Chapter 19 – On Hunter’s Defense
RING! RING!
Hunter jerks as his phone rings and unexpectedly disrupts the growing suspense. His grimace indicates sheer annoyance while the long sigh I heave is out of pure relief. When I thought I was more than excited, the truth is I was not even an inch ready to uncover the reality, which the man is more than willing to divulge now. The longer I watch him stare at me intently, with a thought at the back of my mind that whatever Hunter tells me now might break the preconceived opinion I have for him, the more anxious I grow. Hunter might pull a few tricks in order for me to have a change of heart. With the way he has asked of whether I might think twice or not if he spills the truth out is suggesting of some hope.
Honestly, I’m confused now as to how I should feel about knowing the reason. Although a part of me strongly feels it will not change a thing about anything, I’m still scared—scared it might stumble upon a fissure and instigate something more than just confusion. I don’t know what it will be, but one thing I am sure now, I am not comfortable to hearing it, and I am thankful of the sudden interruption of the phone call.
Groaning, Hunter opens his mouth and begins to mutter words that command for my complete attention.
“Paul?”
His hand reaches for his temple and rubs it leniently. What could Paul be telling Hunter that the latter looks rather nervy?
“Okay, I get it. We’ll be there in…” He peeks at his watch, and then says, “ten minutes. Keep the old man entertained, okay?”
Then he shuts his phone down and starts the engine of the car.
His keeps his eyes on the road, and I instantly feel that he has lost the mood for a conversation.
It did not take us ten minutes when we reach a sky scraper made of steel frame and glass curtain walls. It mirrors the color of the blue sky and shimmers as the sun reflects on it. Stone’s name is printed out in embossed silver letterings outside his building. One will immediately recognize it is he who owns this huge empire of about fifty floors.
Paul meets us at the top floor after a tiring ride in the elevator. I presume the top floor is Hunter’s personal area where his office could be found. The entire floor is purely dedicated for the employees whom he can promptly command at his disposal. Everything in the top floor is white and gray. The curtain walls are wide and huge, overlooking the busy streets of Trenton. I feel like I could reach the horizon at arm’s length.
Walking along the wide corridor that is lined with big doors that appear to be small offices, I let Paul lead me to somewhere while I let myself drift into what my eyes can see beyond.
“Ms. Mohr.” Paul’s voice stuns me. “Keep up please.”
I fail to see which door Hunter has gone into because I was too preoccupied looking outside and thinking of how relaxing the view is. Moving my head to my sides, I try to figure out which among the doors could Hunter’s office be and if where Paul would lead me.
“Are we heading for his office?” I ask.
“Yes,” simply answers Paul.
“Is Hunter in his office?”
He shakes his head and says ‘no’.
“Who is he meeting with then?”
Paul halts and turns his back away from me. With eyes so scrutinizing, I think he’s been instructed by Hunter not to reveal so much on me.
“It’s just that he appeared troubled while on our way here.”
“Just think of it this way, Ms. Mohr. Even the mountain bows,” smartly answer Paul. He stops in front of golden brown door with silver door knob. There are pots of small palm trees that guard the doorpost, and ‘CEO’ engraved in bold letters outside the door. We must be outside Hunter’s office now.
Whatever Paul meant by ‘even the mountain bows’ did not bother me much. All I want now is to take a seat and rest my feet. I have been walking this long corridor in these pair of 4-inch heel stilettos that Hunter purchased together with the dress. I feel my toes and my heels sore and numb already.
Paul twists the door knob and opens it in the middle. My eyes widen as they lay upon the unique architectural design of Hunter’s office. The style is quite similar with his pent house, minimalist and very spacious. With just one look, one can readily identify it as a bachelor’s pad. There’s a long black leather chaise lounge in the middle. Behind it is his desk with nothing but a laptop, a notebook, and a pen. The walls are festooned with paintings of dark skinned people smiling and dancing in their tribal clothing. Silver and black artifacts are safely kept inside the cabinet made of glass. The floor is carpeted but does not deviate from the three colors that overpower the room. Everything just appears lonely and cold. Not a single photo of Hunter’s family is even detected by my eyes.
“Ms. Mohr, Mr. Stone will meet you here in a while. If you need anything, please press number 1.” Paul points at the cordless phone that is on the side table. “I will be on the other side of the line.”
“Thank you, Paul.”
He reservedly smiles, steps back a few inches from the door, and gently shuts it down.
I immediately fall down the chaise and remove the shoes off my feet. There are security cameras at every corner of the office but I don’t care if the security personnel watching me from their monitors see me walking barefooted. It’s just a relief to stretch my legs and exercise them without those uncomfortable heels. I wish Hunter just bought me flats.
While thinking about the pain on my feet, I am suddenly reminded of the shoes I had prior to falling off to unconsciousness. I am sure I was in my sneakers but now I am totally oblivious as to where Hunter might have hidden them.
It seems that he has more than just a phone to give back to me now.
While I examine the exquisiteness of the artifacts which appear to be remains of an Egyptian stone tablet, I hear the door knob click. I innocently thought it was Hunter but when the door fully swings to open, it was a woman in a black knee-length dress who came in.
