22. Declan

22

DECLAN

My entire world was spinning on its axis as I sat behind the desk in my grandfather’s study. Everything I knew was turned upside down the moment I walked into that sunroom. I stared down at my hands, flat on the walnut surface of the desk, and tried to control the chaos swirling in my mind. Nothing made sense as I attempted to reconcile what I’d just discovered. How was it possible that Carrie was Ashley? Ashley was Carrie. It didn’t make any sense.

Yes, I’d told her that my name was Xavier. But I had a good reason for that. I didn’t want her to know that it was my name on the front of the hotel.

Why had she lied to me about her name?

Had she known who I was this entire time?

She must have.

So, if she knew who I was, then it begged the question, what was her angle?

All these months that we’d been exchanging emails, she’d never let on that she was who she was. Not only had she not given me any clue to her identity, but she hadn’t even remotely disguised her dislike of me. Her messages thinly veiled her irritation with my management style and borderline disdain for me as a person.

So what was her game? Was she a corporate spy? Was this some sort of industrial espionage? Was she here to gather proprietary information for one of our competitors?

She’d shown up out of the blue a month after Grandad passed away. So, the timing definitely fit. She’d managed to worm her way into a position she was completely unqualified for, so again, that fit. But if she were a plant, wouldn’t she position herself in the Atlanta offices and not work remotely from Firefly Island? What information could she have possibly been exposed to here at Gran’s house?

How could she do this? After the night we’d shared? How could she keep this up for six months?

My heart felt like it was going to pound out of my chest. I was nauseous. My palms were sweating. I was dizzy.

I needed to think logically and not emotionally.

What were the facts?

Every new hire was put through a rigorous background check. My grandfather had always been on the paranoid side when it came to the business, so the running joke was that it was easier to get a Top Secret security clearance than it was to pass the background checks at Wolfe Enterprises. Surely, she would have been flagged if there was anything questionable in her past.

I quickly pulled up Ashley Thompson’s personnel file on my laptop and went to the background check. I scanned it, looking for any red flags. She was twenty-four years old. She’d majored in art with a minor in psychology. She grew up in Seattle. Her parents died in a car accident when she was nine years old. Her older sister Skylar, who was eighteen at the time, petitioned to be her legal guardian and was granted custody of her. She graduated high school with a higher-than-average GPA of 3.8. She went to college in San Francisco.

A flashback of ‘Carrie’ at the bar popped into my head.

“ Fatima and I were neighbors when we were in school in San Francisco.”

She’d been honest about that part of her life.

It said that she transferred to The Savannah College of Art and Design, where she graduated a few months ago. She also did online courses through Georgia Tech, which was how she got her psychology degree. It showed that she’d worked dozens of odd jobs to put herself through college, including several bartending, retail, and serving jobs.

I remembered what she said when I asked her about going back to the bar when she said she forgot her phone, but it turned out that she was leaving Lucas a tip.

“I’ve worked a lot of jobs in the service industry.”

She hadn’t lied about that either. So why had she lied about her name?

The only red flag in her file that I could see was the amount of debt she was in between her student loans and credit card debt. Maybe that’s the leverage someone had used to convince her to be a plant.

That explanation just didn’t sit right with me. If she was a spy, then she was a really bad one. Her correspondences with me were borderline insubordinate and combative—not to mention the NSFW text she’d sent. I could have easily had grounds to terminate her.

So, what was I missing?

Did she know who I was that night at the bar?

Did she know who I was this whole time?

The more I thought about her reaction when she turned around and saw me, the more my gut was telling me no. I’d been so caught up in my own shock I hadn’t registered her reaction. But now, in reflection, she looked just as, if not more, stunned than I was. All of the color drained from her already fair skin. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. That wasn’t the reaction of someone who had been playing a game.

There was a quiet knock at the door. I glanced at the time and saw that I’d been in my office for over two hours. The launch had happened, and I’d missed it. I wondered if she’d gone, and my grandmother was coming to see what the hell my problem was. I’d been trying to get myself under control before facing the situation and had been unable to do so.

I stood.

“Come in.”

The door opened, Ashley walked inside, then shut it behind her. Just like the first time I saw her and when I’d seen her in the sunroom, I was struck by her beauty. Her huge blue eyes, long silky copper hair, full cherry lips, and hourglass frame knocked the wind out of me. I was actually finding it difficult to breathe. I’d never been so attracted to another person.

