Imperfect Love: Arranged (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 6

  “I didn’t want you to know that we were in trouble. We figured that you would get married, the merger would go through…and everyone would be happy.”

  Was she serious? Did she not think that I would find out? I had so many doubts and I was suddenly more than upset. Her silence, once again, had me feeling irate.

  “You made me feel like what I was doing with my life was worthless.” Standing up, I began to pace, selecting my words carefully as I couldn’t sit and say nothing. “My business has been steadily gaining ground and I have been supporting myself.” I rattled off more facts and figures, then stopped my crazy rants and sat back down. “Maybe I could’ve helped you…maybe you didn’t need the merger or to use me as leverage. You could’ve used me as a business consultant.”

  It wasn’t that I was about to turn thirty that had them pushing me to the altar, it was for their company to stay afloat as it had always been before apparent scandals with their clients. I should’ve known there was more to the setup. I never thought to ask them why they were selling the house and moving to be closer to me…and their future grandchildren…I hadn’t even met my fiancé, maybe he didn’t want children…or was that part of the deal too? Who knew, but they were obviously moving for their company and a new joint corporate office.

  “Your father was privy to a situation that was developing that could be helpful. He suggested an arranged marriage and told them how they have always been planned, going back centuries—”

  “Do they know that your company is in trouble?”

  “No. With your marriage it wasn’t necessary.” They were even lying to my fiancé’s family…my ex-fiancé since polygamy was illegal.

  “I’m married.” I couldn’t hold back…and easing into it was no longer an option. “I got married a few weeks ago in Las Vegas and I’m living with him in Brooklyn…not with Montana.”

  “You can get an annulment,” she fired back. “Daddy knows someone that can fly you down to the islands to take care of it quickly. There is still time…the wedding is still a few weeks out.” I wasn’t sure, but it sounded like the wedding date may have been changed, but it really didn’t matter since it would never happen.

  “It’s not that simple.” I took a deep breath. “What do I do about the virgin-bride not being a virgin anymore?” I bit my bottom lip before I let the rest of the unspoken revelation slip out, “And…there is the possibility of a baby.”

  “Oh, Ireland,” were my mother’s last words before I heard her crying and my father asking her what was wrong.

  “Ireland, what’s going on? Why is your mother crying?” My father’s booming voice was demanding and I wanted no part of being reprimanded by him, so I told him that I needed to go to an appointment and to ask my mother when she calmed down. Then, I continued my cowardly behavior by quickly disconnecting the call.

  I didn’t have a real appointment scheduled, but I needed one with Montana immediately. Thankfully, she was available and willing to meet me at our favorite little coffee spot halfway between my newlywed brownstone and her loft.

  Arriving before Montana, I ordered for both of us and then slunk down into one of two tattered leather club chairs facing each other next to a big window. That was a lucky find—a plus to add in the good column if I were to rate the pros and cons of my day.

  “Did I make a mistake?” I blurted out as soon as my fashionably dressed friend sat down across from me. I mention her attire because when you see someone wearing clothing like she’s Carrie Bradshaw you have to be in awe and tell yourself that your own look is good enough. I was suddenly glad that I had taken a little more time with my ensemble—wearing a loosely belted, navy blue, shirt dress paired with tan sandals that matched my belt. Earlier in the day—for work—I had teamed the dress with heels and jewelry.

  “Do you think you made a mistake? Is that what you truly feel?” She sat back with her coffee in hand and casually crossed one of her legs over the other—all in one fluid movement. Careful, calculated mannerisms that matched her style. She may be a bit wild in her actions but her business sense was the exact opposite and could quite possibly be a reflection of her schooling.

  “You might rethink your profession.”

  Montana had been a psychology major in college since her parents refused to pay for her to go to fashion school. I really couldn’t see her in an office with patients lying down on a sofa across from her talking out their problems. However, she did use some of her psych techniques to steer her clients away from disastrous looks they thought were right. She said that reading people and questioning them came in handy when she was dressing them appropriately. Montana’s success as a fashion stylist was something her mother and father had not expected, but they had to admit to being proud of her. I wish I could say the same about my family.

  “Seriously, Ireland. Take your parents completely out of the mix.” I had managed to tell her a brief summary of the phone conversation with my mother. “Are you happy in your life?”

  I nodded, taking a sip of my mocha latte.

  “Yes, I am so happy.” Thinking of Jensen and more importantly—well, not more important than him, but in another aspect of my new life—my recent meeting with a very attractive Olivia Cane of Tate & Cane Enterprise.

  I had arranged a meeting between the business savvy woman and a connection I had recently made with my NetworkConcierge website. It was ironic that my client happened to have a familiar name.

  “Please tell me that you are not in any way related to Noah Tate,” were the first words out of Ms. Cane’s mouth as she shook hands with my client, firmly. I wasn’t sure about the tone in her voice; did she love or hate her co-worker…business partner?

  My client, the charming Mr. Caldwell Tate, spoke right up, “Not that I know of…the Tates of Southern California are all artisans, mainly woodworkers. However, I have to say that I did think that it might be a good sign when Ireland suggested a meeting with a firm called Tate & Cane Enterprise.”

