A/N: Hello, everyone! Thanks again for patiently following this story. I'm amazed by those who connected with me outside of WP for an update. For those who'd want to know the progress of the upcoming chapters, I'll post some teasers on Twitter from now on so take a peek there if you'd like.
I want to dedicate this chapter to Bieberholics for being such an enthusiastic TMMM fan and to those who believe in modern fairy tales. Cheers!
Don't forget to vote and comment!
***
If I’d been a child beauty queen, I could probably tell you better that getting primped up for my tea party with the Championettes felt like prepping for a national pageant.
Felicity and Armina insisted I dress in signature Championette fashion—pastels, pearls and pumps. As if the three P’s weren’t enough, Felicity had to coach me on tea party etiquette.
While I realized that slurping the tea down noisily wasn’t exactly the most popular form, I didn’t think there was a science to it.
I had read enough historical romances to know that it was a big deal back in the eighteenth century but that was my point—that was practically two hundred years ago. Knowing whether cream or sugar (cubes only) went in first, or who did the pouring or how one should ask for a cup properly didn’t seem that crucial in ensuring that everyone was having a good time. In my opinion, if I had to sit there stiffer than the starched pencil skirt I’d be sporting, it wouldn’t be a good time at all.
Felicity had gently reassured me several times that order in life and society was an important key to happiness and since she seemed to go around with plenty of sunshine, I’d been inclined to believe her.
“I really look like Mrs. Bethany Harris,” I told Felicity for probably the sixth time that afternoon as I stared myself at the mirror by the living room.
Felicity stepped back from fixing my pearl necklace and shook her head patiently. “You don’t look like your English teacher, Charlotte. You look fresh, refined and lovely.”
“You look like a Championette but still very much what I’d expect of Charlotte Maxfield,” Armina added, motioning to the cropped white denim jacket I wore over my peach baby doll dress. While the palette met the Championette requirement, the jacket and the nude leather booties made the outfit edgy enough that I didn’t feel like I was overdosing on sugar.
The three of us had spent the last week determining my final outfit and eventually making compromises to keep everyone happy. Sure, I could order both Felicity and Armina to agree to whatever I wanted to wear but they were my friends and had been more accustomed to this scene far longer than I have been that I had to trust their instincts. I consented to the pearls, the pastel palette and the neat bun my braided hair was tucked into.
Slightly conscious of the possibility that things were not going to go well, I had made the least amount of fuss possible about the whole invitation, choosing not to alert anyone else about it. That way, if things went south, I’d have fewer people to deal with.
I took a deep breath as I turned away from the mirror and faced the other girls. “Well, we can at least count on my last name to get me through the door. Let’s just hope they don’t kick me out before we can sit down for tea.”
“You’ll be fine,” Felicity reassured me as she picked up the hostess gifts I was taking with me. “Just remember to count to ten before you say anything really important just in case it sounds differentl when you say from how it sounds in your head.”
“Got it,” I said with a firm nod. “And no clanking noise when stirring. Let the tea spoon touch only the bottom of the cup but never the walls. Do no more than five graceful swirls and don’t lick the spoon.”
I glanced at Felicity with my brows furrowed. “I remembered all the important parts, didn’t I?”
She smiled and nodded encouragingly. “You did. You’re not uncivilized, Char. You have good manners.”
I squared my shoulders. “Even though I obviously don’t have the required refined set of them, I’ll just wing it. No guts, no glory, right? I’m all out, ladies. Balls to the wall!”
Armina chuckled. “You may want to avoid using terms like ‘wing it’ and ‘balls to the wall’. They don’t quite go with the whole Championette rule book. Just saying.”
“Right,” I said, flushing a little. “If they did, they’d be more fun.”
“And you know the board members’ names and profiles by heart so you can easily start a conversation with them and show that you’ve taken interest,” Felicity added as she led us to the door. “You’re being invited at a vital time because their new chairwoman is going to be announced today. It could be anyone from the current board, depending on the vote. After they declare it internally, they will do a press release and conduct the officiating rite a week from now. That’s also when they announce new members of the board.”
I secretly groaned at the mention of the board members because one of them was Layla LeClaire who inconveniently happened to be Simone’s best friend.
According to the profile report Felicity put together for me about the Society, Simone had become a member when she married Chad Barton, the top litigator in the state, three years ago. She kept her spot even after they divorced a year later but stopped actively participating after she got busy starting her own business.
It relieved me that she would most likely not be at today’s tea party and I was crossing my fingers that her friend wouldn’t be an issue. I’d asked Brandon what he knew about Layla but he just shrugged and said that he didn’t know much since he only ever ran into her at social functions. When he had been dating Simone, it hadn’t been public and they hadn't attended that many events together. He made me promise that if there was any issue caused by his previous involvement with Simone, I was to let him know.
Because he will slay the dragons for you, just as a gallant prince would to protect his princess.
Since that night in his study when I’d made my feelings clear about having a real marriage for a year, there had been some subtle changes in our relationship. I couldn’t exactly put my finger on it but it was almost as if we just fell into this domestic state easily, without conscious effort or deliberate planning.
I would wake up in the morning and make us an early breakfast and we’d lounge around the kitchen in our pajamas before we started our day—whether it was to see Martin or for Brandon to head to work when the new week had started. We moved Martin back to his house on the weekend where his newly-hired nurse, Fatima, who was a real angel, would look after him. On Sunday, we arranged a barbecue brunch for the family (which of course included Jake) and spent the rest of the weekend there, just hanging out with everyone else. Anna, Tessa and I prepared the food but the dessert (a strawberry shortcake) was all mine and Brandon’s.
He returned to work on Monday and I spent half of the last three days visiting Martin in the morning and the later half preparing for this tea party and responding to the overwhelming amount of correspondence that had poured in since the wedding. Despite the two of us doing different things, Brandon diligently picked me up to take me to lunch somewhere on his break and he would return home from work on time to help me make dinner for two. Gwen, the housekeeper, stopped bothering to make any food anymore since I moved in because I’d been manning the kitchen. As for the evenings, Brandon kept driving me crazy by making out with me only to stop just before we could take things all the way because he was still waiting for that special ‘right time’ which was apparently this coming weekend. Just like the honeymoon, he was stingy on the details but if the honeymoon he’d planned was anything to go by, I was assured that it would be better than anything I could possibly imagine. All he’d told me was to clear my schedule from Friday to Monday.
