Chapter 10

TEN

Every time he called me Mrs. Harding, I was certain I was going to combust. My skin grew hot, and I immediately became wet between my legs, my clit begging to be touched. After my impromptu meeting, I wanted to go home and change my panties, but I was already late for another meeting with a client I've been consulting for the past several months. Our case is scheduled to go to court in the next few months and I need to be as prepared as possible.

Luckily, I keep a spare pair in my desk for emergencies.

Once I've changed, and when I finish with my client, I email over the latest paperwork to Frederick and message Roe asking if I can come see her this weekend. She tells me Steven is out of town again to bid on another artist's work and she could use the company.

My heart has been heavy since she told me she was sick. I've spent the past several days researching everything I possibly could on what type of cancer she has, the survival rates, and the treatment plans. Hours of pouring over research and joining cancer support groups made my head spin and my stomach nauseous. I forwarded over all the information I found to Steven but haven't heard back from him yet. I figure if we're going to get Roe through this, it's best we work as a team to support her the best we can.

I want to tell Roe I've come up with a solution to gather up the money so she can get the surgery and the chemo treatments she'll need after. But I want to tell her when I have an invitation in hand—proof this is for real. Relief settled over me knowing Lennon still wanted to marry me, even though I turned him down when he first asked. I don't plan on touching his money for Roe's treatment. In fact, I plan to use his income as a safety net in case Roe's treatments take more than what I have in the bank.

Thankfully, the salary I make working for Frederick affords me a little wiggle room, allowing me to set aside a savings account for emergencies. And Roe's sickness is an emergency.

By the time I make it home, eat dinner, bake about a dozen more cookies than I could possibly eat, I take a shower and climb into bed, thinking about Lennon.

I'm going to be married to Lennon Harding in nineteen days. Scratch that. Eighteen days. This day is practically over.

Although the echoing pain of my marriage with David years ago will forever be engrained in my memory, something about the idea of marrying Lennon feels different.

Being around him stirs feelings inside me I never felt with David: a pounding heart, weak knees. His eyes look into mine as if I'm an algebra equation he can't solve, causing my skin to flash with heat. All physical reactions I haven't been able to control.

There's a connection to him I didn't realize I had until today, and although Lennon is using our marriage to win ownership of his company, I don't feel used in the same way David used me. Maybe it's because, in part, I'm using my marriage with Lennon to gain something as well.

At peace with my decision, I let sleep overtake me and try to get Lennon's voice out of my head.

Mrs. Harding .

Unlike yesterday, this time when I show up to Harding Holdings, I'm greeted by Lennon's assistant.

She's standing in the middle of the lobby, waiting for me as the elevator doors slide open. A tablet is clutched between her delicate hands as she holds it to her chest.

"Good morning, Mrs. Harding," she practically sings, holding her hand out to me. "I'm Mr. Harding's assistant, Olivia."

"Um, good morning, Olivia. It's nice to meet you." I shake her hand and smile. "But you can call me Laurel. My name isn't Harding yet."

"Oh." She blinks. "Mr. Harding informed me this morning that I was to address you by name. He insisted I call you Mrs. Harding."

Of course he did.

"No," I tell her, tightening my grip on the black leather bag I'm carrying. "Lennon may have wanted you to call me that, but I insist. You can just call me Laurel."

"Sounds good... Laurel." She breathes a sigh of relief, then gives me a smile that reaches her soft blue eyes.

She's younger than I expected her to be. Maybe slightly older than me, but not by much. Her long blonde hair cascades way past her shoulders. A large diamond ring is wrapped around the fourth finger on her left hand.

Mine will look like that in eighteen days.

Olivia holds her arm out, gesturing down the hallway. "The conference room is back this way."

