The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield (9 page)

I was wide awake by five on Wednesday morning and it was my day off. These days, sleeping in wasn't an option.

There just wasn't enough time in the world to do everything I needed to do—get my job and errands  done, and also do everything that being Brandon's fiancee required.

Getting up before I could fall back asleep, I walked barefoot to the kitchen and made myself a big cup of coffee. Sitting with my laptop on the dining table, I checked my day's calendar which Felicity kept up to date with amazing efficiency.

6:00 AM     -Morning run

7:00 AM    -Breakfast meeting with Felicity 

 
               -Profile review of engagement party guests

8:00 AM    -Dance lessons

10:00 AM  -Fitting at Marcellina’s for engagement party dress

 
               -10-minute media interview

11:00 AM  -Food-tasting for wedding

12:30-3:00 PM -Charlotte’s Me-Time

3:00 PM    -Meeting with Shelly (Re: wedding music and entertainment)

4:00 PM    -Spa appointment at The Retreat

6:00 PM    -Dinner with Brandon at Chianti

 
I smiled. 

Brandon went to Vancouver for a few days on business. He was supposed to return later today. Felicity and I had been dealing with all of the wedding-planning but he had things to approve. We  also had a pre-nup to sign despite Martin's grumblings about it. 

I'd hate to admit it but I looked forward to seeing him. He made me miss him, dammit.

Well, maybe I just missed having someone to complain to about the fanfare of the wedding and the new life I hadn't even wanted in the first place. No one but the two of us knew about our arrangement and that secret bound us together no matter how much we clashed.

 
Not that your clashes have been what's preoccupying you lately.

That Sunday, after we left brunch, Brandon took me to a small, nearby park for a nice stroll with my arm secured around his. When I asked why we were there, he insisted that the media needed to take a good look at me as the future Mrs. Maxfield. With so many eyes trained on us at the moment, a walk around the park would bolster the romantic strengths of our engagement.

Of course, I rolled my eyes at that but decided to play along. I had the urge to fluster him out of his typical control but I didn't. My own restraint evaded me that day and I needed his for the both of us.

The stroll had been perfect—until my feet started to hurt. I kicked off my shoes and carried them with me. Brandon didn't approve and made us sit so I could rest a little and put my shoes back on before resuming our walk.

While sitting on a bench across from a fountain, a feisty furball of a dog came bounding from nowhere and snatched up one of my shoes. Before I could think better of it, I tossed my wristlet aside, leapt up and ran after the dog, barefoot, leaving behind a bellowing Brandon as I pursued the sly, little thief who jumped into one of shallow tiered fountains.

I had already hopped on the ledge, ready to wrench my poor shoe out of the dog's mouth, when I realized that the dog had dunked itself into the water. I teetered over and fell unceremoniously into the fountain. I was soaked from the hip down, my hair a mess, my dress ruined, and my face sticky with puppy spit after the misbehaving schnauzer licked my face in earnest, finally dropping the gnawed-on shoe into my wet lap.

I had been laughing and nuzzling its neck when a shadow fell over us and I looked up and found a scowling Brandon. He plucked me out of the fountain with one hand and shrugged off his jacket to wrap around my wet and slightly shivering form.

He barely kept his voice from rising to the heavens above when he sputtered out, "That was one of the most idiotic things I've seen a person ever do. What if the dog tore a limb off you? What if you fell and broke something? What if it had rabies? Did you think about that?"

Suffice to say, he hadn't been happy with my little dip. His mood didn't improve when the owner of the dog hurried over to us, apologizing between gasps of breath as he panted like he'd run a marathon.  Brandon had been ready to tell him off and I barely just managed to grab his arm and drag him away. He scowled for ten minutes as we walked before he finally sighed and said, "You reek. It will take half a dozen showers to get the eau de fontaine off of you."

To that, I simply gave him a cheeky grin and walked on.

He drove me home and walked me to my door because despite his somber moods, Brandon was a gentleman. I stood there, still clutching his jacket and waiting as he gazed at me for an eternity. With his signature seriousness, he pushed away a damp lock of hair from my forehead before pressing a soft kiss  on it. He then gruffly told me he'd see me on Wednesday when he returned from Canada. I didn't say anything as I watched him go, wondering if he realized he'd kissed me when I was literally a mess or if he just didn't care.

The world had a different view of us though because a picture of me dripping wet, barefoot, and handing the dog to its owner graced the tabloids the next day. Captured along with it was the resignation on Brandon's face. 

He's probably dreading dinner with you tonight. He's afraid to take you out in public now.

