Page 64 of The Unwilling Bride
“Yeah?” I don’t commit to the exact timeline, giving myself some wriggle room here.
“Does Margot know?”
I square my shoulders. “Not yet. Harper and I wanted to keep the news to ourselves before we told the world.”
In the silence which follows, I can sense his mind working overtime. “Then you wouldn’t mind if I am the first to tell her.”
That’s what I thought. “Be my guest,” I say like my thoughts aren’t racing ahead, trying to figure out how to make this scenario happen.
“Excellent.” His voice carries a thread of suppressed excitement.
The first grandson of the Hamilton family deciding to get married is big news. He’s sure to earn brownie points when he tells Margot. Who, no doubt, will think her scheme to get us married one by one by holding our inheritances over us, is already bearing fruit. Not much I can do about that. Especially when that does play a role in my coming up with this idea.
“And now, I need to work on getting the video down, if you’ll excuse me?”
“Leave it up, I say.”
“Excuse me?”
“You can use it to announce your upcoming nuptials, which is bound to keep the interest alive in the restaurant and only drive bookings.”
“Why, Whittington, you sure are savvy when it comes to PR,” I say dryly.
And he does have a point. If we’re to be married, I could keep the video up and follow up with a short statement about my upcoming nuptials to lend credence to the chemistry on screen.
He harrumphs again. “Just keeping up with the kids.”
“Right then, gotta go. Thanks for the call.” Not. I disconnect without waiting for his response.
Then glance at my watch on my desk. She’s been in there for fifteen minutes. She’s definitely uncomfortable by now. I could give her five more minutes to stew, to mull over what she did. To build scenarios in her head where she imagines me coming in and firing her.
I message Tristan, who’s also my legal counsel, and ask him to draft a prenuptial agreement with Harper Richie. I send it off, knowing he’ll have questions but that he'll do it anyway.
The only thing left is to introduce the plan to Harper. She’ll hate it, of course, but she’ll do it…for a price. Everyone has a price; I just have to find hers.
Then, there’s the fact that she wants this job badly. I could sweeten it further by finally revealing to her that I think she has potential. Enough to be a head chef someday. Surely, that’ll make her want to agree?
I can use this to keep her exactly where I want her: in my kitchen, and one day soon, in my bed. There’ll be no messy feelings involved if it’s a transaction.
It’s a perfect plan.
I’ll save the restaurant, get access to my inheritance, and finally own the one thing I can’t stop thinking about. Her.
Satisfied, I check the time. She’s been in the walk-in refrigerator for twenty minutes. Hopefully, it’s cooled her temper.
I adjust my cuffs, the movement meticulous and calculated. Then, I head toward the heavy steel door of the cold storage.
15
Harper
When the adrenaline finally seeps out of me, it takes everything with it. The fear, the focus, the fight. Combined with my weeks of poor sleep at night, all that’s left is a hollow, aching exhaustion. I’m so tired that even with the cold I can’t keep my eyes open.
I begin to doze.
When the door to the walk-in refrigerator opens again, I snap open my eyelids.
He stands just inside the doorway, with his arms at his sides. Stance relaxed. I would say he wasn’t affected by the earlier scene, except… He's here.
