CHAPTER THREE – HAYLEY
The world stopped as I stared at the man before me. I always thought that was an exaggeration, but it really happened. I had probably seen him in a magazine or paper once, years ago. But no photograph is ever quite like the real thing. Trust me.
A tall, imposingly-built man with dark hair and a lean, coiled-and-ready-for-action body, Beckett Sand was the kind of person who drew the eye. I found myself unable to look anywhere else.
He was wearing a well-cut jacket in deep blue, sand-colored trousers and a cream shirt. But it wasn’t the clothes—impressive though they were—that captured me. It was those eyes.
Bright green, in contrast with his hair, they were set below hollow temples in a lean face that had a watchful, hungry caste to it. I couldn’t look away.
Then, as the sudden drama of his arrival dissipated, a thought hit me.
“You were listening, weren’t you?”
I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but the thought surprised me. I felt a bit angry, actually; angry and cheated. How dare he hide behind a screen and pry on a private interview? If he wanted to take the time to be there, he should have been in the room like Mrs. Chalmers was! Little as I liked her by now, she was at least honest! I decided in that moment I didn’t like him.
He had the grace to smile. “Yes.”
“I think that’s unfair,” I said, before I could stop myself.
“Oh?” His smile deepened and I was left with the feeling I was being mocked. I didn’t like that feeling.
“Yes. If you were going to be bothered to attend such an unimportant interview, you should have been open about it. She was open,” I said, indicating Mrs. Chalmers. He looked at her.
“Yes, she was. Thank you, Mrs. Chalmers.” His voice was quiet. “Would you mind leaving us a moment?”
“Certainly, Mr. Sand.”
I looked, slightly horrified, as she walked out of the room, poised and collected.
I swallowed hard. Why was he here alone with me? Why was he conducting my interview, for Heaven’s sake? Why had he come here?
“Mr. Sand,” I said, hearing a tremor in my voice and doing my best to ignore it, “I know I haven’t exactly followed protocol here,” I laughed shyly. “But I don’t think whatever I did wrong requires your intervention. Do you?”
His eyes met mine. They were bright green and they twinkled with merriment. I couldn’t help a flush creeping through my body. He was so, so stunning.
“On the contrary, Ms. Morris. I felt the need to…um…parlay.”
“Oh?”
I wanted to smile as I heard the “oh” come out of my mouth. It sounded like Mrs. Chalmers. He evidently noted it because he smiled.
Nice smile. It was a warm smile, unstudied and genuine, and it lit those green eyes, making them sparkle with brightness.
“Would you sit down?” he asked, quite politely.
I shrugged and took a seat where I was before. He sat opposite me. It felt tense. A strange tension, though: the sort I used to get on stage, almost. A tingling in my belly almost as if an electric current passed through my tummy. A fluttery, exciting sort of feeling. I faced him.
“I would really like it,” I said slowly, “if someone could tell me what is going on?”
He smiled. “I’m going to continue with your interview, Ms. Morris. It seemed Mrs. Chalmers was taking a stance that was…um…not best aligned to company policy.”
“Whew,” I sighed. “I’m pleased to hear that! No company nowadays should care about marital status. Can you believe it? What a thing to say!”
His eyes narrowed, but he was smiling still. “Well, you didn’t let me finish where that thought was going,” he said slowly. “It isn’t our policy. But it is mine. So. Are you married?”
“This is insane!”
I said it before I had thought about it. I felt a bit desperate, actually; as if somewhere I had passed through the portals of some crazy time-machine and was now, like Alice in Wonderland, stuck in some wild place where nothing made sense.
“Mrs. Morris. Please. Sit down!”
I stared at him. I had barely noticed I was pacing the room, but his command cut through my agitation like a whip-strike. I looked up at him, heart beating.
“I am not a dog, sir,” I said frostily. I was nervous, but I was also angry. I’m not sure when I have been that angry. At that moment I couldn’t have cared if he was the CEO of an hotel company or the State President. He was the embodiment of all the oppressors I’d met in my life. And I was sick of it.
He blinked. I think it was a long time ago someone spoke to him like that. Good.
Then I started shaking. All the anger drained out of me and my energy went with it, like someone had unplugged the sink. I was empty. I sat down at the desk again, my whole body shivering a little all over, and slumped onto the table before me.
“Ms. Morris?”
“I’m fine,” I said. My voice, and his, sounded as if they came from far away. I looked up at him, expecting to see a frosty, Darth Vader style anger. I saw tenderness.
“You’ve had enough today, I can see that,” he said kindly. “Please accept my apologies.”
I wanted to return with some cutting comment, but couldn’t. I hadn’t the energy, and, besides, he looked like he really was sorry.
“Apology accepted,” I said tiredly. I felt drained. I had just shouted at the CEO of a huge company. He could have bought and sold my house and everything in it ten times without noticing, and he probably had a fleet of cars and security people whose job it was to keep people like me away from him. I laughed.
“What?” he asked. He sounded like he really meant it.
“I was just thinking that I really, really blew this interview.”
I grinned at him. He grinned back.
“Actually, no. The job is yours. I take it you still want that?”
I stared. “What?” I was laughing again, but this time with incredulity and joy. “Serious?”
“Of course.”
I leaned back in the chair, feeling a strange sensation pass across my heart. It was gratitude, yes, but relief was in it too, and a sort of mix of wonder and happiness that I couldn’t recall ever feeling. It was nice. “Thank you,” I said.
He laughed. “You’re welcome.”
I sat up. I met his gaze and he looked back steadily, in a way that made my already-overburdened heart do strange things.
I remembered something. “What is the job description, again?”
This time we both laughed. He smiled at me, an apologetic sort of a grin.
“Well, it wasn’t exactly descriptive, was it?”
“You can say that again!” I laughed. It was weird, but it suddenly felt as if there were no barriers between us. Whatever his status and mine, the fight we’d had broke the boundary and made me feel like I could say anything.
He nodded. “Well, it was deliberately vague.”
“Oh?”
I might have imagined it, but a distant look crept across his eyes, and he didn’t look at me but through the window. His posture shifted and he straightened his coat in a fastidious gesture that probably meant he felt ill-at-ease. That’s surprising.
“Well,” he said, “I had to make it a bit, you know, generalist.”
I frowned. “Why, sir?”
“Because it’s a broad job?”
“Oh!” that was simple. If that was why, then how come he was still looking at me with that sickly expression, as if he was really uncomfortable instead of me? I sighed. “I know this is a stupid question, but what exactly is this job? What will I be doing? I need to know…honestly.”
His eyes closed, and he looked like he was having a bit of an internal struggle. At length, he said it.
“The job is to be my wife.
”