“I’m fine.” I lied.
I hated Ryan with every ounce of my being, but I’d seen that pained look from him twice before, back when we were married: Once, when we were being evicted out of our first apartment because we hadn’t paid the rent in three months. And again when I went into labor with Ashley and Caroline four weeks early.
It’s definitely something serious...
“Miss Gracen?” Greg snapped me out of my trance.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Statham asked if he needs to come by now.” He was holding his phone up to his ear. “He wants to know if you want to be taken home early because of this.”
I shook my head. “No, tell him I’m okay. I’ll go to his office after my three o’ clock.”
He nodded and repeated my message to Jonathan before leaving me alone.
Sighing, I walked over to my desk and sank into the chair. I shook my head, hoping that would remove any thoughts of Ryan from my head, but then I spotted a white envelope on my desk. Something that wasn’t there before.
I grabbed it and realized that Ryan had probably placed it there before he was escorted out. I knew that I shouldn’t open it, that I should simply shred it and go about my day, but I was curious:
Claire,
I’ve been sending you photos and letters every day, but last night I realized that you probably haven’t received any of them. So, I thought I would personally drop this one off.
I’m not here to cause any trouble in your new life—which seems to be quite wonderful by the way...
I moved here six months ago with Amanda and I decided not to tell the girls so I could have the opportunity to talk to you without you shutting down but...It seems as if you’ve already done that.
I would like to speak with you over coffee. You can tell me which shop, and I swear I’ll only use a few minutes of your time. (Do you honestly think I would be going through all this trouble if what I had to say wasn’t important? IT IS.)
Please call me so we can meet up with each-other.
Your first,
Ryan
PS—You always were beautiful, but you look f**king amazing now :-)
PSS—I know a part of you still loves me...
Monday September 1, 2014
Jonathan
You can’t help who you fall for...
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
I sit down at the end of the boardroom table and try to look like I want to be here. I just got back from having angry sex with Claire and I’m starting to wish I’d stayed with her for the rest of the day—to make sure she sends off those damn invitations.
Does it really matter if they’re ivory or white? If they have lace accents or pearl ones? If they have four or five different parts on the inside?
I’m beyond restless because she made me stay up all night so I could help her choose between hundreds of envelope styles: “White cream with no border? White cream with a white border? Or ivory and white cream with a slightly shadowed border?”
She also spent two hours this morning going over the seals that will be on the back of the envelope—the place where no one f**king looks: “The white seal will give our wedding a more elegant vibe, but the silver one says that it’s going to be an upscale event. Gold is a bit too much I think...But wait, what if we were able to get the seals personalized? Maybe white seals with our initials in silver and gold accents?”
She has undoubtedly mastered the art of getting under my skin because I told her that it didn’t matter, and that she better (better...) have those invitations sent off by noon today. But as usual, she has to fulfill her weekly ‘make Jonathan angry’ quota and when I stopped by on her lunch break, she said she was “still deciding what [she] should do about the seals.”
“Mr. Statham?” My number one trust advisor—Milton, clears his throat. “Did you hear what I said about my proposal for a new benefits package for all employees?”
“Loud and clear.” I smile and he rolls his eyes.
Today’s meeting is about spousal benefits for Statham Industries employees, but I know this is a thinly veiled attempt to make me force Claire to sign a pre-nuptial agreement.
My board members are nervous because they know that the second I marry her, she’ll automatically be entitled to a twenty six percent share of Statham Industries, which—next to mine is the largest share for any individual person. They don’t trust her because she didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in her mouth, because they think she’ll turn on me once the ink on our marriage papers dries.
But I don’t believe that at all. I trust Claire completely.
Sure, she tests my nerves like no one has ever tested them before, but she’s real—frustratingly real, and that’s what I love most about her.
Chapter 7
Jonathan