We stared at each other for several moments, the air between us crackling with tension, before she licked her lips, took a deep breath, and quietly said, “I never thought I’d see you again.”

Fuck , that voice. That sweet, melodic voice. I blinked as the sound washed over me like wind chimes on a blustery day. Her statement brought me right back to the night I met her. She never said what I would expect her to say.

How could this be the same woman who had driven me crazy over emails the past six months? Who had been passive-aggressive and sarcastic? Who basically called me a micromanaging asshole every chance she got?

I could not reconcile the two.

When I opened my eyes, I was scared she might not still be there, but she was. “I didn’t think I’d see you, either.”

“Why did you tell me that your name was Xavier?” she asked, getting right to the point.

“Xavier’s my middle name,” I explained. “I just didn’t want to be Declan Wolfe for once. People act differently when they find out your name is on the hotel. I’m not saying you would have, but?—”

“It’s okay.” She held up her hand. “I understand.”

It was so strange being face to face with Carrie, or Ashley again, but this time her being an entirely different person. I felt like I knew both people so well, so how could they be the same person, and I have no idea?

“Why did you say your name was Carrie?”

She licked her lips, and I felt my cock swell in my pants. It seemed my dick hadn’t got the memo that Carrie was Ashley and what he was doing was an HR nightmare. Fuck , I’d slept with an employee. I hadn’t even considered that until now.

“I sort of figured out that you gave me a fake name because you kept interrupting Lucas, so I thought I would give you a fake name, too. Plus, I never had a one-night stand, so I thought anonymous would be the best way to go.”

“Right. So how’s that working out?” I teased.

“Good. Yeah, it’s going great.” She smiled, and my heart actually ached in my chest. Her smile could start wars and end wars; that was how fucking powerful it was.

I cleared my throat and tried to rein in my body’s strong physical response to her. “So why the name Carrie?”

“Oh, it’s um, a Sex and the City thing. I’m the Carrie of my friend group. And when I saw you, I sort of nicknamed you Big, which is her love interest in the show.” Her cheeks flushed when she admitted she’d given me a nickname. “So, yeah, that was why Carrie.”

Damn, even her explanation was adorable.

My phone rang, and I saw that it was Harry calling me back. I didn’t want this conversation to be interrupted, but I’d been trying to get a hold of him since I’d spoken to my grandmother this morning, and I needed to speak to him.

“I need to take this. Can you wait? Don’t leave.”

She nodded.

I picked up the phone. “Harry.”

“Declan, I got your messages. I’m sorry, but the will stands. If you are not married by Christmas, everything goes to Derek. It doesn’t matter if he’s in rehab or has charges pending; hell, even if he’s in jail. The only stipulation is that he is married,” he answered every question I’d posed to him in the messages I’d left.

“There has to be something I can do. Some precedent. Some loophole. Some way to contest it.”

“I wish there were. I do.”

What the fuck had my grandfather been thinking?

“The only way to stop Derek from inheriting is to get married.”

I sighed. “Thanks for getting back to me.” I hung up the phone and set it back on my desk. “Sorry about that. That was my lawyer. Something has come up about the company.”

I had no clue why I was telling her. I had no reason to explain myself. In my life, everyone was on a need-to-know basis, and no one needed to know shit. This woman did something to me. At least she did when I was in her presence.

“Stella told me about the will. I’m so sorry, Declan.”

Two things about her statement struck me. First, the sincerity in her eyes was real. I’d always been good at reading people. She might not be able to stand me, but I could see that she felt bad that I was going to lose my business. Second, hearing her say my name, my real name, did something inside of me. It made me feel things I wasn’t sure I wanted to acknowledge.

“I don’t want to take up your time. I just thought we should clear the air, and I wanted to give you this.” She took two steps toward my desk, set a folded paper on it, and turned to leave. When she did, her hair fanned out, and the faint scent of berry and vanilla wafted through the air; I closed my eyes and leaned into it, just like I had when she’d walked into my hotel room door.

When I opened my eyes, I was staring down at the paper she’d left. “What is it?”

She stilled and turned back. “It’s my resignation.”

