I climb in, slamming the door hard.
The drive across town is a mixture of muted thoughts and road noise. By the time he pulls into the church parking lot, my car is the only one left. According to the clock on the dash, I’m going to be thirty minutes late going home, which means regardless, I’ll still have my father’s wrath to deal with.
I can’t win.
Cortland pulls up beside my car, reaching over to place his hand atop my knee.
My body responds to his touch with a delayed flinch.
“Tonight, you’ll tell your father that I approached you after our studies, and we lost track of time as we spoke. You’ll arrange a time for me to meet everyone, and then we’ll begin our official courtship.” He speaks as if he’s had this planned for a while.
I should’ve known where this was headed when he signed his Valentine’s Day card with a heart and “Love forever, Cortland.” All along I thought I was dealing with some love-struck puppy dog, not a sadistic maniac.
Guess I thought wrong.
“Submit to me, Bellamy. No one else can love you the way you need to be loved. Only me. The sooner you accept that, the happier you’ll be.”
Marrying Cortland, or anyone else like him, would breathe life into my darkest nightmare.
My body buzzes with paddle-shock intensity. None of my thoughts makes sense, and I’m not certain I could form a complete sentence if forced. In all those months of sneaking around, never once did I consider this to be a possible outcome.
“I’m going to marry you by the end of the year,” he says. He releases his hand from my lap and rubs it across the smooth plastic of his steering wheel. I hate the slick sound it makes against his palm. “And Bellamy?”
I respond with silence.
“I strongly advise meeting me halfway with this. I don’t think your father would appreciate the truth.”
“So you are blackmailing me.”
“I like to think of it as saving your soul.”
I can save my own soul, thank-you-very-much.
“Whatever helps you sleep.” I lurch for the door handle before he has a chance to stop me, and I slam the door the second I’m free. I hear his voice, but I refuse to listen to the endless spewing of venomous threats fused with scripture.
I’ll do what I have to for now because if he’s not bluffing and he does tell my father everything, I’ll be married off in a heartbeat.
And I know that marriage will be with someone ten times worse than the twisted control freak with the talented tongue and deceptively gorgeous green gaze.
I scramble for my car, taking with me a handful of things I know to be true.
I would sooner die than marry Cortland McGregor.
I refuse to submit to him or any other man.
I’m going to get out of here as soon as possible, no matter what it takes.
ONE
BELLAMY
“I’m sorry. Your interview was yesterday.”
“No, no.” I yank my planner from my bag and slap it across the marble reception desk, my cheeks burning behind the blanket of hair that falls into my face. I refuse to believe this is happening. “It’s today. My professor set this up last week. The first Tuesday in April.”
The receptionist’s desk phone rings shrill and intrusive. She points a finger straight up in the air and takes the call. I’m flipping through the pages of my planner like a crazy person, page after page of March dates finally bring me to the current month, and several pages later, I’m staring at today’s date.
The page is blank.
I blink as if my eyes are the ones who have deceived me.
It’s all their fault.
“No.” I run my palm across the smooth, traitorous page, dragging in a haggard breath before I flip backward to Monday.
Monday, April 6th – 10:30 AM, Interview with Randy Mutchler, RJM Corporation
“This has got to be a mistake. This is not like me at all. I’ve never been late for so much as a doctor’s appointment.” I’m rambling, words flowing straight from my frazzled brain to my tingling lips. The stale lobby air nearly suffocates me. “I’m sorry about this. Is there any way at all he could maybe still see me today?”
I flash the kind of benign smile you might see in a stock photo of a business professional lugging a briefcase, hoping to God this receptionist is the merciful type who just might have a soft spot in her heart for interviewees with a nervous streak.
“I’m sure these things happen all the time.” My words are half chuckle and one-hundred percent an attempt not to break down and cry. My master plan is crumbling like ashes to dust. I slide my hand down a shiny tendril of blonde hair that spills over my shoulder. The softness against my skin is comforting.
Distracting really.
It pulls me out of the present moment and gives me something to focus on when the entirety of myself is threatening to unravel.
“I’m so sorry.” The receptionist’s words slam into my attention with brick-wall intensity.
“Professor Stan MacAbee recommended me. They’re friends. Tell him. I’m sure he’ll change his mind. Can you ask him?” I didn’t drive almost an hour from Whispering Hills to Salt Lake City to give up this easily. My gaze falls toward the phone. Her hand isn’t anywhere near it. She’s not going to even attempt to entertain my suggestion. “Just tell him Bellamy Miller is here to see him.”
A line of people waits behind me. I’m not sure how long they’ve been standing there, but now I’m all too aware of the fact that I’m causing a scene. The collective weight of their stares is like a silent push, urging me to walk out of this building and pretend like none of this happened.
This job was supposed to be a sure thing. RJM Corporation is hiring a whole slew of entry-level college grads. No experience necessary. It’s grunt work, but it beats flipping burgers and it pays better too.
Besides, it’s almost impossible to find a job when your resume consists of nothing but a community college education. I’ve never held a job before. I have no references. All I have is my 4.0 GPA and a called-in favor from my marketing instructor.
I lean in, closing the gap between myself and a receptionist who doesn’t appear to be much older than me. She seems nice enough, and I know she’s only doing her job, but I’m not ready to walk away yet.
“Look, I came all the way here.” There’s a quiver in my words that I make no point in trying to hide. “I need this interview.”
“I understand that, Miss…”
“Miller. Bellamy Miller.”
“Yes, I understand that, Miss Miller.” Her lips widen into a pained wince while her eyes attempt to hold sympathy and fail miserably. “I’m terribly sorry. There’s nothing I can do. Anyway, Mr. Mutchler is out on business today. I can ask him when he returns tomorrow, and if he agrees, our H.R. department can get in touch with you.”
“Is there someone else who might be available for an interview?”
Her eyes glide over my shoulder and land on the gentleman behind me. She’s offering him a silent apology. Her winced face screams, “This girl is crazy. I’m sorry. Be patient. She’ll be out of here soon enough.”
I collect the shattered remnants of my dignity off the floor and sling my bag over my shoulder.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
My head hangs as I avoid the intrusive stares of the people lined up behind me. I don’t know what they look like. I don’t know if their gapes are laced with pity or packed full of amusement.
I don’t want to know.
I want to get out of here, regroup, and come up with a plan B.
My watch reads ten ‘til eleven, and the sign on a local bar and lounge claims it’ll be opening soon for the lunch crowd. I’ve never been a drinker, but today feels like a pretty good day to start.
People drown their problems with alcohol for a reason. It must work.
My mothers aren’t expecting me until this afternoon. They think I’ll be in the city all day, filling out hiring paperwork and getting a tour of my new office. I told them I was all but hired when they wished me luck that morning after breakfast.