  I did not miss the raised eyebrow of the beautiful business woman across from him—I am pretty sure he didn’t miss it either.

  Not rattled by her, my client continued with a new subject. “I assure you that I am not banking on the name association. I think my mystery client—an artist known by very familiar initials…RR—draws his own appeal.”

  That was all he had to say in our meeting and the attitude of Olivia Cane changed drastically as she was suddenly very interested to hear more from my Mr. Tate. Most people were all ears I noticed when the mysterious artist was mentioned. Many put him up in the ranks of Banksy as neither of them had ever made themselves known to the public eye. He or she could be standing right in front of their works of art and no one would be the wiser.

  The greatest appeal of RR for the Tate & Cane firm was that if they took on my client, they would have the distinct honor of exposing the artist…or introducing the artist to the art world. A win-win for everyone involved, including me. It would be my biggest client…definitely my most interesting client connection to date.

  The pairing went well and proved to be a blessing after having to deal with my mother at the beginning of the day and Montana provided the perfect closure. I knew she would settle me and talk me through the less than appealing stage of my day and then cheer along with me at the successful part.

  “You’re happiness is all that matters…as long as it doesn’t involve killing, hurting or maiming another person.” Montana laughed. “Part of my psycho-babble training…but seriously, Ireland, you are not hurting anyone. Your parents could’ve been truthful with you and given you the option. They chose to keep you in the dark, opting to arrange a marriage between you and a suitable man—not a business partnership.”

  “I was dumb enough to mention that my company could’ve maybe helped them.”

  “Oh my God! I would’ve loved to be a fly on the wall in their house.” We both laugh-snorted before reaching for our cups. “Coffee doesn’t seem right for this meeting. We should’v
e gone a few doors down to the bar and threw back a few shots of tequila chased by your fave margarita.”

  She was right, something a bit stronger might have done the trick to wash away my horrible-daughter feelings of guilt along with celebrating the perfect pairing in my biz meeting. However, a quick text to Jensen about my success had him wanting to crack open a special bottle of B’Darling Reserve from our new wine collection and, in turn, I promptly promised to cook for him. So after a few more laughs with Montana—which she skillfully evoked with her crazy-fun antics—we said our goodbyes with a hug and walked in separate directions.

  I was thrilled to see one gorgeously handsome Jensen emerging from a car as I neared our house and I may have shouted and ran into his arms, needing his love and affections.

  His love?

  Did I have that…would I get to that part anytime soon?

  Did I already love him?

  I was sure that I was falling in love with him…if I wasn’t already there.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jensen

  More and more, I hated to leave the warmth of Ireland’s body every weekday, or most, to venture across the bridge to our corporate office—I played hooky when I could. Knowing she was working from home, I found myself trying to arrange things so I could do the same. Realistically, it was not a good idea for business as I would have a hard time focusing with her scent, touch, taste within a few steps. Accessibility to ravaging her lips, skin…her beautiful face smiling would put a stop to any sensible thoughts or productivity. Well, not completely true—we would both be physically satisfied with bright as fuck grins gleaming proudly on our faces.

  One afternoon in particular had me wishing that I was home playing office with my beautiful chestnut-haired beauty. I had put off telling my parents that I had arranged things for myself while off on my conference trip and that their old marital arrangements were null and void. Stepping into my father’s perfectly decorated private office with Novak in tow, I launched right in with my recap of the Vegas trip. The highlight of the week was less than appealing to my father.

  “I can’t believe that you did this to us. Rebelling against your family has never been your style. Being wild and running around with women, yes.” I watched my father lean forward in his brown leather chair and put his elbows on his dark wood antique desk that blended in with everything in the room, and fist his hands under his chin. Obviously not thrilled with my news, a slumped, unhappy expression filled his face and repeated in his body language.

  “A family trait I got from you, finally acted on it.” I said directly to my father. “You have to admit that it paid off for you. Your old-world money bloodlines wanted you to continue in the family business, but you had other plans.” It was my attempt to get him to look on the bright side of the situation. “Look at you now.”

  He couldn’t deny that fact since I had heard the story my whole life. His family had made their fortune with other people’s money—legitimately and not—first with bootlegging and then opening a small bank for people to invest their corrupt money. I always thought the beginning of their bank sounded more like a money laundering establishment, but my grandfather insisted that it was not. My father wanted nothing to do with the banking industry. He had been a natural athlete from the minute he could walk and swing a bat—he continued to play baseball all the way into the minor leagues until an injury ended his career. Never hitting the big show, he had the bright idea of selling the bank to investors and buying a sporting goods company. “I may not be able to swing a bat, but I sure as hell can pitch my equipment to other players and stay in the game.” Famous words of Pax Callum that, no doubt, would be on his tombstone or somewhere prominent one day. Part of his speech was already used in all of our marketing: “Stay in the Game” was visibly linked with our company name.

  “Your family is proud of you…at what you accomplished. I’m ready to do the same. You wanted me to be a responsible, married man to run the new division…I complied with that wish and even sooner than you asked.”

