Page 12

CHAPTER 12

Haze

I leave the house abruptly, hating myself for my lack of manners. The walk to Liam and Emilia’s home, the OG Villa, is a path along the water. The lake is picturesque, and I take it in, hoping the quiet lapping of the aquamarine water will steady my nerves.

I feel… rumpled. I glance down at my perfectly pressed shirt. Liam knows how much I admire him as the head of this family branch. Does my current state of dress show him that respect?

Should I have worn a tie?

I’m overthinking. Another one of my many faults. Along with underdressing at precisely the wrong time. Neither is as bad as my most recent sin of becoming impassioned with an eighteen-year-old.

My obsession with her and her intoxicating scent is simply a hazard that has come with the engagement. A roadblock I must navigate so it doesn’t stand in the way of my success. But being with Ophelia has made all other women seem to disappear.

Trigger the hazard lights.

It feels dirty to want someone so young. Wrong to corrupt such a naive innocent. But the look in her eyes, her smell, the way she moans when I touch her…

She’s all woman.

Ophelia’s mother, Leah, was the culprit and is much closer to my age. A genuinely unholy thought tears through me: if I married Leah instead of taking Ophelia, that would make her my daughter. Instead, I drove by a girl at a trash can and became obsessed with Leah’s daughter.

At first glance.

“My head is seriously fucked.” Right when I’m walking into one of the most important meetings of my life. The wind is cold as it blows over the water. I shove my hands in my pockets. Fuck the necktie—I should have worn a coat.

I think of Ophelia in her bedroom at home when I made her get a coat last night—was that only last night? It feels like a lifetime ago. She shrugged her arms into the sleeves and, with an adorable face and a tone bordering on sassy, asked me if I was happy.

Happy.

I’ve never been happy. Someone took that away from me long ago. I need to go back to a past life and fix things which is why my freezing, rumpled ass is now walking to Liam’s house to demand a promotion.

My mind is a turnstile; I didn’t even realize I’d reached Liam’s home. I stand in front of the pristine white mansion where Liam now happily lives with his lovely wife of many years, Emilia, by his side. And here I am, underdressed and in the middle of a serious head fuck.

I climb the white stone stairs. The camera set in the brick reads my face, and the door swings open. Emilia rushes to greet me.

Her blonde curls bounce around her face as she ushers me into the foyer. “Come in! Come in! It’s been too long since I’ve seen your handsome face, Haze.”

“Emilia.” I greet her softly with a kiss on her cheek. “You look lovely as always.”

“Stop. I’m getting old. You’re the good-looking one in this scenario. Speaking of beautiful young things… did my friend reach out to you? Sylvie?”

“Sylvie?” I ask curiously. “Remind me.”

“She has a daughter, Sophie. Sophie is beautiful, smart, and highly successful in her investment company. Married to her work.” She pats the following words on my shoulder, one at a time, a gentle touch for each syllable. “Just. Your. Type.”

My type? Is my boss’s wife attempting to play matchmaker again? Did Liam not tell Emilia about Ophelia or my plans to marry her? I stand there, unsure of how to answer.

Emilia stares up at me, her nose wrinkling. “Oh, you’re gun-shy after everything that happened with that horrible dating profile.” She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Please, you have to let that go. We’ll NEVER trust a computer with your future again. My friend Sylvie’s daughter Sophie would be PERFECT for your rebound.”

“Perfect. Right.” I nod. Then, I remember a voicemail I received—and ignored—sometime last week.

‘Hi, Liam, this is Sylvie Day, Emilia’s friend. Anyway (light, slightly embarrassed laughter), Emilia and I were talking about my Sophie. All work and no play and that sort of thing, you know? Emilia gave me your number, and we just thought it would be so great if we could get you kids together…’

It just got worse from there. Cringe. I clear my throat. “Sylvie, that’s right. I do remember now! Yes, I did get a voicemail from her, but—wait a moment—” I turn my head toward the arched doorway of her library, her baby, the one thing that will take her mind off my dating life. “Liam mentioned you added a record collection to your library. Can I take a look?”

“Oh, you’ve not seen the Victrola yet?” Emilia beams. “Come, come! You like jazz, don’t you? I think I remember that about you.”

I follow behind her to the library. I try to pay attention as she shows me how the Victrola works. If I were honest, I think of how I’d introduce myself to Sylvie’s daughter, Sophie. I imagine it going something like this…

Hi, Sophie. Your mom did you a disservice by giving me your number. I go by Haze, but my name is Harrison. Besides interpersonal relationships, my worst fear is the brotherhood calling me Harry. I love jazz and revenge. I have a habit of underdressing, and my timing is terrible. Oh, and my manners could use a polish.

I shake my head. I’m losing what little sanity I had. Focus, Haze.

