Cross Check (Marriage Contract #1) (15 page)

“Sorry about that,” I say firmly, sitting back down at the
booth with Elsie and Svea.

“No worries,” Svea smiles politely back at me, “Your nerves
must be fried with all of this engagement business.”

“Honestly, I’ve barely had any time to think about it,” I
laugh, “Right now, all of my attention is reserved for
Huntress of Tomorrow
.”

“That’s good to hear…” Elsie says, eyeing me across the
table, “I have to admit, I was getting worried this week, reading about all
your personal drama. I’ve enjoyed working with you so far. I wouldn’t want this
project to get less than your full attention.”

“Trust me, that won’t be an issue,” I assure her. “This
became my passion project before Jamison King came back into my life, and it
still is now.”

“A woman with passion,” Svea nods admiringly, “I know I can
respect that.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Jamison saunters up
to the bar and slugs back a heavy pour of scotch. His easy, approachable
demeanor has hardened in the wake of our fight. His every muscle looks coiled,
tense. It looks, above all, like he’s out for blood. I feel my spine straighten
as he saunters back to the table once again, sitting down heavily beside me.

“So. Where were we?” he says, planting his elbows on the
table.

“Just wrapping up, I believe,” I tell him, forcing my voice
to remain even, “But Elsie, if you have some extra time, I’d love to bring you
back to my office and show you some design ideas I’ve been cooking up.”

“Sure,” Elsie agrees, “I’d love to see what you’re
thinking.”

Jamison’s eyes dart my way, sizing up this latest play. I’ve
purposefully left him out of the loop on this second leg of the meeting, and
he’s not happy about it at all.

“Well then,” he says, smiling like a shark who’s just
smelled blood in the water, “If you two are headed back to the office, I guess
Svea and I can just kick it here.”

“Oh, I’m sure Svea has to get back to set,” I cut in,
shooting him a dark look.

“Not at all!” the Swedish beauty replies, “I took the entire
afternoon off for this meeting, so I’m free as a bird.”

“Great,” Jamison says to her, “Why won’t you stay here with
me and have another drink? I’d love to keep talking about the character of
Gemma Moore.”

“That sounds lovely,” Svea says, clapping her hands
together, “You don’t mind if I borrow your man for a bit, do you Leah?”

“Not in the least. He’s all yours,” I reply, smiling tightly.

“Why don’t we head on over to the bar?” Jamison suggests,
standing and offering Svea his hand. “It’s cozier over there.”

The actress places her willowy hand in Jamison’s, and
together they make their way across the dining room. Jay sets a hand on her
elbow, putting on quite the show for my benefit. He’s dangling Svea in front of
me, trying to hurt me by flirting with her outright. And as much as I hate to
admit it, it’s working.

“Shall we?” Elsie says, as the bill arrives at the table.

“Absolutely,” I tell her, standing as I instruct the waiter
to put the bill on King Enterprises’ tab.

I walk out of DeLeonardo’s with the
Huntress of Tomorrow
author, refusing to look over at where Jamison and Svea sit together at the
bar. I was insulted and angry with the way he bulldozed over me in the meeting,
but in flirting with another woman just to make me jealous, Jay has crossed the
line. I refuse to be treated with such disrespect. I don’t deserve that, and
neither does she. No woman does.

As I step out into the afternoon sunlight, mind clouded with
wine and heartache, I know that something has broken between me and Jay. And
for the first time since we found ourselves thrust back into each other’s
lives, I’m not sure if we’ll be able to fix it.

***

When I arrive back at the brownstone a little after 4PM, I
find it empty save for Gigi. Jamison is still out there with Svea, doing god
knows what by now. I walk into the kitchen and pour myself a deep glass of
Malbec, looking around the house with a grim sense of clarity. I feel like the
dream of having an actual relationship with Jamison has been dispersed, burned
out of my mind in the heat of our fight. After today, we’re just two people
carrying out a business agreement once again. And if that’s the case, there’s
no need for me to stay here playing house any longer.

By the time Jamison finally arrives home four hours later, I’ve
packed up most of my belongings and stacked my bags by the front door. I sit at
the kitchen table with the nearly-empty bottle of wine beside me. Gigi sits
patiently in her carrier at my feet, ready to hit the road. I hear Jamison’s
heavy footfalls pause in the foyer as he spots my luggage, then continues on to
find me waiting in the kitchen.

