The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield (16 page)

He smiled sheepishly. "Well, I wanted to reassure you as much as possible considering you only met me tonight."

I turned to the sisters. "Can you guys vouch for him not being a total psycho?"

Anna smiled. "Is Jake a heartbreaker? Yes. Psycho, no."

Tessa though didn't look like she approved. "Brandon isn't going to be happy to hear that Jake took you home."

I snorted. "Brandon can go fuck himself."

I turned to Jake and grinned at him as I looped my arm through his. "Can we stop by for some cheeseburgers and fries on the way? I'm starving?"

And we did.

We slipped out of the ballroom unnoticed and got into his car. We stopped by a drive-thru and parked by the empty parking lot.

I had just taken a second bite of my cheeseburger when I burst into tears.

"Brandon is such an asshole," Jake swore angrily as he handed me a wad of paper napkins. "I'm sorry, Charlotte. I tried to get him to send her home when she arrived but he said she was harmless. That there was nothing for me to worry about. I usually trust his judgement but I had a feeling it was going to be a disaster if you saw them together."

I furiously scraped at my face with the paper towels, more pissed that I was crying. There wasn't a lot that made me cry anymore. Not for years.

"I honestly don't care," I told Jake, wiping my nose. 

He looked at me. "Why don't you care? You're marrying Brandon, for God's sakes."

Because he's paying me a million dollars. Because he made it clear from the very beginning that he was free to pursue extra-marital affairs with other women. Because I signed a goddamned contract.

Before I could answer, my cellphone rang and I answered it.

"Charlotte, where the hell are you?" Brandon demanded. "Anna said you took off with Jake. Where are you? I'm coming to get you. I've turned the ballroom inside out looking for you in the last half hour!"

I grimaced and moved the phone away from my ear. 

Jeez. You think the man could lay off on the indignation considering he's been having the time of his life with his mistress in our engagement party.

"Leave me alone, Brand," was my belligerent reply. "Jake's drivng me home. Don't interrupt your partying for my sake."

"Charlotte!"

I pressed a hand over the mouth piece of my phone and said to Jake, "He's really yelling at me now."

Before Jake could reply, I pressed the phone back to my ear. "Relax, Brand. Jake and I just made a quick stop for some cheeseburgers and fries."

Silence answered me that for a second I thought he'd hung up.

"You got cheeseburgers and fries?" was his low, even response.

"Yeah," I answered with a shrug, too exhausted at this point to feel hurt anymore. "I told you I would."

"You said you would get cheeseburgers and fries with me!" he bellowed on the other line.

Anger clenched at my heart and I took a deep breath to calm myself down. "Well, you were a little busy so I went with someone else. Now I want to get back to eating it so goodnight, Brandon Maxfield."

With that, I turned off my phone and tossed it to the floor.

Jake said nothing about it as we sat in silence and finished our food.

It was almost midnight when we arrived at my house.

A town car was parked out on the street, Brandon leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest.

"I'll walk you to the door," Jake said, hopping out of the car before I could argue. 

"It's about damn time you got her back, Jake," was Brandon's menacing growl as he straightened away from the car and marched over to us.

Jake pressed me up against him protectively. "Don't be an ass, Brand. You don't want to have this fight right now."

Brandon shoved his friend on the shoulder that was touching mine. "I dare say I do."

"Cut it out, Brandon," I snapped, glowering at him, faltering for a moment when I saw the rage in his eyes in the shaft of light that shone down on us from the street lamp. 

I turned to Jake and smiled. "Thanks for driving me home, Jake, but you should probably go."

Jake glanced between me and Brandon. "I can wait until you get inside."

I sighed. "That would be nice but I can't trust the two of you not to pummel each other to the ground. I'll be alright, Jake. He won't hurt me. He needs me."

A confused frown marred Jake's forehead but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

He turned an annoyed glare at Brandon before walking back to his car.

Brandon and I watched in silence as Jake drove away.

When he was gone, I turned to walk up the steps, taking my keys out of my clutch.