I follow Olivia down the same hallway that leads to Lennon's office but makes an abrupt turn down a different hallway. On this side of Harding Holdings, everything changes from pure white walls and floors adorned with the signature gold Harding emblem to brown wooden accents, and floor to ceiling glass walls. From the side of the floor, I can see the entire Boston skyline. Far out in the distance, I see Fenway Park and the Boston Harbor. It's the same view from my office, only a few levels higher. Three floors to be exact.

I see Lennon before I've even made it to the room. His dark blue eyes lock onto me the moment I'm within view. They follow me down the length of the glass wall. I may as well burst into flames right now.

My breath rushes out of my lungs in one gasp. His black suit clings to his muscles as he sits back in his seat, twisting a gold pen between his long fingers. His peppered jaw ticks in concentration. This is all so official and business-like. None of what Lennon and I are doing is traditional as far as engagements go. I remind myself that this is the only world he knows.

Olivia's hand wraps around the long, silver handle of the conference room door, tugging it open. She holds it out for me, and I step in.

"Mrs. Harding is here to see you, Mr. Harding," she tells Lennon.

I snap my head in her direction and shoot her a glare—one that tells her she was supposed to call me by my first name. The satisfaction on Lennon's face can already be felt in the room.

He grins, not breaking his darkening gaze away from me. "Thank you, Olivia."

Olivia mouths a quick, " I'm sorry," before she shuffles out of the room in a hurry.

Her loyalty must know no bounds.

I take a seat at the opposite end of the large table. It stretches from one end of the room to the other. There are at least ten chairs on either side between Lennon and me.

I don't know why I choose the opposite end from him. I think part of me is forcing myself to keep a respectable distance from him to keep myself in check. I figure I won't be able to smell him with twenty feet of distance between us. Our past few encounters have pulled reactions out of me that became stronger than the last, which is probably part of the reason why I asked Olivia to stop calling me by Lennon's last name. I'm no stranger to the pull he has on me. I experienced it the night we met.

He's like a light switch. One flicker of the gaze in his eyes, one touch, or one shift in the tone of his voice has me melting into a puddle.

I press my legs together and lean to the side, pulling my notepad and pen out of my black leather bag. I've already made a list of several important aspects of a wedding I figured we would need to go over. I straighten my notepad and weave my fingers together, placing my hands over my notepad.

"Good morning, Mr. Harding ." I smile, hoping he can sense the cynicism dripping from my tongue.

"Likewise." He taps his pen on the table.

"I hear you're already having your assistant call me by your last name." I nod my head to the side, indicating the hallway Olivia ran off to before she got more of my cold stare.

"Olivia's a great assistant. She's very efficient when it comes to executing the tasks I've given her."

My stomach coils. I don't know how deep his statement goes or how far Lennon has taken his relationship with her outside of the work environment. She's possibly the woman I saw kneeling in front of him, happily giving him a blow job the day of the funeral.

I nervously swipe my tongue across my lips and adjust myself in my seat as Lennon stands. His tall frame commands the room, as he always does.

He grabs his folder and pen, carrying it to my end of the table, where he drops in the vacant spot beside me. His scent immediately surrounds me. Dammit. He smells the same as yesterday and the day he was in my office.

"Enough small talk." He sighs, leaning back in his chair. He rests his head on the back of his seat and points with his pen in my direction. "Tell me your ideas and we'll make them happen."

"Okay." I flip to the first page in my notebook. "I have all the basics down: dress, flowers, cake, venue, rings?—"

"What do you want?"

"What do you mean?" I ask him, confused.

"You wrote all the basic elements to a wedding, but is that the kind of wedding you envision?" He stretches out his legs, crossing them at the ankle under the table. He angles his body in my direction, his leather shoe touching the bottom of my heel. Him going out of his way to touch me has my stomach igniting with flames again. My legs twitch, and all I can concentrate on is the bottom of my foot.

I clear my throat. "Considering our circumstances for marrying, I doubt it matters what type of wedding I want."

"No." He frowns, resting his elbow on the arm of his chair. His dark blue eyes study me. "I won't have a wedding you aren't going to be happy with."