Mary Etheridge.
Her face twitches at the sight of me.
I quickly gather myself in complete caution, and make sure I stand erect for Mary to think I am not too surprised of her presence, when actually I am.
“Well, Ms. Grant.” Her hands clasped together. “Hunter is definitely taking this whole thing to another level.”
“It’s not what you think, Mary,” I say. I feel that, once and for all, I have to clear this issue. “Hunter and I…”
“There’s no need to deny. I think James and the family fully understand Hunter’s prime motivation for this.”
“Mrs. Etheridge, you have to know that I don’t intend to marry Hunter Stone.” I have finally given in to my conscience. The hell I care about the pretentions and lies. It is not my fault that my patience for Mary’s baseless assumptions is all consumed by her arrogance.
“Oh, so Hunter has brainwashed you?” Her smile that depicts pure conceitedness continuously irks me. “He has probably made you believe that he loves you. You look so bothered and confused now. You must have deeply fallen for him.”
What is she talking about now?
She continues, “I feel sorry for you. Did he promise you wealth and assurance in exchange of your hand? The man is desperate for marriage that he will do anything for his father’s approval.” Mary marches toward Hunter’s desk, spins the swivel chair with a tap of her finger and sits on to it after it made four rotations. Her legs crossed together under the desk, her fingers intertwined on top of the table, and her disdainful glare directed on me.
“Of course Hunter will not tell you. The man has a heart of stone—his name says so. He’s not capable of love.”
I am not after Hunter’s love, hence there’s no way I will be affected by Mary’s words. From the start, I made myself aware that what is between Hunter and me is business, paid and even sought for another service. Never in the almost seven months I have known him did I dream of marrying him. Both of us know that what we share in common is total indifference with each other. Even if Hunter’s reason for pursuing me is to ensure his father’s approval, I still don’t give a damn. Whatever deeper cause he has for this marriage to a woman he does not even love does not interest me.
What I am greatly concerned about is my involvement in this charade. It is still not clear to me why Hunter is insistent on having me when he can have a wide variety of options.
And no matter how Mary badmouths Hunter in front of me, my opinion of him will never change.
“Mary, if what you said is true, then I must have been a great fool for letting Hunter think of that,” I say. “But I have known of Hunter’s so little capacity to love long before you broke the truth on me. It is no surprise to me that Hunter can do such thing, to the point of misleading a woman into a relationship founded in a lie, and promising her the world she could not even imagine. He is the kind of man who others thought to be heartless and evil, and though I subscribe to that opinion, I still prefer to listen to this man than to a woman whose words are of hate and envy. Sorry to break your amusement, Mary, as well as I don’t believe in empty words of a man, I also don’t trust people who reeks of jealousy. If Hunter is indeed guilty, Mary, then it should be him breaking the painful truth on me and not you.”
She bites her lower lip out of contempt on me and then wets her parched lips with her tongue.
“Why is Hunter’s marriage such a great deal for you, Mary?” I arch my brow as though challenging the ashen pale Mary Etheridge.
How ironic can this woman get? She downright judges Hunter whose only fault on me is his undying but annoying perseverance, while his son, Damien, the spiteful coward, should be the one to be condemned for the blunders he has caused me. If she only knows a thing about Damien’s offenses, I bet she will eat her words against Hunter.
No man can match Damien’s wrong-founded guts to cause unbearable pain to a woman. His moral fiber to run away just like that turns him into a clown—a cowardly fool.
“Unless the marriage will secure Hunter of something you for yourself would want, I do think you will not pay attention on him. Why will you trouble yourself convincing me when you are not after of something,” might I add.
She thumps her feet on the floor and gets up from her chair. Her face is devoid of joy. I might have hit her pride that she has kept her lips on a thin line, her brows meeting in the middle of her nose ridge.
“Hunter has taught you well.”
I nod.
“Such a cunning couple!” she exclaims with a laughter joined in with sarcasm.
If leading Mary to believe that Hunter and I are in a relationship will keep her blood boiling and make her frustrated as this, I think I might enjoy the pretense.
“Mary, if Hunter marries, it’s given that you will be there. You will not be left out, so if I were you, I will prepare myself real hard. I heard disappointment stings,” I sharply counter.
She inhales heavily that I hear a large amount of air being sucked in by her nasal airway. Her face puffed up despite the absence of color.
Quietly, she walks out of the office in strong heavy strides. Her chin floating up in the air and her eyes fighting off embarrassment.
Surprisingly, I don’t feel sorry at all for making Mary sorry or hurt. I mean she deserves to be mentally slapped for once in her life. She has been very critical of me and her groundless accusations are becoming over-the-top that oftentimes they become more than just a figment of her convoluted imagination.
Although I am not favoring Hunter, I just feel he is being unfairly judged by a woman who thinks of herself as almighty and immaculate. Why does not she straighten her own son first before she meddles on the affairs of others? His son has more issues to solve than Hunter Stone who only struggles to find a wife to present to his father for purposes I am not of interest to know.
Why doesn’t she babysit Damien Etheridge and keep the coward away from people whom he can easily con? Mary must be wary of him than Hunter or anyone else!