As fun as it was to drive Brandon a little crazy sometimes when I didn't exactly do what he wanted, I wanted to prove to him that despite my impoverished upbringing, I wasn't a moron who couldn't act like a civilized person.

 
Well, I intended to be civilized, not become an epitome of propriety—huge difference.

Even with Felicity doing her damn best to get me on the straight and narrow, the last couple of days hadn't exactly been strictly according to the plan.

I had to work day shifts at Marlow's—a compromise with Brandon who reluctantly agreed to them because at least there would be fewer slightly inebriated and gropey men present.

Anna was particularly enraged that I wanted to continue working as a waitress for a little bit, insisting that it sullied their family name, but Martin had no qualms about it, still coming in on Tuesday morning to sit at his usual table and have me take his order. We chatted a little bit about the wedding and for a man who devised all this grand wedding scheme, he insisted on nothing but for us to skip asparagus in the menu because he was allergic. He didn't really act like anything was that different which was more than what I could say about the others at the diner.

People were eager to congratulate and tease me. There were new people coming into Marlow's in the guise of dining and kept requesting to have me assigned as their server. Most of them only looked and attempted a small chat; only a few were bold enough to ask me pointblank what it was like to be engaged to Brandon Maxfield. I told them with a straight face that it felt like being a prized cake on a pedestal, with a bunch of flies swarming around it. I grinned at their stupefied expressions and told them I was just kidding.

Paps and reporters tried coming in, masquerading as customers that I had to get Gilles to peel himself off my side and man the door. Marlow's had a handful of bouncers but since no one really got that sauced during lunch hour, Bobby only got them to work on evenings and weekends.

Bobby didn't mind the sudden expansion of his customer base to a larger female demographic but he didn't like people just loitering about and taking up seats when there were people actually coming in for something on the menu and not the gossip papers. Bobby liked me enough though to say out loud that he'd rather I stuck around where my friends could look after me instead of being chased down the street by the media mob.

When Felicity and I went for fittings and countless meetings with all sorts of coordinators for the wedding, the frenzy followed, so much that I couldn't get into the grocery store once without them cramming at the door.

I managed to ignore the paps since they started hounding after me but when Elena, the dear old lady who worked as the greeter at the grocery, looked like she was going to have a heart attack trying to shoo off half a dozen men, I stomped up to them with a glare and said, "Let's make a deal. I chat with you guys for ten minutes once a day and you leave me alone for the rest of it. My schedule is all over the place so why don't I get Felicity to post something for me online and you can all show up there and get your ten minutes of talk-time with me?"

That seemed to have startled them but they all grunted in dubious affirmation. Felicity didn't like the idea of me committing time to the paps but I reassured her that their interest was going to wane very quickly and we'd reassess it then. Today would be our first try.

I was going through my new emails when I found one from Brandon that simply said:

What would you like from Canada? -B

I grinned and typed up a quick response.

Maple syrup? Too obvious? How about a loonie? And no, you don't count as one =P  -C. C. C.

Two minutes later, my phone rang.

"Good morning, it's 5:25 AM Eastern Daylight Time in this side of the continent," I greeted in my best radio-announcer voice. "The sun has just risen. Skies are clear. It's looking to be a great summer day. What about you, west coast?"

I heard Brandon chuckling softly on the other line. "You are such a dork. It's almost two-thirty in the morning and from what I can see from my hotel room, the west coast is still under a blanket of stars, glittering against the dark blue ocean. It's beautiful."

I paused, caught off guard by the sleepy quality of his voice and the muffled silence that followed his last statement. I instantly imagined a large, comfortable bed, a tumble of sheets and pillows, and a large window that looked out to the serene Pacific Ocean.

"W-what?" I stammered before I cleared my throat and shook myself back to reality. "If it's freaking two-thirty in the morning, what are you doing on the phone with me?"

"My phone beeped with your email," he answered and I could hear the rustling of sheets. Heat shot through me as my imagination ran wild. "I wanted to know what C.C.C. means."

"Crazy Cookie Charlotte," I answered sheepishly. "I used to sign the cakes and craft cookies I made that way."

A pause before I heard his snicker. "Sounds about right."

"Brandon!" I attempted to reprimand despite my grin. "Don't sound so smug. You're B.B.B."

"And what does that mean?"

"Bratty Brandon Boor," I said with a snort. 

I could hear his grin. "I think you got that wrong. I'm sure it's Breathtaking Brandon Babe."

I made a gagging sound. "I'll reserve my breakfast to throw up for you later."

"Thank you for the honors," he said dryly. "Speaking of food, wear a red dress to dinner later."

My brow arched. "A red dress? I don't even know if I have one. Why?"