“Have a nice time with Svea?” I ask him politely, draining
the rest of my wine.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he growls, not answering my
question. “Why is all your shit by the door?”

“Well,” I reply, rising to my feet, “It’s simple, really. I
let you show me what it would be like, being married to you for the long run.
I’ve seen everything I need to see. And now I’m getting the hell out.”

“You can’t go,” he says adamantly, standing firmly in my
way.

I stare up at him, finally feeling just how drunk I’ve
managed to get in his absence.

“No, Jay…” I whisper, blinking back my sudden tears, “What I
can’t do is stay.”

I pick up Gigi’s carrier and step around Jamison, hoping to
make it out the door before I start weeping.

“Leah, wait,” Jay says, his own voice hoarse with drink, “We
just had a fight. It happens. That’s nothing to leave over.”

“That wasn’t just a fight, Jay,” I tell him, turning back to
face him, “That was you intentionally hurting me. That was you breaking my
trust. And that is something I can’t abide.”

“I don’t believe this,” he says, shaking his head, “This
isn’t really what you want.”

“No,” I say sadly, “What I wanted was to believe that you
really cared about me. That this relationship was more to you than just a
business opportunity.”

“Goddammit Leah, you know that it is!” he shouts, his hands
balling into fists.

“I really thought so,” I tell him, “For a minute there, you
really had me thinking that you wanted me for who I am, for what we share. But
what you’ve really wanted all along is to get ahead of me in line for the
presidency. This job, this fucking status, will always be more important to you
than I am.”

“You can’t really believe that,” he says, looking at me in
furious bafflement, “You don’t really believe that. You want to know what’s
really going on here?”

“By all means,” I laugh, setting down Gigi’s carrier as Jay
advances on me, “Go ahead and explain to me what I’m feeling.”

“You’re just looking for a reason to back out of this thing
because you’re scared,” he says, towering over me in the narrow hallway,
“You’ve never felt anything like this connection we have, and you’re looking
for any excuse to run away from it.”

“That’s crazy,” I tell him, crossing my arms.

“No shit it’s crazy,” he says, backing me up against the
wall of the corridor and planting his hands above my shoulders, “Things got too
intense for you, and now you’d rather throw it all away than risk opening
yourself up to someone. To me.”

“I
did
open up to you,” I tell him, my voice ragged
with held-back tears, “Since we were kids, I’ve wanted you to really know me.
But the second we finally let each other in, you go and use that closeness to
hurt me. How can I ever trust you enough to let you in again?”

“Because you’re not the only one who’s opened up, here,” he
says, bringing his face close to mine, “I’ve trusted you too, Leah. More than
I’ve ever trusted anybody. You mean more to me than some fucking job. Hell, you
mean more to me than the whole goddamn company.”

“I just…I don’t think I have any reason to believe that
anymore,” I tell him sadly, my head hanging as the weight of the world settles
back on my shoulders.

“So…what?” he says, letting his arms fall back to his sides,
“You’re just gonna leave? Is that it?”

“I can’t be here right now, Jay,” I tell him, lifting my
face to his, “I need to be somewhere I can think clearly. God knows, I have a
lot to consider.”

He doesn’t stop me this time as I pick up Gigi’s carrier and
an overnight bag from the pile of luggage by the door.

“What the hell do you want me to do, Leah?” Jay asks me as I
open the front door of the brownstone, “Just tell me how I can make this
right.”

“Honestly, Jamison?” I whisper, glancing back at him over my
shoulder, “I’m just not sure you can.”

He stares at me with his unreadable blue eyes as I turn away
from him and step out into the warm summer night. I stagger down to the curb,
hailing a cab as it whizzes by. I’m barely holding it together as I sink into
the backseat of the taxi, breathing hard.

“Where to?” the driver asks, glancing up at me in the
rearview mirror.

I’d been planning on heading back uptown to spend the night
at my Riverside Drive studio. But suddenly, the idea of being in a mostly-empty
apartment tonight is too much to bear. There’s only one place I can go now that
will give me the comfort I so desperately need. The last place to feel like
home before Jamison’s house here on West 10th Street.

“Penn Station,” I tell the driver, “Just drop me near the
New Jersey Transit terminal.”

