Accidentally in love, p.41
Accidentally in Love, page 41
“Yes. I’ll be in a tux. A cocktail dress or something similar should be fine.”
I had something on the low end of black tie hanging in my closet and should be perfect for the wedding. “What else?”
“She has seven bridesmaids.”
My tea dribbled from my lips, and I gave them a quick wipe. “Seven?” I’d be hard pressed to find two people I’d want to stand up for me, let alone seven.
“I guess she couldn’t choose.” He lifted his shoulders and reached for his tea. “The wedding is at one, and the ceremony starts at five.”
“In between?”
“There’ll be drinks and games.”
“And chatting with family?” That awkward time for guests. The mingling hours. I ran my finger around the rim of my mug.
He inched himself closer and reached for my hand. His voice dropped to an unbelievably sexy level. “Not until after five. Between the I dos and the drinks, I have something planned for us.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Wear runners.”
What? With a ball gown? That would look ridiculous. However, my curiosity was piqued. What kind of fun could we have in runners at a wedding? I tipped my head to the side. “What do you have in mind?”
“It’s a surprise.” The grin that spread across his face warmed the depths of my soul. All the other guys filed away in my atrocious dating history, all combined, they couldn’t add up to the charm radiating off Theo.
I narrowed my eyes in mock suspicion. “Hmm, not wild about surprises, but I’ll roll with that. Nothing that will hurt though?”
“What kind of surprises hurt?”
“The bad kind.”
He inched closer to me and wrapped a warm hand around mine, while his eyes creased a little in the corners from the weight of my admission. “I promise, it won’t hurt a bit. Might even be fun. Might even be adrenaline based.”
I stared into the depths of his dark brown eyes and saw nothing but the truth. Oh, why did this man have to stumble into my life? Why couldn’t Grandpa have survived the crash or why did I end up going to that conference in October? It wasn’t even supposed to be me who went.
And now… here I was, married to this incredibly sweet man, with my grandfather’s business dangling on the line.
Chapter Ten
Wednesday, June 17th
There it was. Hanging in the back of the closet, like I’d hoped it would be. I pushed the clothes out of the way and pulled out the plum-coloured ballgown-length dress. A little dusty on the shoulders, but otherwise it would be perfect.
The last time I wore this dress, I was at the Merryweather-Weston annual fundraiser, a night of opulence and elegance, where I danced the night away with a lot of local celebrities. It was a sweet perk to knowing Grandpa; the tv and radio personalities, along with a roster of huge name athletes who were always willing to be a part of the fundraisers. The last one was in the fall, well before my drunken night in Vegas.
I dropped out of my shorts and tee and pulled the bohemian V-neck style dress on. Yes, it still fit. Not that I had expected it not too, but you just never knew. I stared at my reflection in the closet mirror. With a little makeup and my hair done, I could pull it off. I could find myself looking like a proper lady, a regal one even.
What would Theo think to see me dressed up like this? Would he think I’m someone special, and not just the drunken girl he got hitched to in Vegas?
My skin tingled picturing Theo’s imagined reaction. If only. It was a pipe dream, something that will never happen. Why am I torturing myself like this? I knew full well that my life was on the cusp of a major change. Buh-bye mediocre social life. Hello board meetings and learning company policies and flying around to meet the individual owners. My infrequent free time was about to go up in smoke. Romance was going to take the backseat to anything and everything having to do with the Merryweather-Weston brand.
With the realisation of a dream vanishing, I allowed the dress to puddle on the floor while I changed back into regular clothes. The dress needed a freshening up, so it was time to run it over to the cleaners.
Not sure what time I was meeting Theo, I hunted around for my phone. It was sitting on a pile of papers I’d been going through earlier in a more detailed scan trying to figure out what happened to mom’s shares.
I texted Theo, who seemed not to be a fan of texting. My phone buzzed instantly with an incoming phone call.
“What’s up?”
