Stealing the Bride

Gavin’s seated at his desk. Dark and lanky, he’s an intense man with eyes that seem to pierce you like a pair of laser beams.

“Hello, Court. It’s good to finally meet you,” he says. We shake hands, and he gestures at a seat opposite him.

I’m surprised at the greeting. He’s talking like he he’s researched me or something.

“I know who you are,” he explains. “Who doesn’t? All the stuff with your mother and all.”

Right. Of course. It’s just…nobody says it to my face like this.

His lips curve. “I hope you aren’t upset. My wife says my blunt manner can be off-putting.”

“No, it’s actually kind of refreshing. I’m glad that you’re upfront.” Better than people tiptoeing around it, like I’m going to fall apart if they even breathe wrong.

“Good. I don’t like to waste time.”

Okay. So no need to be diplomatic and look for a good, subtle way to ask what I’m here to ask. “All right, then. There’s something I need to know.”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you know Steve Snyder or my dad?”

“I know them both. Why?”

Damn it. Suddenly I’m nervous, like Pandora about to unlock the fucking box. If I’m disappointed at my dad… Well, he’s let me down before. But I don’t want Skittles hurt.

Stop overthinking and just ask!

“Did either of them get in touch with you recently?” I say.

“No. We don’t really travel in the same circles. Were they supposed to get in touch with me?”

Gavin’s face betrays nothing. He must be a damn good poker player. “Here’s the thing,” I begin. “Pascal Snyder used to work at SFG, but quit recently. She’s sent her résumé everywhere, but nobody will hire her. I’m trying to understand why. She’s brilliant.”

Not even a small twitch. “Did she apply here?”

“She says she did.”

He hits a button on his desk. “Hilary, send Pascal Snyder’s résumé from HR to my computer, please.” He turns to one of his monitors. After a couple of moments, he starts to skim the screen. “You’re right. She did apply. We chose not to bother.”

Gavin’s dismissive tone pisses me off. “Why not?”

“Wouldn’t be worth our time. She hasn’t been promoted in the last four years.”

“So?” I don’t mean to, but I sound a little confrontational.

“She was working for her father. How bad do you have to be that not even your own father wants to promote you?”

Shit. I didn’t think of it that way. But it makes perfect sense. “Look, her dad is a jerk. He didn’t promote her because he thought she should just get married and have babies or something.”

“Well, is he wrong?” He shrugs. “Maybe that’s all she’s good for.”

What the hell is up with the medieval attitude from money people? Angry words form in my mouth, but I swallow them. It would be satisfying to yell at Gavin, but it won’t solve Skittles’ problem. “No, she’s very— Look, just do me a favor and give her an interview. And to show you how much faith I have in her, I’ll open an account and put a hundred million dollars into it. She can manage it.”

He laughs coolly. “Is this your idea of a bribe? That little money isn’t worth an interview.”

Crap, I forgot. Gavin is richer than a

lot of countries. “Just talk to her for, I don’t know, ten minutes.”