The driver nods and takes off toward Midtown. I settle back
against the shabby backseat, holding Gigi’s carrier close as we fly through the
gathering night. On the streets of New York city, the bars and restaurants are
overflowing with couples in the throes of love. But I feel as though my own
burgeoning love story has just come to a screeching halt. This week was a brief
glimpse into what I could have had with Jamison in another life. A life without
contractually bound love, and convoluted PR schemes, and the interests of a
gigantic corporation looming between us. Gathering my things, I hurry down into
the belly of Penn Station. I’ve made this trip from the city many times before,
but scarcely has it felt so urgent.

“One ticket to Little Silver,” I tell the woman behind the
behind the counter.

“Round trip?” she asks, eyeing me through her half-moon
glasses.

“…No,” I tell her, “Just one way.”

She prints me my ticket without another word. I walk off
slowly, ticket in hand, waiting for the train to arrive and carry me home at
last.

Chapter Twelve

“Lee,” my dad says from my bedroom doorway Wednesday
morning, “I’m heading out to work. There’s some coffee in the kitchen if you
want.”

“Thanks Dad,” I reply, not looking up from my laptop, “I’ll
get some in a second.”

“You, uh, sure they’re not gonna mind you working from here
all week?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“Not at all,” I tell him, not stirring from my cross-legged
position on my childhood bed, “My assistant is forwarding all my calls to my
cell, and I can manage everything else remotely.”

“You can’t avoid him forever, you know,” Dad says, cutting
through my breezy small talk, “Sooner or later, you’re gonna have to talk to
Jamison about where you two stand.”

I take a deep breath, finally granting my father my full
attention.

“Dad, I told you, I’m just taking some time to think,” I
remind him.

“You also told me that Loudon’s lawyers are expecting a
final answer from you two by week’s end,” he replies, “It wouldn’t kill you to
check in with Jay and see what he’s thinking.”

I know that my dad is right. I can’t just keep shutting
Jamison out like this. His calls and texts were incessant over the weekend,
after I first fled New York. But as the days have gone by, his communications
have dwindled. The last I heard from him was yesterday morning. A simple text
that just read, “I’m sorry, Leah”.

But I can’t help that I’m not ready to forgive him just yet.
He’s given me plenty of pretty words to tell me how sorry he is, but what I
really need is for him to take action. Even if he’s right, and I did just
overreact out of some desire to bail out of our relationship, that doesn’t
explain his manipulative move with Svea. Or their hours-long playdate last
week, either.

“I’ll sort everything out in my own time,” I tell my dad, “I
promise.”

“What happened between you guys, Lee?” Dad asks sadly, “You
seemed so happy when you called to tell me the news about your engagement. You
seemed so sure.”

“I thought I was,” I tell him quietly, “But now… I don’t
know. Is it even possible to be entirely sure about another person?”

“Of course it is,” Dad says, coming to sit at the foot of my
bed, “I was sure about your mom. And I know she was sure about me, too.”

“Yeah, but you guys had this perfect, storybook romance,” I
smile sadly, “I’m talking about regular, flawed, normal people like me and
Jay.”

“I know we made it look easy,” Dad chuckles, “But your mom
and I had our struggles, too. Every couple does. Not everyone has to overcome
the, uh,
complications
you and Jay have been faced with. But all
relationships take work, Lee. Hate to be the bearer of bad news.”

“Do you think…” I start in a rush, struggling to find the
right words, “Do you think I’m… incapable of opening up to someone else? Of
truly letting someone in?”

“Well…” Dad sighs, “You’ve grown up to be a pretty
self-sufficient young woman, Lee. I’ll say that.”

“I guess it’s always felt safer to just go it alone,” I
reflect, drawing my knees into my chest, “It’s certainly less complicated.”

“It’s a lot lonelier too though, isn’t it?” Dad smiles
sadly.

“Yeah…” I allow, “Yeah, it really is.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” he goes on, “It makes a certain
sense that you’d balk at getting close to someone. Coming to really care about
them, and all that.”

“Why do you figure?” I ask him.

“Because you know how much it hurts, losing someone who has
your whole heart,” he says, taking my hand in his, “You lost your mom when you
were just a kid, Lee. Most people’s first heartbreak is over some case of puppy
love, but yours was with one of the most profound losses anyone ever goes
through. It’s no wonder you’d want to guard yourself after that.”

“I…I never thought of it that way,” I say softly, looking up
at my dad’s ruddy face.

“Yeah, well. That’s what you’ve got me for,” he smiles,
planting a kiss on the back of my hand, “To point this stuff out to you.”