Don’t you just wish you could skip forward through this week till you get to Friday. Between Brandon and the Championettes, the hunky, wonderful husband trumps pastel-pumps-clicking socialites.
“Are you ready?” Felicity’s question snapped me out of my giddy thoughts.
Right. Tea party. Even being Mrs. Maxfield doesn’t give you the super power to alter time.
“I’m ready,” I said with a stiff nod before following Felicity out of the penthouse to the waiting car.
We dropped Armina off along the way and I fought the urge to ask Felicity to accompany me to the tea party for the rest of our drive to Clifton House, an old Georgian mansion that had been declared a heritage home by the city about ten years ago. Apart from being a tourist destination, it also functioned as the official headquarters of the Championettes since it was owned by the family of one of the Society's founding members.
“We’ll come pick you up around four, okay?” Felicity told me with a smile as Gilles pulled over by the front steps of the mansion. “Call if you need us sooner or later than that.”
“I will.” I took a deep breath before scrambling out of the car after Gilles opened the door for me. He walked me to the front door where a smartly-dressed, aging doorman greeted me in such a flat, lifeless fashion it was almost catatonic.
He took the gifts I brought and led me down the hall to the large solarium where a half dozen or so vintage wingback chairs were circled together around an oval table draped in white cloth with intricate embroidered edges. Small crystal vases of blue and white hydrangeas, white tiered trays brimming with dainty pastries, and pretty china tea cups were spread out on the table, enjoyed by the women gathered around it.
Their conversation paused when I appeared at the doorway and I swallowed hard before smiling at them broadly while secretly surveying each of their faces.
There were seven of them, all wearing outfits that nearly matched the pastel palette of the French almond macarons in one of the trays.
My eyes focused on a very familiar brunette wearing a sorbet-yellow mod dress—Simone Clark.
She looked up at me with dark gray eyes rounded in surprise and I fought not to let my jaw drop open in front of everyone.
“Oh, hello,” one platinum blond I instantly recognized as Layla LeClaire, greeted me in a sugary voice as she rose from her seat.
She was about Simone’s age and a definite beauty as well with her white blond hair and classical bone structure. Clad in a lilac shift dress with pink flower prints on it, she would’ve looked sweet if not for the sharp, measuring glint in her pale blue eyes as she took in my appearance with unconcealed disapproval.
What? Am I not wearing enough strands of pearls? Am I not bleeding enough pastels? Or it just because they still see me as the shabby diner girl even with all this icing and my new last name?
"Charlotte Maxfield, what a pleasure," Layla said as everyone else took their turn to appraise me. "We were wondering whether you were still going to join us today since we'd started about half an hour ago."
I frowned and glanced at my watch. "It's one-fifty-five. The invite said two p.m."
Layla's brows arched delicately, her smile tight with impatience. "The tea party was scheduled for one-thirty. I mean, if everyone else showed up at that time, it must be correct. We certainly understand if you were held up. It must’ve been something very important. You could have hardly meant to be tardy to a Championettes’ tea party, if you follow my meaning."
My fists clenched. "I'm not tardy. I have the invite in my purse if you care to look at it."
Layla laughed and waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, please, it’s not a big deal. We could hardly peer at a diamond when it’s not big enough to matter, right? Besides, you're not even a member yet so no crime has been committed. And as I've said, we completely understand. There's no need to apologize."
I raised a brow. "I certainly don't recall apologizing in the last thirty seconds since I've stepped into this room so there’s no need to liberate me from the necessity of it. Are you sure you're following me in this conversation?"
Silence filled the room and that wasn't a good thing.
"I'm Layla LeClaire, the newest chairwoman of the Lady Championettes Society as of today," she said as if that answered my question, which it didn't. “You would’ve learned that if you had arrived on time.”
Patience, Charlotte. It’s not fair to insult someone who is clearly not smart enough to manage a straight path through an argument.
I glanced at the other members who looked very uncomfortable. Some avoided my gaze, like Simone who suddenly found her tea cup very interesting, and some leveled me the same hostile glare as Layla did which no amount of pastel could sweeten.
“Congratulations,” I said slowly and calmly, lifting my chin up at Layla. “Clearly, you’ve already made huge strides in being a true political leader—artificially charming, outright manipulative and a practiced prevaricator who can whistle lies through her teeth.”
Gasps erupted all over the room and Layla’s face blanched before the blood rushed back beneath the surface of her milky white skin until she resembled a blister about to burst.
I didn’t care.
I was too pissed off to play it nice. If they sought to intimidate me by sending me an incorrect invitation and bully me enough that I wouldn’t even bring it up, they clearly had no idea who they were messing with.
With my shoulders squared, I whipped out the invitation from my clutch and slapped it on the surface of the table before sliding it forward, my eyes never wavering from Layla’s.
“Being caught in a lie is like being a fish caught in a hook—the more you struggle away from it, the more likely you’ll lose your head—or your intestines,” I said with a smirk. “I’d feel sorry for you if you weren’t so predictable.”
I turned away from her and faced the other women, flashing them a broad, sunny smile. “Since I’m inclined to believe in the good nature of mankind, I’ll assume that no one else knew of that sloppy trick to make me look bad on my first meeting with you ladies so I’ll start over. My name is Charlotte Maxfield. I’m honored to have been invited as a guest to your tea party today. I’m very interested in the work you do—when you’re not busy instigating juvenile catfights—and I’d be happy to help out where you can use my assistance.”
“You have no right to insult us like this!” Layla, who seemed to have recovered her speech, snarled from behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder and gave her a pitying smile. “Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it.”
“I am the leader of this Society!” she practically yelled and I felt the urge to take cover before this blister burst and spewed puss and all kinds of disgusting things all over us.
I grimaced and glanced back at the other members who were sharing an almost uniform expression of disbelief and shock—even Simone—except for a tall, red head who was sitting back smiling, her green eyes shimmering with laughter.
The fact that someone was seeing the humor in the situation other than myself made me instantly feel better.
I grinned. “I think some of you may have to reassure Layla of her new post here since she doesn’t seem to believe it. I mean, she keeps saying it. It probably hasn’t sunk in yet.”