My eyes lifted to hers. “You’re quitting?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Her head tilted to the side, and a small smile appeared on her perfect lips. “I think we both know that we can’t work together, and the truth is I’m not qualified for this job.”

She was right. I’d planned on demoting her. So why was I upset that she was leaving? Maybe because I hadn’t known that Ashley was Carrie.

“I appreciate Stella’s faith in me and everything I’ve learned, but I’m not exactly sure why she hired me,” she explained. “She mentioned several times that she sees a lot of herself in me, so I think that she might have been living out the opportunities she wished she’d been given at my age.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to teach art again and take a little time with my family.”

She turned back to leave again, and with each step she took toward the door, panic rose inside of me.

As her hand reached for the knob, I blurted out, “Marry me.”

She froze in place, and so did I.

Slowly, she turned to face me. When she did, there was a look of shock on her face that I suspected mirrored my own.

“What?” she breathed.

Was I going to repeat myself? No. Surely not. I must be having a nervous breakdown. It had to be a midlife crisis or maybe jet lag.

I opened my mouth to say that I didn’t mean what I’d said, that it was a bad joke or something, but when I spoke, the same words came out. “Marry me.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Apparently, I was.

“Why not?”

Yep, I had doubled down.

I wasn’t sure if I’d gotten so in the habit of arguing with Ashley Thompson that it was a knee-jerk reaction that I was actually going to make a case for my insane idea. Or if this was just the way I behaved around Carrie, which was totally out of character. Maybe it was a combo of the two. I guess I would find out as the conversation continued because, at this point, her guess was as good as mine.

“You don’t want to marry me,” she stated.

“Why not?” I repeated.

I wasn’t sure if I did either, but that wasn’t the point right now.

“You don’t even like me.”

“I do like you.”

“I’m not talking about Carrie. I’m talking about me , Ashley.”

“I do like you, Ashley.”

That seemed to surprise her, but it was true. In fact, now that I thought about it, some of the things I loved about Carrie were the same things I liked about Ashley. I never knew what Ashley or Carrie were going to say. Both women surprised me.

“You don’t love me.”

“That’s not the only reason people get married.”

“It’s the only reason I want to get married.”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me.”

“You wanted to go on television and marry a stranger.”

Damn. This argument was coming together as I went along. Ashley had taken my grandmother to the pier to film an audition for the reality show. Which meant Carrie, my Carrie, had wanted to go on Married by a Matchmaker .

A jolt of jealousy struck me from nowhere.

Over my dead body .

Whoa. Where had that thought come from?

“That’s different,” she argued.

“Why is that different?”

“Because in that scenario, professional matchmakers would be arranging a marriage that could grow into love. At least I would know that my husband and I would want the same things.”

“You mean fifteen minutes of fame or, at the very least, a bigger social media following?”

“What are you…that’s not?—”

“You can’t tell me that’s not why people go on those shows.”

“That’s not why I wanted to go on the show.”

“I believe you, but how could you ever know that isn’t why the stranger you would be marrying isn’t going on it?”

I could see the wheels turning in her pretty head. She wanted, so badly, to argue with me, but she couldn’t.

“You clearly wanted to be married. I need to get married. You know I’m not a psychopath, and we’re clearly compatible in some aspects of marriage.” At the mention of our compatibility , her cheeks flushed. “That’s more than you’d know going into a marriage on that television show.”

She took in a shaky breath, and I could see that she was actually considering my ludicrous proposal. Her phone rang; she pulled it out of her purse and answered it.

“Hello, oh, okay, yes, I’ll be right there.” When she put it back, she said, “It’s my niece; I have to go get her from school.”

“Just promise me you’ll think about it. I’ll send you my terms.”

“Terms?” Her brows furrowed.

“Yes, terms.” What sort of marriage wouldn’t have terms?

“How romantic,” she said beneath her breath as she turned to leave.

It wasn’t a no. She wasn’t turning me down outright.

“Romance can be negotiated,” I stated as she opened the door.

I noticed her shoulders tense, and I couldn’t help but grin. When the door closed, I sat back down in my chair. I wasn’t sure what had just happened or what was going to happen, but I knew one thing for certain: my life was better now than it had been before I walked into that sunroom and Ashley turned around.