“What would I do without you?” I laugh, as he stands to go.

“Beats me,” he shrugs, “Probably just pay a lot more for
therapy.”

I shake my head as he heads for the door, pausing to glance
back at me just before he goes to work.

“I know you’re upset with Jay, and I’m sure he deserves it.
But at least hear him out, OK Lee? I’d hate for you two to miss out on
something great just because you’re both too stubborn to meet each other
halfway.”

“I promise I’ll talk to him,” I assure my dad, “When I’m
ready.”

But despite desperately wanting to be ready, I just can’t
convince myself to pick up the phone and call Jay back. The days roll by,
without another peep from him. I distract myself with work, plowing through all
sorts of planning and team-building for
Huntress of Tomorrow
now that
I’ve secured Elsie’s blessing to move ahead with my vision for the project. But
even as I work, I find myself wishing I was back at Jamison’s side in our attic
library. His input on this project wasn’t just something I tolerated, it was
crucial. Illuminating. Something I’d come to depend on…

And whether I like it or not, it’s starting to dawn on me
that I’ve come to depend on Jay himself, too.

I’m amazed when Friday afternoon rolls around. I’ve spent an
entire week buried in my work, tuning out the rest of the world to avoid
dealing with my wayward engagement. It’s already been a week since I packed my
things and left Jay’s brownstone. We only have a couple more days to talk over
our options for moving forward before Loudon’s lawyers will start knocking down
our doors, demanding an answer. Like it or not, I need to talk to him.
Today
.

It’s early evening by the time I finally work up the nerve
to give Jay a call. Wearing my favorite comfy sweatpants and a cotton pullover,
I head downstairs to the cottage kitchen and grab a beer out of the fridge. If
I’m going to do this, it won’t be without a drink in my hand. Just as I’m
settling down at the table with my cell and bottle of Brooklyn Lager, my phone
starts to ring of its own accord.

My heart flies into my throat as I look down at the screen, expecting
to see Jamison’s name illuminated there. But instead, I see the name of my
friend Alice Phillips—the lawyer who looked over Loudon’s will for me. I
haven’t heard from her in the couple of weeks since then. I have no idea why
she’d be calling again now.

“Hey Al,” I say, taking the call, “How’s it going?”

“Superbly,” she answers excitedly, “For me and you both.”

“What do mean?” I ask, surprised by her ecstatic tone.

“This legal situation of yours has been driving me
absolutely crazy,” she goes on, “I knew there must be some wiggle room for you,
but I just couldn’t figure it out for the longest time. But Leah…I finally
cracked it. I found you a loop hole.”

I sit silently in the cottage kitchen as her words sink in.

“You… You found…?” I stammer.

“I found you a way out! It’s a little unorthodox, but hey,
so is this damn will.”

“Um…What is it?” I ask her, taking a long swig of beer.

“Here’s the thing,” Alice says excitedly, “Loudon King’s
will states that in order to become co-presidents of the company, you and
Jamison have to get married. But nowhere does it say you have to
stay
married.”

“OK…?” I reply, not getting it. Or rather, not wanting to.

“So, you can get out of this on a technicality!” she says
triumphantly, “Go through the motions of getting married, file the paperwork,
blah blah blah, and then just get the thing annulled! Then you and Jamison King
can just be business partners, you know, like any non-deranged human would have
suggested in the first place.”

“Loudon King was not deranged,” I snap, before I can stop
myself.

“Right. Sorry,” Alice says, “I didn’t mean to insult him,
or—”

“He knew Jamison and I better than anyone. He was just
trying to make sure we’d be happy. Since apparently we can’t be trusted with
our own happiness…”

“Uh…Leah? Is everything OK?” Alice asks cautiously. “I
thought this would be good news for you.”

“I’m sorry. Of course, it’s… Thank you so much for your
help, Al,” I tell my friend, rubbing my temples anxiously, “I really appreciate
you dedicating so much time to this.”

“It’s no trouble,” she assures me, “Always happy to help out
a friend. Just let me know if you need anything else, OK? Divorce papers, for
example?”

“Right,” I reply with a hollow laugh, “Will do, Al. Bye.”

I end the call, staring blankly at my cell as I place it
back on the table. A week ago, a phone call like this would have felt like
divine intervention. A miracle of the highest order. Salvation. But now? It’s
just leaving me with a bad taste in my mouth. I take another long sip of beer,
trying to nail down what has me so upset.