I heard Brandon open his car door and slam it shut before rushing up behind me.

"Hey, I brought some cheeseburgers and fries," he said gently, coming up beside me as I inserted my key into the lock. 

I turned to him and saw him holding up a brown take-out bag, his face anxious, almost hopeful.

I got angry all over again.

Does he think I'm some kind of emotional punching bag?

"Go to hell, Brandon," I said before pushing the door open, stepping inside and slamming it close on his face.

Without pausing, I kicked off my shoes, zombie-walked my way to my bed and threw myself on it, pressing my face down on my pillow as the tears came.

I have a quick temper but I have a hard time holding grudges.

I'd spent the night crying until my pillow resembled a mural with the smeared mascara and the lipstick soaked through its case. I eventually fell asleep from exhaustion and when I woke up this morning, I had a completely different perspective.

I hated saints because they suffered needlessly most of the time and reveled in the rightness of it. I hated them more each time I found myself doing the same exact thing because wouldn't life be so much easier if I were just always looking out for myself? 

Try as I might, I just couldn't stay angry—especially since I realized that my anger was mostly unsubstantiated. Brandon was crystal clear when he told me that he expected to be able to pursue his own personal affairs even when we were married. It was written in plain text in black ink on the contract I signed. I couldn't really dispute that. 

Also, I never once considered that Brandon's heart may have already belonged to someone else and that when Martin decreed this marriage between us, he had to give that up and hurt the woman he loved.

What if I was the third party? The force that will tear their love apart? The reason for his pain and heartbreak? The reason for her misery?

I know, dramatic, right? Meeting Brandon the first time, I couldn't imagine him being so passionately in love with a woman. Having spent time with him in the past week and a half, I had a harder time imagining him not being loving, sweet and generous to the woman who captured his heart. 

Even if that woman is Simone Clark—beautiful, sophisticated, rich and perfect in every way to become Mrs. Maxfield. The kind of wife Brandon would be proud of—nothing like the rugrat that I am.

So I decided that despite the emotional beating my heart took the night before, I wasn't going to hold it against him. He would marry me and continue on with Simone until he could officially be with her once we divorced. He'd been good to me mostly and this was the least I could do for him.

Yes. I was a pathetic martyr.

Having given Felicity and Gilles the day off, I went to most of my appointments for the day all by myself, canceling those that weren't important. Amazingly, no one checked up on me. For a moment, it felt like I had my old life back.

I went to the bank to discuss their sudden decision to extend the hold on my house. I told them they didn't have to since I was getting the money in a week but they insisted that I could take as long as I wanted to get the mortage cleared up without worrying about getting the house foreclosed. I suspected that my engagement to Brandon was responsible for it again. No one wanted to piss off his bride.

After lunch at Marlow's, I walked the Schuberts' trio of Pomeranians around the park where I met up with the reporters for a chat. If anyone noticed my slightly despondent mood, no one mentioned it. Since the media hadn't been allowed inside the party and most of them had left by the time Brandon and I went our separate ways, none of them really knew what had happened. They had asked about how my meeting with Jake for the first time went. One reporter asked if I had met Simone Clark and although my insides had turned into ice at that question, I managed a merry smile and said that I didn't get a chance to be introduced to her even though she'd been at the party. Another reporter had jabbed that guy in the stomach almost in reprimand and although I was touched by the gesture, I knew it was useless. The world knew what a joke I was as Brandon's fiancee and there was nothing I could do about it.

It wasn't until late afternoon that I took a cab to Martin's house to visit him. 

"Well, this is interesting," he said after he studied me for a long moment while nibbled on a scone. 

We were having afternoon tea al fresco at the gazebo in the sprawling backyard while Mattie laid on the grass a few feet away from us, clutching a notebook and staring at the clear blue summer sky. Writing lyrics, he'd said.

"What's interesting?" I asked, looking up and taking a sip of my tea.

