Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol #1) - Fiona Cole Page 0,44
horror, fire burned up my throat to my eyes, and I quickly looked away to hide it. He actually meant it. He really wanted my opinion on our engagement. And after what happened with Camden, and my father, and the last few months in general, it was the most valued I’d felt in a while.
Swallowing my emotions back, I lifted my head with a smile. “Yeah, that sounds fine.”
“Good. Now, let me show you around the apartment. You can move in once we’re married.”
“But what about my place?”
“Do you own it?”
“Yes.”
“I mean, in your name. Not your father’s.”
“Oh. No. He bought it.”
“I’m assuming he won’t be thrilled to have me living there with you. Besides, I’d rather live in a box in an alley than be inside anything owned by Lorenzo. Also, this is close to the office.”
The sneer in his tone made me wonder if there was a bigger reason he disliked my father beyond his abuse and associating with Camden, but he turned away, starting the tour before I could think more about it.
“Good point,” I muttered, looking around—another blast of reality on how my life would change within the month. The comfy gray couch would be mine. The sunsets over Central Park would be my view every night. The sleek kitchen in the fancy apartment in the expensive neighborhood, would be mine.
“What about your place in Charleston?”
“I’ll obviously have to keep it for when I travel to that office. But New York has taken more of my time in the last few years, so it’s not a huge change to make it my home base for the next five years. When things settle down, I’ll take you to Charleston to show you around.”
“I’ve never been.”
“It’s a beautiful city.”
“Will you be happy here? Full time?”
He looked over his shoulder, slowing his pace. “I think I will.”
I couldn’t help but think he meant with me. He thought he’d be happy with me. The idea was crazy. We barely knew each other—barely liked each other. Actually, we didn’t. I’d say we tolerated each other. But still, the way he looked at me now, I couldn’t help but hope our future was the one Mama described.
Of course, he dashed all that by opening his mouth as he turned back to lead the way down the hall. “By the way, don’t be late to work tomorrow. Just because I can take care of you, doesn’t mean I will.”
“Of course,” I muttered, giving in to the eye roll.
Fifteen
Nico
Meeting after meeting kept me busy all morning. At least that was the excuse I created. I took on meetings and pushed up others, so I had no reason to leave my office.
Leaning back in my chair, I set the tiny black box on my desk, flipping it open and closed, a pinch of anxiety and doubt hitting my chest with each glint of the two-carat oval diamond. I’d made a special trip to my bank as soon as the ink dried on our contract.
I imagined the rose gold against the tan skin of her finger. I imagined her in nothing else but the ring, a stamp of my ownership, the only thing against her soft flesh.
The box clicked closed a little harder this time.
I needed to shut those feelings down. I hadn’t lied when I told Verana that I wanted a true marriage, but it might have been the only thing I’d been truthful about. When she’d asked what I got out of marrying her, I’d created a reason on the fly. Both of which I listed were true, but not the real reason.
In fact, I needed to make a phone call to set one of the reasons in motion.
“Archer,” he greeted.
“It’s me.”
“Is it done?”
“I’m sending the file now.” I typed in his email and sent the signed contract.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get her to sign it?”
I chuckled. “I added a clause in the contract I knew she wouldn’t agree to, leaving me to redraft a copy. When I did that, I added a new clause at the end, buried in jargon, stating she’d sign over her shares to me upon our wedding day. It was a risk, but I banked on her having gone over it with a fine-tooth comb the first time and only glancing for the one change when I brought it to her to sign again.”
“Damn. That’s ballsy. You’re a lucky son-of-a-bitch.”