Just thinking about him sitting there all casual in his scrubs and stethoscope made me smile. “I was wondering what time I needed to meet you on Saturday?”
“I’m picking you up.” There was a pause. “Did I forget to tell you that, or are you just refusing to let me drive?” He laughed and my heart melted.
“You forgot.”
“My apologies. I’ll pick you up at twelve-fifteen. Does that work?”
“And if it didn’t?” I knew it would, but I wanted to give him a hard time.
“Then we’d be late, and that very thing you’re trying to avoid…”
“Which is what?”
“Being the centre of attention.” He cleared his throat. “If we showed up late, everyone would stare, and I know enough about you to know that would make you exceptionally uncomfortable.”
That was true. “Don’t worry. I’ll be home before then.”
“Have a hot date in the morning?”
“Yep, sure do. Hair and makeup.”
“Really?” A tone best described as sarcastic rolled out of him. “You don’t need to go to those lengths. It’s a simple ceremony.”
“And it’s black tie. Every so often I don’t mind getting all fancy.” What girl doesn’t enjoy getting all dressed up like a princess? A morning of pampering and waxing so I could play the part of a fairy-tale princess going to the ball. Except I wouldn’t need to worry about meeting my Prince Charming, he’d already be on my arm. Our own version of the clock striking midnight was fast approaching.
“You still there?”
“Sorry.”
“There you are.” His smile was loud and clear through the phone. “What distracted you?”
“Just thinking about that night in Vegas. I think that was the last time, aside from a funeral, where I dressed up. It’s high time I did, and I’m looking forward to being all dressed fancy.” My hand ran over the hung-up clothes and stopped on one particular dress. I pulled it out of the closet and held it up. Maybe I should wear it? Would he remember?
Aside from the annual Merryweather-Weston Christmas ball, the last time I got dressed up for fun was back in Vegas. Theo, myself and a couple of others went out, and I donned a fairly fancy dress I’d purchased on a whim in the gift store of all places. But it was gorgeous and as the events of the day happened, it ended up being my wedding dress. It was the most incredible shade of ice blue with a button-front and plunging neckline. Totally inappropriate for a convention, but for walking the strip? I’d felt fun and flirty. Mom would’ve thought it was a stunning dress and probably could’ve worn it herself giving it a more elegant look.
“About that night…” Theo started.
“I really should have stopped drinking. I should have had more self-control. I knew better than to drink that much.” I shook my head. Of all the foolish things to have done. Why couldn’t I have gotten a tattoo or something? Why did I have to enter into a marriage? And with a guy as sweet as Theo? If I had a time travelling machine, I’d go back to that night and stop the wedding. If only.
“What’s happened has happened. We can’t change it, even if you regret it.”
And there it was again. If I regretted it. Why didn’t he feel the same way? “It’s not that I regret it.”
“Just that you wish it hadn’t happened.”
I sighed. It was something like that.
“Don’t worry, the twenty-third is coming fast enough. See you at twelve-fifteen on Saturday.” The conversation ended and the line went dead.
Well damn. How typical of me. Here I’d gone and ruined what was starting out as a fun and playful back-and-forth banter. Seriously, my regret list was piling up quicker than the files I needed to go through.
* * *
Hours later, well past my bedtime, I opened the last of the night’s folders. So far, everything I’d read was boring and so damn dry it made my eyes hurt. The latte I’d made after supper seemed to be wearing off and I found my head bobbing every once in a while.
“One more,” I kept telling myself. “One more.”
The piles were starting to resemble some sort of organized system, but it was daunting seeing them stacked all over my living room floor. Yellow stickies were everywhere and my binder full of notes followed me over to the couch where I sat down and gulped down the rest of my cold, flavourless latte.
I opened the folder. This looked less like the franchise contracts I’d been staring at for hours. At least, over the course of a few hours, I’d accounted for all 372 individually owned stores. Those companies all paid hefty yearly royalties fees, after already having paid a franchise fee to Merryweather-Weston. It’s part of what helped the company become the multi-million-dollar business it was.