"Just because," he said with a light yawn. "Buy one if you don't have it already."

"I'm not just going to buy another dress for dinner when I have half a department store's worth of clothes in the spare bedroom," I protested. 

When he spoke again, his tone was stubborn and final. "Red dress. I'll buy it for you and dress you myself if you don't."

"Bad Bully Brandon," I muttered sulkily.

"Cute Cuddly Charlotte," he countered with a laugh. 

I smiled and turned on my laptop camera. 

I was in an old shirt and shorts, my hear a messy bun on the top of my head, and my face completely scrubbed clean of any make up. I didn't care. I scrunched up my nose, stuck my tongue out, and snapped a photo of myself which I emailed him instantly.

Seconds later, I heard the soft ping from his laptop which must've been near his bed.

"You gonna get that?" I asked.

"Not really."

I smiled. "Must be important."

He sighed.

"You think being an executive would keep people from emailing you at such an ungodly hour," he grumbled as I heard him wrestle through the covers and grasp something with a soft grunt. "Damn inconsiderate."

And yet you woke up for my email and called me about it.

I didn't say anything—just waited as I listened to him rapping on the keyboard lightly.

Then he burst out laughing. I grinned.

"This is the best," he said, the warmth in his voice feeling extraordinarily delicious wrapping down my spine. "Thank you, Charlotte."

"You're welcome. Now go back to bed. You still have to fly out later," I instructed.

"Alright. Goodnight," he finally said with another yawn.

"Goodnight," I replied softly. 

"See you later."

"See ya."

I was still grinning when I disconnected the call and put my phone down.

Brandon being silly was a rare moment and it did a lot of damage to my heart.

In fact, over time, I suspected it could eventually wreck it but I didn't really want to think about that.

Energized all of a sudden, I got dressed in track pants, a tank top, a hoodie, and running shoes. My phone was buzzing with a text message when I walked back out to the dining room where I left it.

Aimee: Hun, got called into the hospital today. You off, right? Can you hang out with Rose? Pls???

Aimee was the closest thing I had to a best friend. She was older than me by seven years, a single mom, but we hit it off right away after we met at Worthington Prep. She worked as a nurse because of the good hours which let her take care of her young daughter, Rose, who was now four. Aimee transferred to St. Matthew's Hospital last year and asked me occasionally to babysit for her.

We hadn't seen each other much since my engagement to Brandon got out. Mrs. Maxfield or not, if Aimee asked, I'd show up.

I adored Rose and even though I had a full day that I couldn't quite cancel, I'd make it happen. Rose wouldn't mind tagging along with me.

Me: Yup. I'm taking her to dress fittings today. When should I get her?

Aimee: Quarter to 7, pls. She'd love to come w/ u. She's excited to be a flower girl. Thnx, Char. Owe u big time. = )

To be perfectly honest, Aimee owed me nothing.

In all the years we'd known each other, she took care of me, inviting me to stay over after school at her place sometimes and play with Rose so I wouldn't be home when my father staggered in through the door, drunk. She'd given me shelter and food when I needed them and never once turned her back on me. If anything, I owed her a lot.

I wasn't going to get my friends to become part of mine and Brandon's scheme but Aimee had been so excited for me, genuinely swooning at the idea of Brandon falling for me so hard, that I couldn't not make her my maid-of-honor and Rose as my flower girl. I didn't form a large entourage—just a maid of honor, Brandon's sisters as my bridesmaids, and Rose as the flower girl.

Five minutes to six, my doorbell rang and I let Gilles in. The man had thawed a little bit since we were first introduced, now managing a few smiles and the occasional conversation.

"Hello, Gilly. Good morning," I told him cheerfully as I led him to the kitchen and poured him a cup of coffee. He usually grimaced at that nickname but that didn't deter me. I sweetened his coffee the way he liked it which I learned in the past couple of days when he escorted me on my morning runs. 

"Good morning Ms. Samuels," he greeted back, still as formal as ever although he took the cup from me and mumbled a thank you. I knew he lived close so he would come to our runs dressed in appropriate athletic clothing but he would always reappear after dropping me off in his typical dark suit. I tried prodding him about it once but he just gave me an unreadable expression. He was secret service—no doubt.

"So, Aimee needs me to look after Rose today," I began as I filled my pockets with my keys and cellphone. "We'll need to make today a fun, four-year-old day. You with me on that, Gilly?"

Gilles had met the little girl two days ago when we took her for measurements, and just like everyone else who'd met Rose, the man was charmed.

A warm smile stretched across his face as he finished his coffee in one gulp. "We'll do our best, Ms. Samuels."