The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield (28 page)

As Julia Roberts put it, I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him why he loves me.

Okay, so that line may not be cinematically accurate but it seemed close enough.

I squeezed my eyes shut briefly, kneading the spot between my brows with my fingers. “You know what, Jake? You’re right. It will do no good to tell me now. You don’t have to. I’m sorry—”

“Would you believe me if I told you I fell in love with you at first sight?” he asked with a loud sigh as if he was resigned to tell me the truth anyway. He looked away and gazed into the distance. “Would that make me sound really pathetic?”

I shook my head silently. 

“I never thought it would happen to me, really, but I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you the first time I saw you come in through the door on the night of your engagement party. I didn’t even know who you were or notice that you came in on Brandon’s arm,” he said, his hand resting on the metal rail, gripping it tightly. “You looked like a night star in your sparkly dress and you had a beautiful smile on your face and there was mischief in your eyes and and you wore defiance like a crown, challenging anyone who would dare stand in your way. I felt quite light-headed then actually, as if someone spun me around for a while and I lost my bearings.”

My heart squeezed painfully in my chest as I sucked in a breath and I knew that it had nothing to do with my injuries at all. 

Of all the things that could happen, this complication with Jake wasn’t one I’d counted on at all. 

He thought you looked like a night star. What on earth do you say to that?

I gazed at Jake’s profile—he looked like a sun god with the golden hair, the sculpted planes of his face, the deep green eyes. It boggled my mind that he felt this way about me. It boggled my mind even more deciding what do to about it.

He glanced at me and my face must’ve given something away because his expression softened and he smiled.

“You look like you don’t hear this often,” he said. 

I rolled my eyes. “Of course, I don’t. Nobody goes around calling me a night star. I’m more like one of those neon glow sticks for ninety cents a piece—colorful, fun, cheap and resilient no matter how many drunk and party-crazed people toss it around or step on it on the floor filthy with all sorts of unidentifiable gunk.”

Jake threw his head back laughing and I instantly felt better to see a happier expression on his face.

“You have to stop, Char,” he said as his laughter subsided. He was still smiling but shaking his head. “You have to stop or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and make a break for it before Brandon can catch me.”

I smiled weakly. “Jake, I really am sorry for putting you in this position. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Believe it or not, you actually mean a lot to me even if you’re a notorious heartbreaker.”

He grinned. “As if you’re not one yourself.”

“Only on alternate Thursdays,” I said with a wink and he laughed again.

Before I could think twice about it, I stepped forward and slipped my arms around him, hugging him close and pressing my cheek against his chest.

He froze for a second before his own arms came around me.

“Jake, I hope you don’t stop being my friend because of this,” I said quietly, my words slightly muffled. 

“I won’t. I promise,” he murmured, squeezing me a bit closer to him. “As much as I’d like to have what I want, I don’t want to hurt you or Brandon. I swore that the same night he introduced you to me and I realized that I couldn’t resent either of your happiness.”

If you only knew how one-sided that happiness is.

Jake pulled away slightly to look at me, his expression serious. “Let me warn you though. If Brandon screws this up with you, my courtesy is out the window. I’ll do everything in my power to make you mine and make you happy if he proves that he can’t do it.”

I smirked. “What is it with men and pissing contests?”

He smiled. “Both, I believe, are said to be disgusting and completely barbaric. That’s probably why they go together.”

We laughed together and even after that, the silence was comfortable and full of warmth. Jake’s confession didn’t make either of us uncomfortable for some reason and I was grateful for it. It didn’t make things easier but it made our friendship stronger, as ironic as that sounded.

“I’ll be gone to London after your wedding,” he said after a long stretch of silence. “I might be gone for a while.”

I understood what he wasn’t saying. I wouldn’t want to be around either if the person I was in infatuated with was newly married to another. 

“As long as you promise to keep in touch,” I told him with a smile. “And bring me lots of English tea.”

He smiled back wistfully at me. “I’ll bring you whatever you want. Just tell me.”

I touched his cheek. “Just bring back yourself when you can, Jake. That’s all I want.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss on my forehead. “I promise, Charlotte.”

I turned and stared out to the horizon as Jake quietly turned and left.

My eyes fluttered close and I lifted my face to the warm afternoon breeze, letting the sounds of the city drown out my own chaotic thoughts.

For someone who had lived all nineteen years of her life with little experience in love, I was surely catching up like crazy in a little over two weeks. I was out of my depth with this. It felt like I was put in the path of a stampede and was expected to learn my way out and survive or get trampled to death. 