The words swam on the page and I blinked to bring them into focus. This folder was one of the more interesting ones I’d yet to come across. Finally, after hours of searching, I’d discovered mom’s Last Will and Testament.
The document was thick, and I counted fourteen pages. The first few pages were boring, but pretty straightforward. Nothing that caused me alarm. I knew about the money she’d put into trust for me that would be mine when I turned thirty. No surprise there, aside from the amount, as I’d forgotten it was that high, and with interest. Well, let’s just say, money problems were never going to be an issue. But I wasn’t worried about that; my original shares (before the acquisition of Grandpa’s) handed me a nice little paycheck, for which I was grateful. That allowed me to work at the university in the lab for mere peanuts, but it also allowed me to do what I loved, with the added bonus of financial stability.
It wasn’t the trust fund or the liquidation that snapped me wide awake; it was the allocation of Nora Weston’s shares that concerned me. All my life, my mom had been single, rarely having a date aside from the odd fundraiser or gala she’d attended. I never even knew the name of the man responsible for impregnating her, as he abandoned her long before I was born. And I’d never really looked into my paternal line – never had any reason to. My full legal name was Izabella Weston Richardson, and the Richardson name came compliments of my mom’s best friend. She didn’t even want the sperm donor’s name attached to me, and she didn’t want me to bare her family name either. If I was going to make my way in this world, I had to do it under my own merits and hard work.
That’s why in her Last Will and Testament, I wasn’t given any money – it was all held in trust until I turned thirty. By then, it was assumed I’d have made some sort of start on adulting, and wouldn’t be dependent on additional money.
However, glancing over her will, a date change on the last page drew my attention. It was dated a few months before her death, but after her cancer diagnosis. I’d been there when she’d filed the document with the lawyers, because I had signed as a witness, and on this version my signature was absent. In its place was a name I didn’t recognise. Why had she changed it? And the better question is, why hadn’t I been informed? Had Grandpa?
I scanned the document more thoroughly, losing sensation in my left leg as I sat in an awkward position. It was a fascinating read.
The Executor had been an old family friend, more toward the business side of the friendship. That hadn’t been any kind of surprise. He’d presided over the distribution of mom’s property and her business assets. That’s what I’d found most interesting.
Her property and personal belongings had been liquidated, aside from the few things I was able to keep, and that money added to my trust. Standard. As far as her business assets went though, her shares were not handed to me, no surprise, but they weren’t all returned to Grandpa either.
Something I never knew until flipping through the pages of legalese, Grandpa had been given the Power of Attorney, the person in charge of making mom’s financial and legal decisions in the event she couldn’t. Interestingly enough, that document was signed and dated a week before the changed will. Her state of mind had been great up until the day before her passing when her pain levels were sky high.
Something wasn’t right. Why would Grandpa have Power of Attorney? Why was the Will different? And the biggest question of the night was why in hell had she bequeathed Colby Pratt a third of her shares?
Chapter Eleven
Thursday, June 18th
My half day at work. Thursdays were fun. Work in the morning and afternoons spent running errands, or until Grandpa died, having lunch with him at the office.
After everything I read last night, I felt myself pulled to the high-rise building. With each ding echoing in the elevator, I made my way up to the thirty-third floor. The doors opened and I stepped into the tiled reception area where the fresh scent of flowers tickled my nose.
Someone had suggested to Grandpa and staff that the lobby be a fragrance-free zone because someone might be allergic to the smell. Grandpa laughed and claimed there was an anti-allergy medication available for that and they could buy it from his store before they even stepped onto the elevator. After that, whether he felt guilty or not, the fresh flowers disappeared. It was only recently someone reinstated that it was okay to have a sensible arrangement on display.
The bouquet however was huge and impeded my view of the receptionist. I had to stand in front of her desk to be seen.