“See here, Charlotte,” another member I recalled as Patricia Verron—a plump, older lady with a loud, fuchsia-colored mouth—rose to her feet and glared at me admonishingly. “We invited you here as a courtesy to the Maxfields but Layla was sure that you wouldn’t fit in well with the group and we can clearly see that now. You’re insolent and disrespectful!”
I sighed, knowing that there was no stopping me now. “I appreciate the tact you admit your motive with considering how disrespectful it is to slap it on someone’s face just how uninterested you are in their company and make it sound as if you’re doing them a favor by putting up with it anyway. No disrespect intended but I think at this point, it’s hardly fair to call out my insolence when your prejudice provoked it.”
“We are an esteemed society of female philanthropists and you would do well to remember that!” another member, Catherine Rochner, identifiable by her beak-like nose which she was rumored to always defend by referring to it as a true aristocrat’s nose, spoke up sharply. “We don’t just pick up the next trailer trash to have stumbled into the marital bed with a rich man.”
Wow. Clearly, someone’s dug my hole so deep I just plunged right into it when I walked in here today. Unbelievable. I never even had a chance.
I thought of how Brandon would be so disappointed in me for blowing this but I fought the pinpricks of tears in my eyes and thrust my chin up.
He’d be more disappointed in you if you let them walk all over you.
I took a deep breath and steeled my spine as I met each of their gazes. “It’s a real pity that the only charity you all seem to be capable of is limited to your glitzy fundraisers and cozy tea parties. If you can’t even be charitable to others with less impressive backgrounds than yours, I can’t figure out why else you would do your philanthropy if not just to simply make yourselves look better by helping the poor and earn the tax credit for it.”
Layla started to make some kind of protesting noise but I pinned her with a glare. “As for you, I simply regret that someone of your vindictive nature gained the opportunity to make a difference when all that you seem intent in doing with it is to play the high school queen bee.”
I swivelled my gaze over to Simone who was flushed a deep shade of red, still mute in her seat. What a lovely coward. I wasn’t sure what I really wanted to hear from her but I had some hope that she would be decent enough to say something to call off her attack dog of a friend especially since I had the strongest suspicion that a lot of this was about her.
“If your fight with me is for your friend Simone, I’m afraid that your crusade is in vain,” I continued telling Layla. “I did not steal anything that was still hers to have. I did not wish for this to be ugly and I had hoped that you would be better than this but if you’re simply taking me down because I happened to marry Brandon, I suggest you give it up. Whether my last name is Samuels or Maxfield, whether I sleep in my old, ratty double bed or in a California king thirty floors up in the sky, whether I’m in Blahniks or sneakers, I’m the same girl I’ve always been—the kind who will not stand down because you feel like kicking me around. I will kick you right back if you don’t back off and it will hurt.”
With my heart beating rapidly from the dangerous excitement of my declaration, I straightened my shoulders and gave them a half-smile.
“When you’ve learned to be better than a bunch of petty hypocrites, look me up,” I said with a shrug. “I might be interested to help you then.”
With that, I turned and strode out of the house, walking until I found myself strolling toward downtown which was only a few blocks away.
Despite my famous last words from that tea party, I felt defeated—mostly because I didn’t even get a chance. I had known it would be an ambush as much as I had wanted to believe it otherwise. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Having read what I did about the Championettes from gossips online, I had known that they wouldn’t welcome me with open arms. Despite their claims to charity, most of them had reputations for being prissy and arrogant but I had always been the type to cut most people some slack and I thought I could manage that with them.
The only problem with giving people a chance is that they don’t always return the favor.
I wondered how I would tell Brandon.
I wondered how I would tell Felicity. She would be devastated. She had such great faith that the Championettes would meet me and all love me because she thought the world of me. She might be employed as my personal assistant but Felicity held none of her affection back and she’d given me plenty of it. I could tell. And now I failed her in this.
It’s only failure if it was worth it. To be part of a group who condescends on people like that is no achievement.
Determined to feel better, I undid the tight bun of my hair and wiggled the braid loose until I could feel the blood flowing back around my head. It also felt strangely symbolic as if I'd liberated myself of the constraints of a Championette. Then I wandered around downtown for a good half hour, grateful for the anonymity that reminded me of how simple it used to be just being good, old Charlotte.
It didn’t completely cheer me up though so I thought of Felicity’s formula for banishing the blues—shoe shopping.
The booties were beautiful and surprisingly comfortable despite the height but after an hour of standing and briskly walking in them, I was starting to feel my arches ache.
I went into one of my favorite shoe stores. I used to gaze at some of the pretty shoes here that I couldn't afford before. When I was done gazing my fill, I would go purchase a new pair of Chuck Taylors once I’d worn a hole into my old ones.
“Hello,” a young girl greeted me as I surveyed a rack of leather ballet flats. “What can I help you with today?”
“Oh, I’m just looking,” was my automatic reply out of habit. I would never even bother the store clerks before with trying on anything because I couldn't afford it then.
She smiled at me in understanding. It was in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon so the store traffic was slow. “No worries.”
She nodded to my shoes. “Those booties are fabulous. I saw them in Vogue and a couple other magazines. They’re one of this season’s most coveted pairs and they’re crazy expensive.”
I felt myself blush because I didn’t really know how to react properly. I didn’t even know how much they cost. Armina had them in a long line of shoe options and I just picked them out. “Um, thanks.”
The girl shook her head as if she was trying to snap herself out of the dreamy gaze she had been directing at my shoes in the last sixty seconds. “Anyway, I just thought I’d pay them the compliment they deserve. We don’t sell anything like them here—nothing as high-end anyway—but if there’s anything that catches your attention, I’d love to grab you a size so you can try them on.”
Knowing that the girl could probably use some commission on a slow day like this, I pointed to another rack that featured the different sneakers they carried. “I’d like a pair of those high-top Chucks in white and women’s size six and a half, please.”
Surprise flickered across her face but she quickly recovered her composure and nodded before heading to the back room.
Twenty minutes later, I emerged from the store wearing my new pair of Chucks and carrying my booties in a paper bag where I tossed in my clutch as well.
I still had about half an hour before Felicity and Gilles picked me up from Clifton House and I needed to be somewhere they wouldn’t need to come get me. That way, I’d avoid explaining anything yet to Felicity about the tea party spectacle. I also needed a friend.
I took out my phone and texted Brandon.
[B, what u doing right now?]
A minute later, my phone buzzed with his reply.