“That must’ve been quite a conversation.”

I didn’t open my eyes as Brandon came up behind me, his arms slipping around my waist and pulling me close to him. 

“It was,” I answered quietly.

“Should I be worried?” he asked and although his question seemed casual, I could tell he was nervous—maybe because the muscles in his arms that held me close were taut as if they were set to lock me in at the first sign I was going to bolt.

Worried about what? That your best friend is somehow in love with your bride while your bride is doing her damn best not to fall in love with you?

I sighed and opened my eyes. “Probably not.”

He was silent for a while. “I’m not sure about that. On his way out, Jake told me that I didn’t deserve stars but that since they were in my sky, I should realize just how much they light up my life and do my best to keep them there.”

I couldn’t help a smile. “That guy must’ve been a poet in his past life. Like Byron.”

“If Jake somehow thinks he can just—”

“Brand, don’t,” I interrupted, turning around in his embrace and pressing my fingers against his lips. “You have no idea how good a friend Jake is to you, despite appearances.”

His jaw clenched. “You’re mine, Charlotte. You know that.”

I gave him a wry smile. “There hasn’t been a time that I was made more aware of that than I was five minutes ago. Trust me, it’s very hard to forget. It’s not every day a girl gets to choose between a chance at love and a million dollars.”

Brandon looked truly angry now. “Don’t get carried away with Jake’s romantic ideas.”

“I’m not,” I said with a long, resigned sigh. “Otherwise, I’d be running after him.”

Brandon’s hazel eyes were burning and for a second, I worried that he’d be the one running after Jake to pummel him to the ground.

I placed my hand on his chest. “Don’t worry about it, Brand. I’m not the kind of girl Jake deserves. I just let myself enjoy, even just for a minute, the thought that I could mean to someone that much. That someone could love me and not just merely consider me an obligation. It’s nice, you know?”

And with that, I turned and walked away.

***

I was subdued for the rest of the day. 

The revelation with Jake and the tense moment with Brandon earlier kept me preoccupied. Plus, the strain of the day's activities was starting to take its toll on me physically.

By four-thirty in the afternoon, Brandon sent everyone home despite my protests.

"You need to lie down for a bit," he said as he hauled me up in his arms from where I was sitting on the couch. "You look pale and tired."

I glowered at him as he carried me into the bedroom. "You're always good for my ego. You keep me humble even though I know I'm totally awesome and everyone tells me so."

Brandon gave me an amused smile as he set me down on the bed. "Of course, you're totally awesome. To disagree will be to endanger my life."

I yawned and snuggled deeper under the covers. "Even though you're not as totally awesome as I am, at least you're smart enough to know when to agree with me."

He sat down on the bed and brushed the hair off my face. "I think I have the makings of a wise husband, don't you think?"

I smiled and trapped his hand between my chin and shoulder. "A wise husband would make his wife an awesome ham and cheese sandwich because she's starving."

"One ham and cheese sandwich coming right up," he said with a laugh, rising to his feet. "Do you want me to pack it up for you? Felicity is coming back in about fifteen minutes to pick you up and drive you to Dad's."

I grimaced and forced myself to sit up. "Damn, I forgot about that. Did she get everything I needed packed for me earlier?"

“I think so,” he said, glancing at the matching set of expensive luggage sitting on one corner of the bedroom. “She had most of the stuff you needed tonight moved over and the rest are being driven straight to the jet for our trip.”

“A jet? Really?” I asked with a wince as if the word were some slimy thing sliding down my spine. “Why didn’t we just book our flights to wherever your secret destination is like regular people?”

Brandon sincerely looked puzzled by my question. “Because we’re not regular people? The jet offers privacy, comfort and convenience. In your injured state and with all of the media interest on us, I thought it would be the best idea.”

I knew he was right but the whole private jet thing was just weirding me out a bit. I mean, I often thought of flying as a confusing, bedraggling and exasperating experience where I kept losing things, dragging half a dozen bags with me and eating pricey airport food once I realized I skipped breakfast because I had to be at the airport at two in the morning or something crazy like that.

To fly in and out in comfort, style and luxury just wasn’t a very Charlotte-thing for me to do.

It’s a very Mrs. Maxfield-thing to do though. Isn’t that who you’re going to become officially as of tomorrow?