“Oh, hey, Izabella.” The lady was nearing retirement and had worked for Merryweather-Weston for as long as I could remember, often escorting me down the hall to an unoccupied office or to the boardroom to wait for Mom. She also knew I wasn’t a hugger and simply sat there smiling.
“Nice flowers.”
“Thanks. They’re from the staff. Bailey had her baby yesterday.” Bailey, her oldest daughter, had been trying to have a baby for years.
“Congrats. What did she have?”
“A little boy – six pounds, nine ounces, twenty-one inches long. They called him Dorjan.”
That’s different.
“Can you imagine? Dorjan. I’m the grandmother to a boy with a made-up name.” She shook her head and rambled on about the meaning of it, finally waving her hand through the air. “Sorry, I got carried away.” She gazed at the computer screen. “Are you here to see someone?”
“No. I just wanted to wander around, sit in Grandpa’s office for a minute and think.”
“You go right ahead.”
“Thanks.” It’s not like I needed permission, but it was the right thing to do.
I passed several offices I used to play in as a small child, and the boardroom where I used to bring my homework after school to wait for mom to finish up. I passed by the staff kitchen, where many times I’d whip up a supper of soup and grilled cheese, and share it with Mom and Grandpa. Over the years, it’s grown to include fancy coffee makers and panini presses, and a smart fridge to boot. It was always plain in its colour scheme – white walls with dark blue trim – the same colour as the writing on the logo.
Down the hallway to the end was where Grandpa’s spacious office sat, occupying the corner section of the floor. Since his passing, it remained untouched, something the board had agreed to leave for the time being. The office had the best view of the downtown area with the floor-to-ceiling windows, and if one craned their neck just so, they could see the pyramids of the Muttart Conservatory and the bridges spanning the river. Sunrises in the winter were a magical sight to behold from his view. It was no wonder Grandpa was always at his desk before that happened, at least in the winter. In our summers, the sun rises at 5 am and even for an early bird like he was, that was still early.
As I approached the office, the door was slightly ajar. Odd. It was usually closed and locked; I had the key ready in my hand as I neared. A voice, and a hushed one at that, could be heard coming from inside. I stopped and listened, ready to knock when I heard a break in conversation.
“It’s all but done,” the voice said. “No way will she be able to get her precious annulment in time.”
He was talking about me? But why? Who did that voice belong to?
“Once I have official shareholder control and the board appoints me to President, we will proceed to move onto Phase Two.”
I shifted on my feet and pushed my ear closer to the crack.
“Oh hey, Izabella, how’s it going?”
My heart hit the floor and I stepped back. “Great, Barney, just great. Just wanted to come and see Grandpa’s office again.” I wrapped my hand around the doorknob and squeezed the life out of it. I wasn’t a confrontational person by nature, but I sure wanted whatever answers were sitting on the other side of the door.
“Sure, absolutely. Whatever it takes to help you heal.” He nodded and turned around, shuffling back down the hall.
I pushed open the door without so much as a word. No doubt Barney’s announcement gave a quick warning to Mr. Pratt. I stared him hard in the eye. No way was he going to get away with thinking he had the upper hand. “Mr. Pratt. What a surprise to find you in this office.”
He rose and shuffled the assortment of papers on the desk into a file. “I was just working. It’s much quieter down here.”
I crossed my hands over my chest and stood there, unsure of what my next move should be. Should I say something along the lines of knowing I’d heard his conversation, or would it be best to assume he already knew that, busted as I’d been by Barney?
Mr. Pratt closed up his file and replaced the pen into the pen holder, an elegant gift Grandpa received from some hockey player back in the day. Amazingly enough, the pen still worked, just needed a refill from time to time. “I think that should do it.” He wasn’t moving quickly, like people normally would if they were caught sneaking around. In fact, his movements were slow and deliberate. It was unnerving. “Are you going to be here long? Can I have Jackson bring you a coffee or something?”