[Big meeting about a possible acquisition. Been at it since this morning. How’s your tea party?]
I resisted the urge to be forthcoming right away. He was in an important meeting and I didn’t want to distract him with my problems.
[Done. Can I come to ur office? I’ll wait till ur done. I’m in downtown anyway.]
[OK. Done for the day after this but it might be another hour. We can dine out after. I’m starving.]
[Sure. How many ppl u meeting with?]
[Six. Why?]
[Just curious. OK. See u soon! Kiss!]
[Kiss. Kiss again. And again.]
[Get back 2 work, u lazy bum. =P]
[Yes, ma’am. =P]
I grinned, imagining Brandon’s expression as he interrupted his meeting to send me silly replies. I wouldn’t put it past him.
Spotting the Maxfield Towers a short distance away, I headed toward it with a renewed sense of purpose.
I stopped by Burpee’s, one of my favorite pizza places, and grabbed two large pizzas and a dozen-pack of soft drinks. Working at Marlow’s trained me on hefting large and heavy orders in my arms but I was a bit out of practice and my sprained wrist just got unbound this weekend. I was sweaty and panting by the time I made it to Maxfield Towers.
It wasn’t until I walked through the front door and faced a reception/security desk that stood between the turnstiles that I realized I’d never even been inside the building before and I had no ID or security pass of any sort.
This will be tricky. I don’t think they’ll let you Google yourself this time.
I upped the wattage of my smile as I approached the counter. A tall, intimidating man looked up and frowned at me and the stack of pizza I had my chin perched on.
“You need to call the number of the person who ordered the pizza because they’re expected to come down and pick it up on their own,” he said without preliminaries.
Really? You think I’m a pizza delivery person? Who goes around delivering pizza in a dress and enough pearls to buy a luxury car with them?
I had a feeling that whether or not I was still wearing my sixteen-hundred-dollar booties (according to Cindy from the shoe store), it wouldn’t have made a huge difference with this guy.
I fixed the smile back on my face and glanced at the name tag pinned on his shirt. “Hello, Roger. I’m not really here to deliver pizza—” He raised a brow at me. “—I mean, not technically like a pizza delivery guy, or girl. What I’m trying to say is... I’m here to, uh... You see, it’s because—”
Well, that was articulate. It’s really going to win you some big points with Robo-Roger here.
When the man just raised his brows at me, obviously waiting for me to keep tripping over my words, I sighed and blew the hair off my face.
“I’m here to see my husband,” I blurted out. “He’s in a meeting and I’m bringing him some food as a surprise since they’ve been at it since this morning apparently. I don’t know where his office is. I’ve never been here before.”
“And what’s his name?” Roger asked, exhaling sharply as if he was drawing for patience from some inner well.
“Brandon Maxfield.”
Roger looked at me with a You’re-shitting-me face. I wish I were, buddy. I wish I were.
“Can I see some ID please?” he asked warily. I would guess from his cautiousness that he was probably aware that his boss had married but since he didn’t seem the type to read the gossip rags, he probably had no idea who the new Mrs. Maxfield was. I would twirl and dance if I wasn’t carrying an armful of food and wasn’t about to get kicked out of the building.
“Sure,” I said, placing the pizza boxes on the counter and digging into my clutch for my mini-wallet. Since I didn’t have a driver’s license, I usually provided my passport as photo ID but I didn’t bring that with me today. I pulled out a credit card that Felicity gave me instead when she gave me my banking stuff right after I got engaged to Brandon.
“Here you go,” I said, handing the card to Roger.
He took it and with narrowed eyes, looked up at me in question. “It says Charlotte Samuels.”
I bit my bottom lip. “Yes, well, I haven’t had a name change yet. I just got married a couple weeks ago and a lot of things were going on. My assistant is getting it all done by the end of this week. She’s been hounding me for it but I’ve just been so busy.”
Roger didn’t seem swayed by my explanation. “This is a credit card.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know that. It’s a black credit card, you see? It’s supposed to mean something. Apparently, really rich people have it. If I was just a pizza delivery person, would I have one?”
“It depends whether a certain Charlotte Samuels is missing a credit card somewhere,” Roger replied baldly, handing me back my card. “You’re going to have to do better than that, miss. There’s no food delivery past this door unless you have authorization.”
I groaned and bumped my forehead softly against the edge of the counter.
I was screwed.
The pizza was cooling down and I needed to sit down soon but I wasn’t going to drag Brandon out of an important meeting for this.
“I know!” I exclaimed as the light bulb in my head lit up. I dug out my cellphone and scrolled through some photos I took of Brandon sometime this week.
I pulled up the one of him in a white T-shirt, holding up a book in front of him that he had been reading when I took this shot. It was the only one that had a clear profile of him. The rest of the photos were a little too intimate—like him sleeping or walking around the bedroom in just his pajama pants without a shirt on—and I didn’t want to show those to just anyone.
“Here, look at him,” I said, trying to shove my phone at Roger’s face but he quickly stepped back, refusing to even look at the screen.
“Listen, miss. I asked for ID and that’s what I’ll need to see if we’re going anywhere with this,” he said sternly. “I am not looking at your credit cards or photos or anything else that doesn’t qualify as ID.”
“Fine, fine,” I muttered with a loud sigh, slipping my phone back into my clutch. “Alright. How about you give Marissa a call? She’s Brandon’s personal assistant. She knows me.”
I had only met the woman a couple of times and she was like the female version of Roger actually, now that I come to think of it. She was pleasant enough, efficient to a point of being robotic, and stayed out of Brandon’s way most of the time.
Roger’s brows furrowed. “I don’t disturb Ms. Felix unless it’s something she’s directly dealing with. I haven't received any memo from her detailing your arrival.”
I glared at him. “Of course not. Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? I said it was a surprise. Who announces they’re coming when it’s a surprise?”
When Roger’s expression just tightened, I shook my head and scrolled through the contacts list on my phone. “I’d really hate to do this but you’re not giving me any choice.”
I called Brandon’s office number and after a couple of rings, Marissa Felix picked up.
“Mr. Brandon Maxfield’s office, how may I help you?”
“Hey, Marissa!” I greeted brightly and loudly enough for Roger not to miss a single word. “It’s me, Charlotte. I’m just down here at the front lobby actually. I brought food for Brandon’s meeting but I don’t have any ID with me or anything I can use to get through security. Could you please let me in or something? I don’t mean to impose but I just didn’t want to stand here and wait with the pizza or it’ll get cold.”