I chewed on my lower lip, stalling when I knew I had no choice anyway, then sighed and plopped back down on the bed. “I guess so. Considering the amount of clothes Felicity packed for me, I might need the room for all my extra luggage. Apparently, I don’t need to travel light considering we’ve got an entire freaking airplane all to ourselves.”

“You’ll eventually get used to it, Charlotte,” Brandon said, chuckling as he left the room.

I groaned out loud once he was gone.

That was the problem, right? There were all these things I have to get used to for my year-long stint as Brandon’s wife, including my husband-to-be and all his complications. What if I get too used to them? To him?

I glanced at my white leather-strapped wristwatch. 

I had several hours left before the wedding. I could sneak out and take off and never look back. Brandon might send bounty hunters after me but I’d disappear. 

Calm down, Charlotte. You’re just having wedding jitters—just like any typical bride.

“I’m not exactly one of those,” I muttered as I forced my butt to get off the bed and fix myself up before Felicity got here.

Since I was injured and recuperating, Brandon thought himself generous by letting me wear my ‘comfort clothes’ much like letting a person eat their ‘comfort food’ when they were feeling down. I looked nothing like his dreamed-up Mrs. Maxfield but he just gave me a resigned smile and a shake of his head when he saw what I'd put on.

I was rummaging through my new, mustard yellow leather satchel and made sure I had everything I needed to take with me to Martin’s tonight.

He’d talked me into staying at his house with Anna and Tessa so that Brandon and I could prepare separately tomorrow and meet up at the church. It was some kind of wedding tradition apparently. 

If they knew the truth, Brandon and I could just hang out tonight, get dressed together tomorrow and show up on stage like a duo for their performance.

A quick beep on my phone announced Felicity’s text message about her running late due to a minor complication with the DJ that she and Shelly were trying to resolve as quickly as possible. Gilles was driving her around today for most of her errands since I was home with Brandon anyway. She said she would send him over to drive me to Martin’s and just have him come back for her.

I texted her not to worry about it. I didn’t want to further complicate her evening when she and Shelly were rushing to get everything together for the big event tomorrow. I had no desire to get in their way when they were running this show with the least amount of inconvenience to me.

Grabbing my purse, I shrugged on a blue-green cropped cardigan over my white tank top and my favorite baseball cap and made my way to the kitchen. 

I froze by the hallway when I heard Brandon’s agitated voice floating through his office door which had been left ajar. 

“This is not a good time for this... Yes, I’m aware... We can talk when I get back... I don’t know, Simone...”

Simone.

My throat suddenly felt like sandpaper with a dusting of iron shavings.

He was talking to her. 

My heart pounding, I forced one foot to move forward but I was having trouble. As much as I didn’t want to be within earshot of Brandon’s intimate conversation with his on/off lover, I couldn’t will myself to move. I wanted to know—know what exactly was the mystifying part.

“Of course, I’ll stay with her...”

I heard him sigh out loud and I pressed myself closer to the wall just inches away from the doorway, trying to catch more than just bits of his conversation.

“I know what I said... This isn’t about you, Simone... No, I already told you... Charlotte is... won’t abandon her to the wolves... You can’t—”

His voice was rising and I held my breath, my fingers clutching the strap of my purse in a death grip.

“Charlotte is none of your business... Don't be ridiculous... for my wife... this is my decision...”

Run, Charlotte. Go!

To be perfectly honest, whatever I heard didn’t seem as bad as I feared. As broken up as those statements were that I could catch, it would seem like he was saying no to her. 

It should make me feel better that I didn’t catch him longingly talking to the love of his life but for some reason, it made me panic all the more.

Before I really knew what I was doing, I was riding the elevator down, my heart finally starting to slow down to a more bearable pace. The ache around my midsection seemed like a light pinch compared to the tightness in my chest.

Since I didn’t really have any clear memory of arriving at the condo, I stood around the vast, hotel-like lobby after getting off the elevator until I figured out which end of the hall led to the main entrance.

I needed a cab to head over to Martin’s and figure out some way with Felicity and Gilles to get my remaining bags transferred over later tonight.

I smiled and nodded in acknowledgement at a distinguished-looking couple I passed on my way out, trying not to squirm too much in my old, beaten-up, black leather biker boots under their scrutiny.

I stayed in just behind the front doors, looking down on my cell phone and scrolling for the number of a cab company.

“Can I help you, miss?” 

A sharply-uniformed man standing behind the concierge counter furrowed his brows at me slightly as if he was trying to figure out who I was.