He wore an expression he would usually only have when deliberating a very serious business decision. I wasn't sure why he would look like that considering we've only sat down for ten minutes since I arrived.

The old man didn't go to work as often anymore and had made no qualms when I called him to see if I could swing by. He was dressed in khaki shorts, a light blue button-down shirt and sandals, his silver hair glinting with the afternoon sun. He wasn't a young man but Martin wasn't a hundred years old either. He had such light blond hair as an adult and he admitted it quickly turned silver when he hit forty. It never seemed to bother him but then Martin was always a puzzling man.

A ghost of a smile suddenly hovered on his lips as he rubbed his chin. "I'm struck with a sense of deja vu. I found myself having a very similar conversation with my eldest son last night except it was half past midnight and over brandy. He said as much as you have since you got here which isn't very much at all."

I frowned, straightening up. "I'm not sure what you're getting at, Martin."

"Did something happen last night, Charlotte?" he asked, gazing directly at me. "Brandon looked like he swallowed a handful of nails and you look like you're having the worst toothache."

Well. There's nonchalance out the window. Martin is apparently omniscient.

"It's nothing serious," I reluctantly conceded, being as vague about it as possible. "Just a little tiff. It'll blow over in a few days."

He raised a brow at me, unconvinced. "The two of you are getting married in a few days."

"Yes, well, no one said the journey to the alter would be smooth one," I said sulkily before I sighed. "Alright. What did he say?"

"Ah, Charlotte," he said with a smile. "For your marriage to work, you're going to have to talk and work it out together. You don't want your in-laws to meddle."

I raised my brow back at him. "Oh, really? I say the only in-law left around in this marriage is already meddling."

Like demanding his son to marry a diner waitress when he was already in love with the perfect woman. 

He chuckled. "I'm only here to make sure you're both happy with the choice you're making."

What choice? The reason we're doing this is because we have no choice!

"Tell me something, Martin," I started, picking at the scone on my plate. "If it had been someone else—a different girl—would you be as supportive of Brandon marrying? Would you welcome her as much as you welcomed me? Treat her like she's your own daughter like you treat me?"

His blue eyes narrowed for a second in thought and I worried that I'd given myself away with that question. But I couldn't take it back now and I didn't want to. I wanted to know what he required of me from this whole arrangement so I could do it and walk away without feeling like a complete user who cashed in a million dollars from the old man's idea and wrecked his son's love life.

"I wouldn't be a hypocrite and say yes when I know I wouldn't," he answered slowly. "If she was a good person and genuinely cared for my son, I'll be more open-minded. When you're a rich, successful man though, affection can be easily bought and I don't want that for Brandon."

I felt sick and I quickly looked down into my cup, unable to meet Martin's eyes.

You certainly won't want me for him then, Martin. My affection was bought at a million-dollar price tag.

I felt ashamed. Great. One more thing to add to my misery today.

"Charlotte..."

I forced myself to look up when Martin's voice trailed off, fighting to drown out the pounding of my heart that now filled my ears.

He was looking at me with a pensive expression, his blue eyes kind. "It doesn't require a perfect woman to make my son happy. He just requires the woman perfect for him."

My face crumpled but I fought the tears like crazy. "How do you know I'm perfect for him?"

He smiled. "I don't. I'm just hoping you are."

Tears slipped down my cheeks. Sheesh. When did I become a watering pot?

"I'm not... as great as you th-think I am," I said between soft gasps, taking the handkerchief Martin handed me which only made me feel worse so I cried even harder. "I don't... I don't even know... where t-to start. Being the k-kind of w-wife you want me to be—for h-him."

"You don't have to be any kind of wife, Charlotte," Martin said, leaning forward and rubbing my shoulder soothingly. "You just have to be yourself."

"As if that's enough!" I exclaimed with a moronic laugh choked with tears. "I'm dirt-poor. I haven't stepped into college. I'm barely a decent pastry chef. My hair looks like I tried untangling it with a fork. The only thing I know about business I learned from Dilbert and that's not recommending me a lot. I talk too much. And I often say the wrong thing. How could I possibly be right for this? How?!"