“Oh, Charlotte,” Marissa said in surprise. “Of course. I’ll call the front desk. Don’t you worry. Hang on, please. I’ll just put you on hold while I make that call.”
I kept the phone to my ear as the hold music played and smiled sweetly at Roger. It wasn’t my intention to throw my weight around but he wouldn’t even bother to inquire about me and whether I was telling the truth or not.
The front desk phone rang and Roger eyed it nervously before picking it up.
“Yes, Ms. Felix,” he replied into the receiver, a thin film of sweat forming on his upper lip. “I understand. Yes. I apologize. Yes, I will. Thank you. Alright, bye.”
Marissa came back on the line with me as Roger lowered the phone back to its cradle. “You’re cleared, Charlotte. I’ll make sure to have facilities and security updated with your info so this never happens again. I apologize if you had a hard time.”
“Oh, please, don’t worry about it,” I assured her. “I totally understand that Roger is just doing his job. I’m good now so thanks. I’ll see you in a bit.”
I hung up with Marissa and grinned at Roger. “I’m so glad we sorted that out, Roger. I’m sorry for the trouble but I couldn’t think of anything else.”
“I apologize Mrs. Maxfield,” the man said awkwardly. “I, uh...”
I shook my head. “Please, call me Charlotte and don’t worry about it. I won’t get you into trouble.”
“Thank you,” he said in obvious relief as he guided me through the turnstiles. “Would you like me to find someone to escort you to the office and help you carry all of this?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks,” I told him as I took the pizza from him. “I used to be a waitress in a diner so I have strong arms. By the way, how do I find Brandon’s office? I forgot to ask Marissa.”
“Twenty-ninth floor. Turn right when you arrive at the lobby. The hall leading to it is labeled.”
“Awesome, thanks!” I gave him whatever wave I could manage before walking toward the bank of elevators.
There were a couple of people in the elevator when I got in and one of them held the door open for me.
“Which floor?” the guy who held the door for me asked since I was barely able to see the panel from the edge of the pizza box.
“Twenty-ninth, please,” I told him with a grateful smile.
“What? Is the boss throwing a pizza party or something?” he joked as he punched some buttons on the panel and the door slid close. “And Burpee's sent its prettiest delivery girl to bring the order?”
“No, Burpee's didn’t,” I bristled. “It’s a surprise.”
Keep your mouth shut, Charlotte. Just get through this elevator ride or you’re going to have another episode like the one with Roger.
The elevator gradually emptied as people got off different floors until I was left alone to make the rest of my way up.
Following Roger’s directions, I walked down the hall on the right and stepped in through the open office door until I saw Marissa look up from a desk.
“Hi!” I flashed the forty-something woman a big smile as she stood up to help me with my shopping bag and the food. “I'm so glad you were here when I called, Marissa, or I would’ve had to sit out on the front steps until Brandon was done with his meeting.”
“I actually had just stepped out when you called. He didn’t mention you were coming so I hadn’t been expecting you,” she told me as she and I set the food down on a small side table. “But I just checked with him and he confirmed it. He’s just distracted. It’s been a long meeting.”
I stood back after everything was set down on the table and looked around, flexing my aching arms and admiring the large, airy office and the large glass windows that were filled with the view of downtown. “I was in the area so I thought I’d stop by. I’ve never been here before. It looks great!”
“That’s Brandon’s office there,” she said, pointing to a closed, heavy oak door. “You can go in and freshen up or wait for him there. It’s up to you. His meeting is in a conference room just down the next hall.”
“I was hoping to serve the pizza,” I told Marissa as I propped one box open. “If it’s too much food, we can leave some here and whoever else wants some can have it. Brand said he was starving.”
“We did serve lunch earlier but that was about three and a half hours ago and it was mostly just light sandwiches,” Marissa admitted. “Well, we can grab both boxes and the drinks and go knock on the door. At this point, they might be grateful for the reprieve.”
The thing that I liked Marissa, even though I had only interacted with her once or twice, was that nothing perturbed her. She never looked at me in confusion or thought that I was crazy or something.
Together, we toted the pizza boxes and the soft drinks down the hall.
“Maybe you should let me go first in case he gets totally pissed and blows up for the interruption,” I told her as we paused by the door. “I can take the full impact.”
A rare smile curved on the woman’s lips. “I have no problem with that.”
I knocked but before I gave anyone a chance to answer the door, I pushed the knob open and poked my head in.
Seven heads sporting scowls turned my way.
I grinned and waved. “Hello!”
Brandon was sitting at the head of the table, looking up at a wiry, older man who was in the middle of a presentation.
When our eyes met, his expression softened and he smiled so broadly, I felt the tremors of its potent power all the way to my toes wiggling inside my sneakers.
“Charlotte!” he said, rising to his feet and coming toward me.
Murmurs filled the room at the greeting but I barely noticed because Brandon grabbed me by my shoulders and planted a quick kiss on my lips even if he had to lean over the pizza box I was still holding between us.
“I missed you,” he murmured faintly against my ear before he straightened and turned to his staff. “Ladies, gentlemen. Please meet my wife, Charlotte. It looks like she came to rescue us with some food. What do you all say? Fifteen-minute break?”
“I could certainly use it,” the man who was doing the presentation said dryly, smiling at us. “That pizza smells good.”
Brandon helped me and Marissa set the pizza and drinks down before grabbing a slice and a drink for himself.
In the most rushed five minutes I had ever witnessed, Brandon introduced me to the other people in the meeting before dragging me out of the conference room and down the hall, heading straight for his office.
“I’ve barely said hi to anyone there,” I complained as Brandon slammed shut the door of his office behind me. “They seemed really nice and—umph.”
Brandon’s mouth slanted over mine, smothering the rest of my ramblings as he wrapped his arms around my waist and picked me up. My legs wrapped around his hips as he us walked backwards until we suddenly fell back on a large and comfy leather love seat.
I giggled and kissed him some more, straddling his hips and enjoying the sweet root beer taste of his mouth.
Why does this feel like the best pick-me-up in the world? I feel a hundred times better because he smiled at me and kissed me like we haven’t seen each other in forever when at eight this morning, he had been kissing me just as hungrily?
