very pleased,” I say.

  “Oh, yeah.” He preens.

  The lunch starts with a toast to welcome me to OWM. It’s relaxed. Nobody says a word about work or the markets. Gavin seems to know about everyone’s personal life, asking after their significant others or kids by name. He turns to me. “You have a boyfriend, right?”

  “Yup. I’m living with him,” I say, not about to hide it like I might’ve at SFG.

  “Great.” Gavin’s eyes twinkle. “Hope he’s good to you.”

  “Very.” I grin. “He’s amazing.”

  “Tell him to keep it up,” Pete says jokingly. “Happy homes make productive workers. I’ve become ten thousand times more productive after I started dating Brooke.”

  “You mean leave by six every evening like the lazy bum you are?” Gavin says with a mock scowl.

  A woman next to me leans over, rolling her eyes at the men. “Don’t mind them. They do this all the time. But Gavin doesn’t care as long as you deliver results.”

  I smile. “Thanks. Good to know.”

  When the server clears our table of the main entrées, I make a quick run to the bathroom before dessert and heading back to the office. As I walk out of the bathroom and make my way to our table, I bump into Cristiano.

  “Pascal! What a surprise.”

  “Hi, Cristiano. Good to see you,” I say.

  “I thought… Are you joining us late for lunch?”

  Us?

  He shifts, and I see Dad coming up behind him and freeze. The irony of seeing Dad at the restaurant where Gavin’s hosting a lunch to welcome me into OWM is pretty intense.

  “Actually, I’m with the people over there.” I gesture, slightly uncomfortable. Cristiano has no reason to know I left, but I don’t want it to look like Dad couldn’t muster up loyalty from his own child. Regardless of our differences, SFG has provided for the family, and its workers are good.

  Cristiano’s narrow-eyed gaze sweeps them. “Is that Gavin Lloyd?” He sounds stunned. And utterly baffled.

  Dad turns slightly red, and the lines around his eyes are tight as he smiles. “Pascal isn’t with SFG anymore.”

  Cristiano stares at me. Guess I look like a traitor to go work for Dad’s competitor. But I’ll be damned if I feel bad about that.

  I straighten my spine. “A better opportunity came up.” The kind that doesn’t require me to be regressive to suit my dad’s antique outlook on how things should be.

  “In that case, I’m happy for you,” Cristiano says.

  “Thank you, sir. So am I.”

  He nods at me and leaves. Dad gives me a hard stare. “You just had to stick that in there, didn’t you?”

  “Stick what?” I demand, unhappy that he’s angry with me, when I tried to be as diplomatic as possible.

  “About the better opportunity.”

  “What did you want me to say? It’s the truth.” It isn’t my fault he blew it. All he had to do was give me the recognition I deserve.

  “You sound so smug, but you shouldn’t. Everyone knows you got the job at OWM because of your boyfriend. A hundred million can buy a lifetime of employment.” He smirks a little, like he knows a secret nobody else does.

  I start to dismiss him, but the number he quoted is too specific. “What are you talking about?”

  “Court gave a hundred million dollars to Gavin. Well, he opened an account at OWM for that amount, but it’s the same thing. More than enough to pay your salary and benefits for years to come.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.” He’s only saying this because he’s upset and the encounter with Cristiano embarrassed him.

  “You weren’t going to get an interview anywhere,” Dad says. “You weren’t promoted in four years, Pascal. People looked at your résumé and probably thought—geez, how crappy is she that not even her own father could stomach moving her up the ladder? You suspected that deep inside, didn’t you? And I knew something was up when you got a job with Gavin. Do you know Gavin and Court know each other? Not directly, but through friends. They all hang out in the same circles. So the man you thought was supportive of you was really manipulating you the entire time. And you accused me of being dishonest.”

  I inhale sharply as what he’s saying stabs into my heart like a knife. Pain starts, but mentally I put it into an iron box and put it away. I’m not letting Dad ruin the end of my welcome lunch. “You know what? I don’t believe you. And I don’t even understand why you’re doing this when your whole end game is for me to marry Court.”

  “Because he isn’t going to marry you. He’s just playing around. He wants you to work and be independent”—he curls his lips in a smug line—“so that when he dumps you, he won’t feel so bad. He hasn’t said anything to you about a future together, has he?”

  My mouth feels parched. Dad seems to know every vulnerable point I have and how to squeeze maximum pain from all of them. “I gotta go. My new coworkers are waitin
g.”

  Dad says nothing, but as I walk off, I can feel his stare boring into my back. Although I tell myself I shouldn’t listen and let him ruin my day, I keep thinking about what he said about Court and his account at OWM. Maybe Dad’s just unhappy Court didn’t put his money with SFG. Or maybe Dad misunderstood Court opening a new account at OWM. Court could’ve had it since forever. Rich people have others take care of their money anyway. Or maybe it’s as crass and simple as him being pissed off Court isn’t doing what Dad wants—marry me, make me quit my job and pamper me like a princess or whatever Dad decides I deserve. Unlike my exes, Court says and does what he wants, and he’s gone up against Dad to defend me. Dad has to know Court’s been supportive of my choices.

  Somehow I manage to get through the afternoon. Thank God. I begin to close all the apps and browser on my laptop to shut it down, then stop. Instead of stewing about what Dad said, I should just check it out. I can access the client list at OWM, after all.

  My mouth dry, I pull up the internal database. As I type in Court’s name, I start to feel silly. The search result is going to show I’m being paranoid. And I’m going to end up feeling like an idiot for even doing this.

  But my fingers move on autopilot, and hit enter.

  Harcourt Roderick Blackwood. Client since…

  Pain sears my heart as though a needle has lanced it. Then my pulse accelerates, hot blood roaring through me like a swollen river breaking a dam. The date is exactly one day after I got the interview call from Hilary. It’s etched into my memory because it brought such hope, relief and anxiety.

  Come on, girl. It’s probably a coincidence. Didn’t he see a lawyer around that time? Maybe the attorney guy arranged this.

  But the lawyer works for Court’s father, and Court was pissed off about getting a letter from him.

  I breathe in and out, forcing myself to go slow, reining in my thoughts. There’s got to be a simple explanation for this. He could’ve joined because he got pissed off after seeing the lawyer and decided to put his money to work so he doesn’t have to. Or maybe he got lazy about his finances until the news of my interview reminded him he needed to do something.