"You're marrying me out of obligation. It's in your father's will ."

The light in his eyes disappears. "I'm aware."

"Does it really matter then?" I ask, inhaling an unsteady breath. "We're only going to be married for a year. Why waste the time and money when it won't last?"

The conditions James put on Lennon's marriage to me is a tough pill to swallow. The idea of putting effort into a marriage, especially in the ways he outlined last night in his conditions, has me worried. I'm worried I'm setting myself up for heartbreak without realizing it.

Because I already know how easy it is to fall for Lennon.

I want to take his signs of willingness to compromise with me on wedding details and his teasing over the past week as signs I've somehow managed to thaw his frozen heart. They're hard to ignore. But with Lennon, I take everything he says and does with a grain of salt. The fact he's marrying me to gain control over his family's company always pulls me back down to earth. It's a fact I simply won't ignore just because he's given me a small glimpse into another side of himself.

"It's not your responsibility to make me happy," I confess, filling the silence.

"I think you must be confused," Lennon says, lowering his voice. "You're going to be my wife, Laurel. Your happiness is one hundred percent my responsibility."

I nearly choke on Lennon's words. He utters his confession with confidence and without hesitation.

"Now…" He waves his hand over the table. "Tell me the wedding you truly want."

I bite down on my bottom lip and imagine the wedding I've always dreamed of. David and I were married at one of the courthouses in the city. After spending a day on my uncle's yacht in the harbor, we'd taken a walk through downtown when he'd pulled us to an abrupt stop outside the courthouse. Dressed in sandals and a short summer dress, with my still wet bikini hidden underneath, he rushed with his question, and I rushed with my answer. A quick ceremony followed by a signature, and thirty minutes later, we were married. In that moment, I thought David was being romantic and spontaneous. Turns out he was simply taking advantage of me and my foolish love for him.

I stare at my future husband and picture exactly the kind of wedding I've always dreamed of.

"Although I come from a wealthy family, I've never wanted a large ceremony. Maybe about ten of our closest friends and family." I shrug, biting back the tears threatening to come. "Ever since my parents died, I haven't been able to picture a large wedding without them. I don't see the sense in having a huge affair if my father won't be there to walk me down the aisle. Of course, I'd be wearing the dress I was convinced was made for me because it must have been for it to make me feel as beautiful as I would that day. Instead of a large ten-tiered cake, we'd have a small two-tiered blueberry cake, with a honey-lavender buttercream. The same flavor my mom used to bake for me every birthday." I lift my eyes from my generic list and look back up at Lennon. "I imagine getting married surrounded by flowers. Flowers and the ocean."

"Hmm." Lennon straightens his back. "That's better." His familiar, firm expression has now softened.

The emotion of talking about my parents' absence and the lack of my father's ability to walk me down the aisle weigh heavily on my chest. It feels as if I've held my breath for far too long. My lungs wheeze and contract, starved for oxygen, the pressure aching from the inside out.

Lennon reaches across and shuts my notebook, then presses the button on the small, black machine sitting at the end of the table. It beeps before Olivia's voice comes through.

"Yes, Mr. Harding?"

"Olivia, please return to the conference room. Make sure to bring your tablet with you."

"Yes, sir."

Lennon removes his finger from the intercom.

I open my mouth to ask him if he has any ideas for our wedding but am stopped when I see a flash of blonde hair rush down the hallway. Olivia's heels shuffle across the marble floor. She screeches to a halt and swings the door open

She stands beside Lennon, just behind him, not sitting down. I bite back a smile at her eagerness. I'm liking Olivia so far.

Tapping on her tablet, she hovers her stylus over the screen, ready to take notes.

My gaze falls back to Lennon who is staring directly at me.

"Olivia, call every bakery in Boston to see which one will be able to make a two-tiered blueberry cake with a honey-lavender buttercream. We're also going to need ten invitations printed off for our wedding date, eighteen days from now. Have a local printer design them with both mine and Laurel's name along with the date and address of the summer house on the cape."