“Thank you for the food and for dragging me out of that meeting,” Brandon said after we finally broke away to catch our breaths. He leaned his head against the backrest of the seat and placed his hands on each side of my hips.
“I believe you were the one doing the dragging,” I said with a smile as I tugged at the moss green tie he had on with his crisp white shirt and dark gray business suit. “Long day, huh?”
Brandon sighed and closed his eyes briefly. “Uh-huh. With Dad being pretty much hands-off now on the executive board, a lot of the decision-making is left up to me. I’ve been sitting there so bored out of my mind already. All I kept thinking about was coming home to see you.”
My heart gave a fierce kick at his words. It became a mad thrashing when he softly smiled at me as he nudged aside a curly lock of my hair and brushed my cheek with his thumb. “You know, I never used to be bored at work.”
I shrugged casually. “Must be a sign of your age. You don’t find being a young, powerhouse executive as exciting as it used to be.”
Brandon laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Hmm. I don’t know if it’s my age considering I’m not that old. Maybe I’m just excited by other things.”
His hands slid past my hips and cupped my butt, his knuckles brushing the edge of my sneakers in the process.
He gave me a confused look as he twisted to the side to look behind me. “Did you wear these sneakers to the tea party?”
At the mention of the epic fail of a tea party, my heart sank.
I lowered my head. “No. I bought these after the tea party. I went shoe shopping.”
“Shoe shopping?” Brandon echoed, his hazel eyes bright with amusement. “Is this it or do you have a whole cart of shoes stowed away somewhere?”
I wrinkled my nose. “No, this is it.”
“You went shoe shopping and bought a pair of Converse sneakers?” he asked, chuckling. “You have money to spend and that’s all you got?”
“What should I spend my money on? Hookers and blow?”
Brandon’s eyes widened but he just laughed harder. “Charlotte, I swear, you’re killing me.”
“I can kill you for real, if you’d like,” I snapped, glaring at him.
He held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, don’t get me wrong. I thought I would never hear myself say this but I actually adore you in these sneakers. It’s just that when my sisters used to tell Dad they went shoe shopping before, I would always see him break out into cold sweat a little bit.”
I squeezed my eyes shut before burying my face in my hands. “They’re my comfort shoes, okay? Felicity said shoe shopping always makes her feel better so I figured she meant she would buy her favorite pair of shoes—kind of like when you eat your favorite comfort food to feel better.”
Brandon’s laughter stopped abruptly and he frowned at me. “If you needed to feel better, it means you weren’t feeling great to begin with. What happened, Charlotte?”
Your weak-spined ex and her evil witch friend ganged up on me and ruined whatever chance I had with the Championettes. I will never be one now nor do I care to be but I know that a Mrs. Maxfield should be. I feel small even though I know I shouldn’t and I just want to forget about it.
I just shook my head and sagged against Brandon’s chest. “Nothing.”
“Charlotte...”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Brand,” I murmured against his shirt.
Brandon cupped my shoulders and gently pushed me back up so he could look at me. His expression was tender and kind. “Baby, what’s wrong? Tell me what happened. Please.”
I chewed on my bottom lip as I deliberated on what to say.
Exhaling a sharp breath, I gripped the lapels of Brandon’s suit and muttered, “The Society and I have mutually decided that it is not in either of our best interests to work together.”
Brandon’s eyes narrowed. “Was Simone there? Did she do anything to you?”
I let out a dry, ironic laugh. “Oh, she was there but she did nothing.”
“Was it Layla?”
I shook my head firmly. “It doesn’t matter who it is, Brand. The Society as a whole just isn’t really the right kind of place for me so I’m sorry that you’re not getting a Mrs. Maxfield on that board. I’m afraid I just can’t do it.”
“I don’t care if you get on that board or not,” he replied, scowling. “I hope you didn’t push yourself with this thinking that you owe it to me to join the Championettes. I thought maybe spending time with those women will help you navigate this world better and gain you some friends but if they’re only going to make you miserable, I would take you out of the group myself.”
I gave my husband a tremulous smile but he wasn’t done yet. His expression was fierce and his hazel eyes were flashing angrily. “In fact, I’ll make sure we don’t associate with them completely. Let them see just how much they needed the Maxfields.”
The Maxfields. Like the two of us. God, I love this man.
“It’s alright, Brand,” I told him gently, putting a placating hand on his chest. “Don’t withdraw your support from meaningful charity work just for my defense. I’m afraid that I didn’t try very hard to resolve the issue myself either. I might have gotten a little mouthy with them. In the end, I was just happy to get out of there. The long walk gave me a lot of time to think about it.”
“You walked? From Clifton House to here?”
I winced at the appalled look on his face. “Yes. I used to walk all the time! It was in the middle of the day and it was just around downtown. I’m perfectly fine, aren’t I?”
Brandon groaned and let his head roll back as he kneaded his temples. “Felicity and Gilles have no idea you’re here, do they?”
“No,” I admitted. “I’ll call them in a bit. I was just having a bad day. I thought I’d come see you.”
Brandon opened his eyes and our gazes held for a moment before he sat up straight and pulled me close, our foreheads touching. “Whenever you’re having a bad day, baby, you come and see me, okay?”
I giggled. “Can’t just be whenever, silly. I know you’re busy sometimes.”
“I will never be busy enough not to spend some time with you and cheer you up,” he said, tilting up my chin. “Promise me, Charlotte.”
“I promise,” I said with a nod, sliding my arms around his neck and leaning in for a hug. “Thank you, Brand. I do feel much better.”
He rubbed the small of my back. “Not good enough but it’ll do for the moment. I’ll get back to that meeting and wrap up and then we’re going to go. We’ll go somewhere, do something, eat whatever you’d like for dinner—it’s totally up to you.”
I beamed at him as he lifted me up with him when he rose from the seat. “Okay.”
He kissed my forehead and lowered me back on the floor. “Stay here if you like or go exploring but bring your phone. I’ll probably only be just another half hour.”
“No rush, hotshot,” I reassured him as I spanked him playfully on the butt on his way out. “I understand that there are multi-million-dollar mergers still to be made. I can wait.”
“Stay out of trouble!” was Brandon’s parting shot before he closed the door behind him. As soon as silence filled the room, I went and stood by the large glass window that overlooked the city, marvelling at the beauty of it and wondering if I’d ever seen it from this height.