Obviously, there’s a huge social stigma around divorce, but
I don’t buy into that at all. Divorce can be a hugely responsible thing to do.
And I never felt that marriage itself was necessarily sacred…before. But now,
the idea of getting married only to end it just as quickly…? The very thought
turns my stomach. Especially since it would be Jamison I’d be entering into a
sham marriage with. Jamison, who I actually care about. Very deeply.

That realization travels through me like a bolt of lightning.
All at once, I’m on my feet, my hands pressed to my mouth. Of course the idea
of going through some fake marriage charade with Jamison is appalling to me.
But not because it’s dishonest or immoral. Because it’s Jamison. And I don’t
want to have a fake marriage with him.

I want a
real
one.

In my mind’s eye, the scene of his proposal arises once
again. But it isn’t the flowers, or the diamond, or the spectacle of it all
that occurs to me in this moment. It’s the look in Jamison’s eye as he watched
me find the ring. He was excited, and open—not trying to be suave, not putting
on airs. It wasn’t the public, playboy persona of Jamison King that asked me to
be his wife that day. It was the Jay I’ve known since I was a little kid. The
Jay who used to pore over sci-fi classics with me in the gazebo, who knew
exactly what would comfort me after my mom died, who was willing to share his
entire life with me, no questions asked. That’s the Jay I know.

And that’s the Jay I want to marry.

I stand in the kitchen as the realization washes over me.
Suddenly, everything about this past week makes sense: the way I reacted when I
felt Jay betrayed my trust, my need to flee New York to keep my heart from
getting bruised any further, my reluctance to talk to Jay about any of this. I
was trying to protect myself from admitting the truth—that somewhere along the
way, our engagement stopped being about sex, business, and convenience. At some
point, it just started being about us.

I jump about a foot in the air as I hear the doorbell ring.
Oh god. Did Jay get sick of waiting for me to call him back and come out here
to confront me in person? I catch a glimpse of myself in the darkened kitchen
window—no makeup, sweats, my red hair in a messy top knot. But there’s no time
to pretty myself up, now. What's that saying about “being able to handle me at
my worst…?”

“I’m coming,” I call, as the doorbell sounds again.
Sweatpants be damned, I guess Jay and I are having this conversation
right
now
.

Heart hammering against the chest, I swing the front door
wide open, a breathless smile overtaking my face. But the corners of my mouth
turn down at once when I see that the tall, handsome man I was expecting is
actually short and white-haired.

“Don’t look so happy to see me,” says Gregory Price, the
King family’s lawyer.

“Mr. Price,” I say, trying to recover from the crushing
disappointment tugging at my heart, “What a surprise… Do you want to come in?”

“Oh no, that won’t be necessary,” he says, handing over a
thick manila envelope, “I just wanted to drop off the new contracts in person.
Get them back to me sometime over the weekend, would you? Monday morning at the
latest.”

“I’m sorry,” I cut in, holding the heavy envelope in my
hands, “What new contracts are you talking about?”

“I just finished drawing them up with Jamison earlier
today,” Price replies, “I think you’ll find that everything is in order.”

“Mr. Price, forgive me, but I have no idea what the hell
you’re talking about,” I tell the dignified lawyer.

“Did… Did Jamison not discuss the details with you?” Price
asks, his white eyebrows shooting up.

“Jamison didn’t discuss anything with me,” I say, fear
mounting in my gut.

“Ah. Well,” Price says, “Everything is laid out there in the
new paperwork. You’ll find his certified letter of intent right on top, there.
I’ll just leave you to it.”

Before I can say another word, Price has turned on his heel
and hurried back to his waiting car. I let the front door close slowly behind
me as I step back inside, padding down the hallway toward the kitchen once
more. Dread starts to tug at the corners of my mind as I sit back down at the
table with the hefty envelope before me. I drain the last of my beer before opening
up the envelope, letting a thick stack of papers slide out onto the table top.

Just as Price said, there’s a single loose sheet of paper
topping the staggering pile. My heart leaps as I see Jamison’s name and address
in the top right corner, but it falls just as quickly at the letter’s clinical,
legal look. I try and memorize how I feel in this moment, before reading Jay’s
letter. Because something tells me that once I’m done, everything about my life
will change. And not necessarily for the better.

 Finally, I manage to wrestle my eyes down to the body of
Jay’s letter,

Dear Mr. Price
and Associates,