Betting with the Bride

Chapter Eight

Ivory

It seems like Hunter is hibernating in his office for the rest of the day. Since the meeting with Ryan, I haven't seen him. Lately, I've been wasting more and more time tossing the idea of being with him in my mind. It's not as if I would be with him like a couple, not that I want that. We are just simply having a friendly wager. No harm can come of it. The media just has to believe we are together, and I am sure to win. It is quite immature of me though to hold this bet. We hadn't even discussed the guidelines before I agreed! Ivory, where is your head at? Where is your common sense?

"Ivory, care to join us tonight?" Janice calls to me as I stare intently at the computer screen.

I mindlessly shake my head. "I can't. Too much work, and Mom should be home tonight," I turn down their offer.

Chad and Janice, my two coworkers and best friends, leisurely walk to the front desk that I am sitting at. As Janice pouts Chad clicks his tongue irksomely and shakes his head with disfavor. 

"Come on, Ives. Landon is spending the night with Leo's mom, and Leo is going to meet us there. You deserve a day off," Janice pressures me, urging me to join them. 

Chad approves of her statement, "You do. Be real, Ivory, you work constantly. We're just asking for one night, just one night."

I exasperatedly heave an exaggerated sigh. Every Friday night they put me through this, and I have only complied twice. I guess third time's the charm.

"Fine, but I am not getting that intoxicated. I have work tomorrow," I sternly say, placing my foot firmly on the ground.

Janice smiles broadly at me while Chad laughs, amused, "Oh, you'll get drunk."

Together we casually strut towards the main entrance. Two employees that work the night shift are entering as we are leaving. I pause momentarily to inform the front desk worker that I had noticed a glitch in the system. My two friends groan and complain as I stall our night out. The worker suddenly stops in the middle of her sentence, and glances curiously behind me. Puzzled by her actions, I turn around to see the person I'd like to see the least. 

Dressed in his suit from earlier today, but his hair looking a bit more disheveled, he stares at me with an unidentified emotion evident in his eyes. As he becomes closer, his desperation grows.

"Miss Ivory, can we speak for a moment?" he asks, his voice surprisingly calm.

I spare a quick peak over my shoulder at Chad and Janice. She urges me to go because she can see the look in his eyes that I can't see, but Chad just sighs and tells me to go. I turn back to Hunter and nod. He pulls me aside, and lowers his voice.

"Can we discuss the bet?" he whispers, urgency in his tone.

I shake my head and answer, "I don't want to. We were planning on going out, and can't we just save it for tomorrow?"

"Please, Ives," he begs.

"I can't," I insist.

"Please," he repeats.

I silently nod. His shoulders perk a bit and his coal eyes fill with relief. As we exit the hotel after everyone else, I finally realize we aren't going upstairs to his office. I glimpse up at him briefly. 

"Where are we going?" I ask him.

He looks down at me and answers casually, "My apartment, but first we are getting Chinese." I start to question his wacky time to eat Chinese, but he just shrugs, "I'm hungry." 

I give a light laugh while we walk out of the hotel and towards his car. He opens the passenger door for me, and I crawl in. Once I am settled in, he shuts the door softly, like a gentleman. We travel for at least twenty minutes, filling the silence with casual chatter about work and typical things. His black car rolls to a stop, and we both step out into the brisk air. Together we walk to a fairly expensive building. A perky blonde greets us at the main desk. 

"Hello, Mr.Richardson, the press came earlier this morning, but no one was up on your floor. There is a few papers for you upstairs, though," she informs him with a cheery smile. 

He acknowledges her with a curt nod, and we continue upstairs to his secluded floor. Surprisingly, the first thing I notice is the cleanliness of his home. There's not an article of clothing or a stray piece of trash in sight, and unlike the normal male's residence, everything seems to be organized. My eyes scan the room, and eventually they fall on him. He seems amused by my state of disbelief as I sit on the leather, black couch in what I assume is the main room. Before he joins me, he pours two glasses of dark wine and sets them on the coffee table. 

"What did you want to speak with me about, Mr. Richardson?" I ask, using my professional tone again.

Hunter lounges casually beside me, and drapes his arm across the back of the couch. He deliberately takes his sweet time before answering much more composed than earlier, "The bet. We need to construct some term of guidelines."

I rack my mind for a spark of an idea, but instead, I find a problem. "I can't. In order to legally engage in a relationship, I would have to quit or be fired from my job at the Clarion, and I cannot do that," I explain.

"Yes you can and you will. We already shook on it," he argues.

"Mr. Richardson, I am not leaving the Clarion, do I make myself clear?" I sternly say.

"The bet must go on though. You can't just back out of a bet. That's not loyal. Maybe you're just scared you'll lose," he teases, aiming to make me at least a bit mad.

"I am not scared, I just love my job too much to leave it for a man, especially you, but I am certainly not scared," I retort, not appreciating being accused and mocked.

"You seem scared," he finally states after a long, suspenseful sip from his glass.

What does it take with this man? He purposefully taunts me, and tries to sway me to give in, but I refuse. I am not willing to give him the satisfaction of winning. He's going to have to try a lot harder to make me submit to his wishes even slightly. To no end, he irks me and torments me.

"Mr.Richardson, with all respect, I am declining your offer, and I'd immensely enjoy it if you would act as if nothing has ever happened between us," I firmly speak with an even tone.

"Miss Ivory, I will tell you one thing, when I want something, I intend on achieving it, and I wan't you," his volume decreases with each word, and he ends in a quiet, husky whisper that sends waves of electricity through my spine, igniting me.

"I am not an object to be won," I demand, struggling to appear calm, but he evidently sees straight through my facade.

A small, confident smirk claims his face again as he hears my answer. "But you are one hell of a prize."

Author's Note:

You're welcome for the suspenseful ending! Comment tips, helpful criticism, or just praise, vote all day every day, and continue to read!

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