Everything looks different from up here. Including your life.
Today’s Championette catastrophe was my first real obstacle in being a true Mrs. Maxfield as Brandon had envisioned. Well, I already knew I wasn’t going to fit the exact formula but I had at least hoped that I wouldn’t fail him in the more worthwhile aspects of being his wife.
Sure, I caught the attention of the media and the public at first because of my ‘Cinderella’ story but to some of the crustier members of the upper crust, I would always be a plebeian even decked out in pastels and pearls and tagged with an esteemed and powerful last name.
When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Those who think it’s too ordinary can stay thirsty.
Reflecting on Brandon’s furious reaction when I gave him a watered-down summary of what had happened, I had nothing to worry about with him. Championette or not, he wasn’t going to cast me out—at least not while we remained married. In the end, that was all that really mattered to me. I could do some good without being part of some silly club. I may refuse ever repeating this to anyone but I sought Brandon’s approval.
Thank the Lord it’s not conditional on my being a Stepford wife.
At first, it might have been. Brandon definitely wanted to buy the perfectly coiffed, impeccably dressed, socially adept and completely docile wife for a million dollars.
Somewhere along the way, after having to make do with the bargain he got, he doesn’t seem that concerned that you are everything but the trophy wife he hadn’t even been shopping for.
I smiled at the sight of Brandon’s determined expression when he declared we would avoid the Championettes, my heart feeling all kinds of warm, gooey emotions.
“When life gives you lemons, make lemonade, fill a tall glass, hold it up and say cheers,” I mumbled with a firm nod at my resolve before turning away from the window and heading out of the office.
I grabbed my clutch and texted Felicity about my whereabouts before stepping out. I assured Marissa that I would stay out of people’s way while looking around and popped into the elevator.
Ten minutes and with directions from a couple of random employees later, I found myself in the rec room. It was just off the main cafeteria on the first floor and apart from a scattering of bean bag chairs and sofas, it also featured an epic big screen TV, an assortment of video game consoles, an arcade basketball station, a ping-pong table and a foosball table.
A handful of people had been hanging out there when I came in, mostly guys from IT. According to them, most people in the building worked a nine-to-five day but there were some departments who worked around the clock such as IT, operations, security and the company’s own call center which took up four floors.
I was taking my turn shooting hoops while the guys stood behind me when Liam came up next to me and put an arm around my shoulders.
“I’ve got to get back to work, sweet pea, but I can certainly hang out with you again later,” he said in typical attempt at a smooth maneuver, winking at me. He’d been blatantly flirting with me since I first approached their group with some mild interest in conversation and despite the others' constant jeering of him and my own dismissal of him, he still didn’t seem capable of taking a hint.
“Er, no, thanks,” I said with a shake of my head. “I told you I’m just waiting for my hus—”
“Why don’t you give me your number and we can get together?” he asked, oozing extra charm on his over-practiced smile as I tried to wiggle away from him without causing a scene.
“Why don’t you take your arm off my wife and I let you keep your job and the arm?”
All our heads rotated to the side at the sound of the gruff, menacing voice and found Brandon standing there a few feet away from us, jacket-less with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his eyes blazing and his jaw taut from the scowl he wore.
Liam yanked his arm away from me as if the contact burned him. From the way his eyes bugged out with recognition as he stared agape at Brandon, I figured he felt like he was about to be raked over the coals.
“M-Mr. uh... Mr. Maxfield, I, uh...”
“You are seriously dead, man,” one of the other guys muttered.
“No one’s going to die or lose a limb,” I interrupted with a small laugh, trying to lighten up the sudden and awkward tension that fell over the group. I went over to Brandon and squeezed his hand out of the fist he’d curled it into. “I was just passing some time waiting for you and the guys were nice enough to include me in the game.”
And since rambling was my default reaction to a tense moment, I proceeded to do the introductions as if Brandon cared one way or another.
While I sputtered on with the names, he had slinked his arm behind my waist and pulled me not so subtly against his side.
“...so yeah, great game, guys. See ya! Toodles!” I inwardly cringed at the last word which I picked up from Felicity—it left no room for any other response because seriously, who even really knew what the word meant?
But instead of standing around, I topped off my parting shot with a big smile and practically pulled Brandon out of the room, and trust me, he was dragging his heels.
“Why didn’t you tell them you were married to me?” he finally demanded in a low, sulky tone, his lips pressing together into a tight line.
He’d stopped in the middle of the front lobby where a few employees milling about had turned to look.
I hate grumps. I hate grumps who look hot while being grumpy even more—especially when they’re grumpy because they’re jealous.
“The last thing I wanted was to be regarded as someone completely unapproachable because I felt it important enough to point out to them that I was married to the boss,” I told him with an indulgent smile, my fingers catching the sides of his white shirt as I tiptoed closer to him. “Don’t worry about it, Brand. No one crossed the line. Even that guy Liam didn’t get far enough. I was about thirty seconds from introducing him to my elbow.”
His brows furrowed as he studied me for a moment. “Are you sure they didn’t do anything terrible?”
“Oh, they did,” I said with a shrug and a mock-serious expression. “They called me all sorts of rude names because I was kicking their butts. But I sympathize with sour grapes, you know? Since they can’t have what they want, I let them have their misery at the very least. I’m generous that way.”
A second passed before Brandon broke into a grin that cleared the clouds from his expression.
“You’re trouble but you’re my trouble,” he said as he shook his head and slung his arm around me, steering us toward the front door. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” I asked, slipping my arm behind his waist. We passed by the front desk where Roger was still stationed and I smiled and waved at him. He looked uncomfortable for a moment but gave us a brief nod of acknowledgement. “Where’s your car?”
Brandon pressed the tip of his nose on my temple as we came down the front steps. “The car will be wherever we wish to be picked up later.”
I looked up at him with my brows scrunched up in confusion. “Okay. Why? What are we doing?”
He gave me a smile a near match of the bright afternoon sun. “We're going on our first date.”
I skidded to a halt at his words, my eyes widening. “A first date?”
“Yeah,” he answered with a shrug although a shy shade of pink tinged his cheeks. “We haven’t been out on one just for the sake of going on a date.”
That’s because our marriage is a practical business arrangement. Business partners don’t go out on dates.
I didn’t say any of that though because Brandon and I agreed on a year of being married for real and real couples went on dates.