  “You’re missing an essential part of the deal; you were to marry the daughter of the company that you will be using to make connections. How do we tell them that you already have a wife? We look like liars and cheats since we have already finalized the paperwork.”

  It was at that point in our conversation that I realized that my mother had strolled in and had no problem voicing her own worries and concerns.

  “They sold their family home and purchased an apartment here… I even had them contact my decorator.” My mother set her purse down on a coffee table, plopped down in front of it, and brought out her appointment book. “And don’t forget the wedding of the year; we have paid for caterers, a venue, flowers, and I even set up an appointment for mother and daughter to join me for the dress—” My mother’s voice trailed off as my father gruffly interrupted with what sounded like a long list of things I fucked up that I tuned out until he took a breath to state his finishing remarks.

  “Thank God we insisted on paying for it—at least they will not be losing money there.” My father was up out of his chair and moving to the kitchenette-mini-bar in his office. Reaching for a decanter filled with amber liquor, I was sure that he was not thinking about giving a toast—more like stilling his nerves.

  “Besides the wedding—” Which did not have to go entirely to waste as I had an idea, but I skipped right over bringing that up at the moment. “Why should things change? I am willing and prepared to do the same things the new position entails… just without marrying into their family.”

  Silence mixed with wariness on my father’s face greeted me and I, instantly, got the feeling that there was more to the arrangement than they were telling me. Certainly, not marrying the daughter couldn’t be a deal breaker. It wasn’t like we were living in medieval times where it was necessary to join kingdoms to rule the vast land. I had no plans of being king of the iron throne. I laughed to myself thinking that I had watched far too many episodes about slaying men and dragons while fearing the dead people threatening to wipe everyone out.

  “What are you laughing about, Jensen Michael Callum?” Hearing my full name on my mother’s painted lips meant I was in trouble—I hadn’t meant to laugh out loud.

  Novak—ever the diplomat—who had been sitting back, doodling on a legal pad, finally spoke up. “Jensen is married and that was a major factor. It was time for him to step up and leave his old life of cavorting around town with different women draped on his arm. He has done exactly what had been discussed before we began to develop the extension into the foreign market. Exhibit responsibility. Become a family man—”

  “What? Wait! We discussed marriage not a family.” I needed a strong drink.

  “Your father and I let that part slip.” Novak laughed. “One step at a time for you, my friend.” If I would’ve been wearing a tie, I would’ve been reaching up to loosen it. The air was escaping the room, I was suffocating, and they had me wondering what else I had missed out on when they met without me. It also made me understand why Novak seemed so agitated with my Vegas wedding.

  “There’s a portion I never brought to the table.” My father moved across the room and joined my mother on a rustic leather couch, patted her knee, and kissed her cheek. Novak and I turned our chairs to face them and waited for the man in charge to come clean about the whole deal. “I was about to move in for the kill on a major deal of the century…about to lowball the owner of the agency when he spoke up and complained about how he was being treated. Everyone was attempting to screw him out of his family-owned company. He went on to tell me some personal matters which I will not repeat to anyone. Then he mentioned how things were handled between kingdoms in the old days to conquer lands—marriage…heirs.”

  “Your father said a lightbulb went off in his head at the same time that the other man brought up his daughter. But he didn’t say a word until the man mentioned that it was too bad that your father didn’t have a son willing to marry his daughter
—”

  My father cut my mother off to finish the story. “—that is about the way it went between us and then I brought in Novak to discuss the details of the international merger and the legalities of it. We just needed you on board with the new division and your new life as a married family man to ultimately complete the package deal.”

  “There is not a clause about the family part,” Novak chimed in quickly. “The father of the bride-to-be mentioned a male heir to continue his legacy. It’s a very old company going back several generations—always with a male heir at the helm.”

  Of course it is nice to keep a family-owned company going, but seriously, male heirs only? We were in modern times where females were perfectly capable of running corporations. Had they forgotten that even in the olden days, there were queens as well as kings? Not to mention, what if his daughter and I didn’t produce a male heir for his company? What the hell was I even thinking? I was never going to provide any type of heir for the owner of the company ever as I was never going to procreate with his daughter or any other woman…other than Ireland.

  Suddenly, I couldn’t wait for the day to end so that I could hop in a hired car and head back into the arms of my gorgeous wife. I just hoped that my father and Novak could somehow figure things out so that I did not have to give up the only woman that I had ever wanted to see morning, noon, and night. No! That was not even an option and I had to stop letting the guilt slip into my brain. There would be another solution—there had to be.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ireland

  Sitting cross-legged in my office that Jensen decked out all by himself as a surprise, I swiveled in my turquoise faux-leather chair with a cup of coffee in my hands. That practice had often helped me clear my head—not too fast or too much that I got dizzy—when things stumped me. It was like recess; playing on a piece of playground equipment. And at that moment, I had been trying to pair some top-notch vendors with a funky So-Ho shop for a charity function and my mother had been buzzing me with text messages and phone calls. My spinning may have been more of an attempt to ignore her and hope that she would give up. It appeared that wasn’t to be, so I stopped and lifted my phone from my glass desk with crisscrossed, brushed-nickel legs, and clicked on the screen.