I clear my mind, turning my life into bullet points as I sing the words along with Emilia. She’s shocked I’ve agreed and compliments my voice. It’s good enough to convince her I’m with her as I let my mind wander.

Leah humiliated me.

Disrespected me.

Stole my hope.

Stole my money.

I’ve taken her daughter.

I’ve got my fiancée.

I’ve gotten my revenge.

I consider us even.

Ophelia is a pawn—a means to an end. A wife to make me captain. Nothing more. I shove thoughts of her down till it’s all business. Forget her supple body, her intoxicating smell, the lingering sweetness of her taste. Then there are the things that keep me up at night, like her wit, strength, and that image of her standing by that damn trash can.

Cleaning supplies, garbage, and menial daily tasks are somehow at complete odds with her breathtaking perfection.

Hold it all down until all thoughts of her are business.

Stay focused on the end goal.

Liam finds us in the library. I innocently twirl Emilia as we dance to her favorite Miles Davis song. He stands in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

A slow smile comes over his face, making his onyx eyes sparkle as he says, “Don’t make me jealous, young man. I’d have to kill you.”

Dropping Emilia’s hand, I step back. “You’d have to kill the lot of us bachelors. Your wife is the envy of the brotherhood.”

He steps in, taking her into his arms. He gives her body an elegant twirl, dipping her into a back bend. He lowers his mouth to hers, giving her a deep kiss meant for the bedroom.

I look away.

She giggles as he rights her. Playfully, she pushes him away, her cheeks a rosy pink. “Stop it, you two! You certainly know how to make a lady blush.”

“How can you not be admired when you’re as beautiful as the day we met,” Liam says, drawing her in again.

Emilia winds her arms around his neck, staring into his eyes. “And what a meeting that was.”

The two of them start kissing. Again. I move toward the doorway, hovering between the hall and the library. I’m wondering if I should excuse myself.

Emilia says, “Let me make you both some fresh coffee.” Patting her already perfect hair, she excuses herself, brushing past me and leaving the scent of lavender floating in the air.

“None for me, thanks,” I say.

“Really?” Her light brows shoot up. “Are you sure? I can make tea if you’d rather.” The expression on her face tells me I’ve said the wrong thing. I’ve forgotten my manners. Again.

Liam steps in to save me. “We’ll be fine, baby. After our meeting, you and I can have a French press by the pool.”

“Alright then. If you’re sure…” She gives me a final look of disapproval before hurrying deeper into the house.

Assessing me, Liam smooths a hand over his beard.

I didn’t realize it was a cardinal sin to turn down coffee. With my current state, a heady caffeine buzz is the last thing I need.

“Do I need to send flowers tomorrow?” I ask.

“No.” What he demands next is far worse than writing an apology note to go with the bouquet. “But when I tell Emilia about your new fiancée, she will immediately invite you both to dinner. And you will have to accept.”

“Of course. Of course I will,” I lie.

He nods. “And you can bring the flowers then.”

Dinner under the scrutinous eye of the perfect married couple is the last thing my teen bride and I need. A positive to finally being engaged? “At least your wife won’t be trying to fix me up anymore.”

His dark eyes narrow.

I’ve said the wrong thing. Attempting to fix my mistake, I try, “I mean, I know she means well and all?—"

“Let’s go to my office.” He cuts me off, turning sharply on the heel of his black polished boot. “We have a lot to discuss.”

My mind wanders as we wind through the halls of the house. Jesus, this meeting is off to a dastardly start. Where did that word even come from?

I’m sure Emilia and Liam would agree with Ophelia’s assessment of me as insufferable.

We reach his office, which is now primarily used as a cigar and brandy lounge. Emilia often redecorates this room, which today has navy walls framed with thick white crown molding, paintings of the snow-capped mountains behind the aqua lake, and wood and leather furnishings.

Two plush chairs are angled toward the fireplace. It’s a dreary day, and the room is chilly. The windows frame the gray skies outside. With a flick of Liam’s wrist, the gas logs in the fireplace glow, warming the space.

He wears the latest Bachman watch on his wrist. It has a broad silver face and a casual black and brown braided leather band. Only captains and above have that kind of tech. I still have to turn on my fireplace the old-fashioned way.

Liam points to one of the chairs. “Sit.”

I sit.

Slowly, he sinks into his own, crossing one long leg over the other. The time it takes him to arrange his tall body is painful. Resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, he brings his fingertips together, matching each pair one at a time, uniting the pads of his fingertips.

Pinky finger. Middle finger. Pointer finger. Thumb. The ring fingers come together. Finally. Clicking together like magnets. The platinum wedding band on his left hand gleams in the firelight.

I hadn’t realized Liam has a flair for dramatics.

Finally, he asks, “Where’s your ring?” So, the man is capable of speaking.

With everything that’s transpired since I stepped into her bedroom last night, I forgot about the wedding ceremony I canceled.

Unfortunately, he’s going to want an answer.