He gazed at me warily, his hazel eyes hopeful but nervous. “Would you? Go out on a date with me?”
My heartbeat sped up so fast it felt like it would take off any moment.
I grinned and bobbed my head up and down enthusiastically. “Yes! I’d love to!”
He laughed when I threw my arms around his neck, circling my waist with his own until he lifted me off my feet.
Brandon Maxfield. Asking me out on a date. Imagine that.
And what a date it turned out to be.
I had never been out on a date before but starting out one with ice cream seemed like an excellent idea.
We walked to a small gelato place and ordered large sugar waffle cones, topped high with assorted ice cream layers. Then we wandered into a street closed off for one of the summer street art markets where all kinds of art pieces, jewelry and crafts were on display stall after stall. I bought a blue-green and white tie-dye scarf and a gray trucker cap hand painted with watercolor flowers on the front. A thick plastic film was layered over it to protect it from water and to give it a nice shiny surface. Brandon strolled over to a few different stalls while I looked through the scarves but came back empty-handed.
It was around five-thirty when Brandon declared we should probably have dinner. And by dinner he meant a full, sit-down meal at a fancy restaurant somewhere with all the works but I had something else in mind.
We walked a couple of blocks over to Charles Street which divided Boston Common and the Public Garden and bought some barbecue pork steamed buns and some bubble tea from a food truck set up next to a sidewalk.
“I’m not sure if buying street food is the way to go on a first date,” he said as he looked at our food thoughtfully before taking a tentative bite.
I smiled at him lopsidedly through a mouthful of rice bun which took a while to swallow. “I don’t think proper dates always have to be fancy. They just have to be fun.”
He took a long sip of the bubble tea (which he’d admitted he’d never tried before) and smiled back at me as we started our walk to the Public Garden. “If I had more time to plan this, I would’ve probably booked an entire movie house for just the two of us or arranged for a carriage ride to a fancy restaurant or something movie-worthy like that.”
I know. You and your reluctant but romantic heart.
I touched the side of my head to his arm briefly as we walked. “I’m just an ordinary girl, Brand. I don’t need a mega-production.”
“There is nothing ordinary about you, Charlotte,” he said, dropping a kiss on the crown of my head. “It’s the only way I can explain how I feel about you.”
I wished I had the guts to ask him to expound on that statement but I was just as afraid of the truth as I was of the lies so I chose not to say anything and cherish the moment instead.
We spent the rest of the evening strolling around the Public Garden, standing by the bridge and leaning against the railing with Brandon’s arms wrapped around me from behind as we gazed out to the water.
Holding hands, we made our way out of the park to where Brandon’s driver, Freddy, was waiting on the side of the street with the car.
Later that night, once we were in bed with my head propped on Brandon’s shoulder as he held up the book we had started reading together a few nights ago, he reached over to his side before dangling a small red pouch in front of me.
“What’s that?” I asked, glancing up at him.
“Something I got for us from the art market earlier,” he said as he slowly sat us both up, setting aside the book and taking my palm to place the pouch on it. “I had to get it rushed by the artist who delivered it here half an hour ago.”
“Oh,” I said in surprise, remembering the call from the concierge about a delivery. Brandon had mumbled something about it being from work before he went downstairs to get it. I had been on the phone with Aimee and Rose that I didn’t notice what he had with him when he came back up.
I shifted the pouch in my hand to assess the weight and shape of what was inside it. “Can I open it?”
He nodded and waited as I loosened the tie and widened the opening of the bag. Something metallic glinted against the light.
“Let me help,” Brandon said as he picked up the bag and slowly slid out the items onto my palm.
They were two narrow white gold cuffs with a plain design except for one of their ends. The first cuff had one end flowing into a script letter C and another into B. The larger one had the letter C and the smaller one had B.
Inside each cuff, on the smooth surface under the band, was a line freshly engraved in old-fashioned script.
I held both cuffs up to read the matching inscriptions.
...for the first date that will last forever...
My heart surged through a flash flood of emotions, swam hard against the overwhelming currents, and drowned spectacularly.
Suddenly, forever wasn’t a word I was alone in using.
Forever is you and Brandon.
“Based on the tears shining in your eyes, I’m going to assume that you like it,” he said with a soft smile as he took the smaller cuff that had B in it and slipped it over my wrist. “The fact that I seemed to have rendered you speechless makes me hope that you love it.”
Oh, I love it, alright. Just as I love you.
Still unable to form any words except the ones that were right at the tip of my tongue, I picked up the other cuff that had C on it and slipped it over Brandon’s wrist, my fingers gently brushing the initial of my name on it which rested inside his wrist, pressed against where his heart pulsed.
“Never forget this day, Charlotte,” he said gently as his arms slid around me and pulled me close to him until I was sitting on his lap. “Not because of what happened at the tea party or any of the other reasons that made it a bad day for you.”
He tipped up my chin and gazed into my eyes with his luminous hazel ones that were warm with affection. “I want you to remember this day because it was our first date and we had a lot of fun.”
“Thank you, Brand,” I murmured as my lips quivered into a smile. “I will always remember today. I would never be able to forget it even if I wanted to.”
He smiled crookedly. “I hope you’ll never find yourself wanting to forget it. Because this is the first date of the rest of our lives.”
And with that, he kissed me softly.
Some wars were waged and battled today but only in this moment did I feel like I truly won something worth fighting for.
***
So, what do you guys think? Is it just me or does this book just give you all kinds of warm and fuzzy feels?
Anyway, what do you think of Charlotte's struggle with the Championettes? And how Brand tried to cheer her up when she was having a bad day?
Let me know!
As always, vote and comment!
XOXO! - Ninya
****For those who are in love with Brandon, there's something special I'm going to start doing about him in the Fan Page for TMMM so check it out:
www.facebook.com/TheMischievousMrsMaxfield
♪♪♪ Chapter Soundtrack: Stay With Me by Colbie Caillat ♪♪♪
We simply fit together like a piece of apple pie
I will be vanilla ice cream
And I'll sing you lullabies
I will love you in the moonlight and I'll love you in the day
Always
I love the time we spend
Like a watch from an old friend
I will help you keep your smile
Promise me you'll stay awhile
I will come to you in need
And I'll help you when I can
When I can
Stay with me
Promise me you're never gonna leave
Stay with me yeah
Lets try to be the best that we can be
Take our time