"Dad, what's going on here?"

I whipped around, my tears surging back to my throat when I saw Brandon standing behind us, a dark scowl on his face.

I quickly turned away and bit back a groan as I wiped my face down with the handkerchief.

I was mortified at having him walk in on me like this and more tears sprung in my eyes.

"Goddammit," I muttered, glancing away when Brandon came to stand beside my chair. "What are you doing here anyway? Did you know I was here?"

"Just because Gilles is off-duty doesn't mean I'll let you run around the city unprotected," he answered impatiently. "Now, tell me why you're crying?"

I refused to say anything else.

"Why are you crying, Charlotte?" he asked.

A million-dollar question. Wait, that was for the marriage proposal I said yes to. This is just him being nice when he doesn't really care all that much.

"Why is she crying, Dad?" Brandon asked, his tone sharp with irritation.

Martin sighed. "You're going to have to find out yourself, son."

"Charlotte," Brandon began with a near growl as he sat on the chair next to me and touched my elbow to try to move the hand covering my face away. "Charlotte, why are you crying?"

"I am not crying!" I snapped, moving my arm away from his touch. 

I finally returned my gaze to him and regretted it because even though he had shadows under his eyes and his jaw was rough with a day-old stubble, he looked strikingly handsome.

"You are crying," he replied gently, gesturing to the damp handkerchief I was clutching in my hand. 

"Fine! I'm crying," I retorted waspishly. 

"Why?" he pressed.

What? You want me to show you the hacked up pieces of my heart from last night? You want me to leave them out to dry too? What for? Nothing you can do about them.

"I'm crying because... I'm crying because I have my period!"

Great, Charlotte. That's just great. Now he'll think you're a bigger moron.

Brandon's brows shot up and Martin just chuckled before giving me an apologetic look. 

I tossed the handkerchief down on the table and rose to my feet. "Thanks for the tea, Martin, but I've got to get going."

"Alright. See you around, Charlotte."

"Charlotte, wait—"

"Brandon, son. Wait a sec—"

I strode out of the gazebo so fast I practically rammed right into Mattie who stumbled back a step.

"Charlotte, you okay?" the boy asked, his voice full of concern.

The dark veil in my vision cleared and I nodded, placing my hands on his shoulders. "Yeah, of course, buddy. Sorry I ran into you. I was just distracted."

His blue eyes were disquietingly direct, as if I could get nothing past him. The last thing I needed was for him to write about my trampled-on feelings into the lyrics of his next song. This boy was going to be the next male Taylor Swift and being emotionally vulnerable like I was at the moment, it was terrifying.

In fact, when he sang about me and Brandon last night, that had been pretty terrifying too because did he really believe all of that about us? Did he see anything we didn't?

"You're sad," he observed, biting his lower lip. "Did Brandon make you cry? I'm sorry he did but you mustn't be angry with my brother. I'm sure he didn't mean it."

I let out a short bitter laugh. "I know, Mattie. I'm not really angry with him. I'm just... not having a great day. But don't worry about me. I've had bad days before and they don't really last so I'm good."

He nodded, clutching his notebook to his chest. "I saw Brandon. He looked like he's having a bad day too."

I wonder why when he must've had a grand time screwing his mistress last night.

I groaned and rubbed the space between my brows.

Stop it, Charlotte. You said you were going to stop being angry about that. You're the one who got in their way.

"Charlotte!"

I cringed but decided not to turn around. I leaned down and ruffled Mattie's hair instead. "I think you should probably go, Mattie, if you want to escape Brandon's bad mood. I want to get out of here too."

The boy hesitated, glancing at his brother who was marching toward us. "He won't hurt you."

My heart squeezed. Mattie was clearly trying to reassure me about his brother as if the slightest encouragement would cause me to bolt. I admired his fierce loyalty even if it weren't necessary. My loyalty to Brandon was bought at a million dollars.