I smiled and held up my cell phone. “I’m good, thank you. Just calling a cab.”

He looked even more puzzled by my response. “Uh, we can call one for you, if that’s what you’d like. Is your driver indisposed? We have a car service available for all Grand Hills residents. Do you, um... I mean, pardon me for asking but do you live here?”

Oh, crap. What to say? I’ll officially live here starting tomorrow? But only for a year? 

I decided to spare the guy his discomfort. It would seem as if he was used to knowing who came in and out of this building. It wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t quite place me.

“My name’s Charlotte. What’s yours?”

He nodded in acknowledgement. “My name’s Winston, at your service.”

I beamed at him. “Nice to meet you, Winston. I’m actually staying with my fian—”

“I demand you let me in! I don’t care what he says. I need to see him!”

Winston and I both glanced up at the source of the snappish command and the clinking of high heels on the marbled floor.

I noticed earlier that there was a tall woman talking on her phone in the other corner across from me but she had her back turned so I didn't pay her any attention.

She was now marching up to the concierge desk, her familiar, breathtaking face set in a look of fierce determination.

I felt my heart drop into the pit of my stomach.

Simone.

She didn’t seem to notice me though. She was heading straight for poor Winston, her shoulders shaking with the effort of her stride, one hand clutching her cell phone and the other a fancy-looking, gold-embellished, black leather handbag.

Winston grimaced and shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Ms. Clark but if Mr. Maxfield doesn’t consent, I can’t let you in.”

Oh, God. She’s here for Brandon. She must’ve been calling him from down here. This is just what you need—the bride running into the mistress on her way out just as the mistress is walking in to join the groom for the evening.

I felt anger coil in my gut at Brandon’s duplicity. He couldn’t even wait until I was gone before bringing Simone in.

Are you sure about that, Charlotte? You overheard him earlier. He didn’t exactly sound welcoming. 

“I can’t believe this!” she exclaimed in frustration, pounding her clenched hand down on the counter. “You’ve never had a problem letting me in before. Do you know who I am? It’s important that I see him. I have to talk to him tonight. It can’t wait. He’s getting... Oh! I hate this. He’s getting...”

“Married tomorrow,” I finished before I realized I’d even spoken the words out loud. “I know.”

Both Simone and Winston turned to me and color drained from Simone's face when recognition dawned in her dark gray eyes. 

"I'm sorry, Miss Charlotte," Winston apologized. "I'll help you in a moment. Just let—"

"You." Simone's lyrical voice (because she's perfect, dammit) was dripping with disdain.

Her beautiful face hardened into a scowl, her chin tilted up in indignation and her shiny dark hair flowed like a perfectly smooth stream of chocolate brown behind her. Dressed to kill in tall, black leather stiletto boots, a black sheath dress with complicated criss-cross straps on her shoulders and elegant gold accessories, she looked like she stepped out of a Vogue magazine cover. 

In my scuffed boots, well-worn denim skinny jeans, tank top and cardigan, my hair gathered into a messy and bouncy ponytail squashed under my old denim baseball cap, I felt ridiculously inadequate. 

"You're the little gold-digger who's swindling him!" she lashed out, practically jabbing a finger in my face.

I momentarily got distracted by the gold nugget on her cocktail ring. Obviously, one of us knew how to dig gold better than the other and it wasn’t me sporting it on my finger. Well, I did have a giant diamond from the man Simone wanted for herself but that was beside the point. 

Strangely, I managed to smile sweetly at her. "Actually, I'd prefer fun-sized to little, financially self-advancing to gold-digger, and marrying up to swindling."

Not really sure what devil possessed me but when her eyes just widened unattractively in her face, I snorted and waved my hand dismissively. "Nah, I'm just kidding. Yes, I'm Charlotte Samuels—nice to meet you."

I caught her hand with both of mine for a quick handshake and she abruptly drew back at the contact. What? Did she think I have fleas?

“You’re Char—You’re Mr. Maxfield’s fiancee?” Winston blurted out, looking completely bewildered as he darted glances back and forth between me and Simone.

I flashed him a quirky smile. “Busted. It was fun while it lasted, Winnie. Now, don’t you just be nice to me because of Brandon. I know I look like a homeless person and I appreciate that you didn’t just toss me out the door.”

I probably wasn’t helping because the poor man’s cheeks just turned beet red. “I’m sorry. I should’ve—”

I laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Sheesh. I was thanking you.”