Olivia's hand stops abruptly, and her eyes lift to the back of Lennon's head.

Summer house on the cape? I wonder if that's the same house where James's funeral was held. Unless the Hardings have more than one house along Cape Cod. I wouldn't be surprised if they did.

Olivia blinks a few times before resuming her scribbling.

"What design should I have the printer use?" she asks.

"Flowers. Lots of flowers. Be sure they email over a proof to Mrs. Harding for approval. Look for a photographer that has an opening for the day of the wedding, but make sure it's one who knows their shit. Since money isn't a problem, I expect it to be a fucking good one." He locks eyes with mine. "Also, call every bridal shop in the city and tell them they should be expecting my fiancée in to try on as many dresses she wants until she finds the one she thinks was made for her." He lifts one dark eyebrow, the corner of his delicious mouth curling into a satisfied grin. "Does that about cover it?"

I hesitate, unsure of what to say. I'm speechless.

He has me melting for him again. This time he hasn't touched me with a single finger. The only connection we have is the tip of his shoe still pressed against the bottom of my stiletto.

Heat blooms across my chest, up to my neck. I can feel tears welling behind my eyes. I don't want to cry in front of Lennon, but the fact he's giving me my dream wedding has feelings stirring inside me I haven't allowed myself to face. I'm getting my dream wedding, and my parents won't be there to see it. Not even my brother Kellan. Not that I would want him there anyway, even if he weren't locked in a prison cell.

Lennon taps his toe against the bottom of my shoe.

Is he playing footsies with me?

With my heat-flushed cheeks, my eyes fall to his hands and his long, strong fingers that once touched me in places I only find myself touching these days. But I know my touch or even my boyfriends since haven't come close to what I've experienced by the hands laid in front of me. A black rose tattoo peeks out from the bottom of his black sleeve, its stem prickled with thorns wraps and weaves down his wrist, connecting to a blooming rose on the back of his hand.

"Rings." I clear my throat. "We didn't discuss the rings."

"Right." He nods. A smile cracks along his mouth. "You leave that part to me."

We sit in silence and stare at one another. I can't explain the million thoughts running through my mind. Lennon is anything but predictable. Here I was, thinking I was waltzing into this conference room, assuming it would be like any other business meeting I've attended. But somehow I feel like Lennon has managed to rip open my chest in the sweetest way, pick apart my soul, and sew it back together again, even going so far as to place a gentle kiss on the healing wound to make it all better.

Wearing a satisfied grin, he dismisses Olivia. She rushes off to get to work on the tasks Lennon's given her just as quickly as she arrived.

When I turn my attention back to my fiancé, he's sliding a credit card in my direction.

"No." I hold my hands up. "I don't want it." It feels wrong to take his credit card.

He laughs. "You'll need it for all the shopping you're about to do."

I sigh. "I can't take your credit card, Lennon. Doesn't feel right."

He grabs my hand and turns it over. Slapping the card in my open palm, he folds my fingers closed over it. "You're going to be wife, Laurel. You can," he whispers.

I roll my eyes and sweep my tongue across my lips. His eyes fall to my mouth, but I can't stop thinking about his hands holding mine. His skin is warm, the sensation sliding all the way up my arm like silk.

I slowly and reluctantly pull my hand away, dropping the card into my black bag.

My heart hammers inside my chest as he drags the toe of his shoe down the center of my stiletto. He stops on the backside of my heel, using his shoe to pry it off my foot. With a muted clunk, it lands on the floor.

"What are you doing?" I ask, working my voice around my pounding heart.

"I like our business meetings better when you're like this." His eyes darken.

"What, shoeless?"

"No. Comfortable."

I can't help but smile.

And I don't know what's worse. The fact I'm marrying Lennon under the pretense that I won't completely fall for him, or if it's getting married to him, knowing I already have.