Sure Thing

He looks like shit. Tired and rumpled. Unshaven. Like he might have slept in what he’s wearing. Yet somehow still perfect. Being in the same room with him feels as if a net of butterflies has been unleashed in my stomach. He’s here. He’s really here.

I remind myself that I’m having a perfect hair day. The kind of hair day every woman wants to have when she runs into her ex. It’s possibly the dumbest possible thing I can think of right now but people react strangely in times of stress.

“Very well,” Elouise says. “This is Violet Hayden. She’s interviewing for the open design associate position on my team.”

Wait.

Hold up.

If he’s sitting in on an interview that means… that he works here.

See, those are the dots I should have been connecting when I was thinking about my hair. He works here. At the place where I’m interviewing. And last week he was on a tour where I told him I was the tour guide and my name was Daisy.

“Violet, this is Jennings Anderson. Our CEO.”

I’m dead.

He’s moved to the other end of the table across from Elouise and leaned over, extending his hand as if we’ve never met before. As if I’m a living, breathing person expected to shake his hand and say hello when clearly I. Am. Dead.

“Violet,” he says, his eyes amused. I shake his hand. I don’t even stand. I just shake it quickly and snatch my hand back, my skin tingling where we touched. What the hell is happening right now?

“I’ve had the opportunity to review Violet’s CV,” he says, looking directly at me. “Very impressive.”

He knows.

He knows I’m Violet. He knows I impersonated Daisy.

A quick glance at Elouise as he tells her to continue with the interview and then he’s back to watching me. Someone at the table coughs. There’s a shuffling of papers and a click of a pen but Jennings simply sits with his eyes on me.

What is he doing? Why isn’t he saying anything? Why is he allowing this farce to continue? I glance nervously around the room, waiting to see how this plays out.

Wait. Did he set this up? Did he bring me here just to humiliate me? Is that the game plan here?

Has he called the police and now he’s stalling, waiting for them to arrive and arrest me? I wonder if I’ll be extradited to the United States. I wonder if I want that or if the jails are nicer here? I wish I knew, but it’s not likely I get a say so I guess it doesn’t matter.

The interview carries on but I couldn’t tell you a single question I’ve answered. I know I’m answering them. I know words are coming out of my mouth and the people around the table are responding to them with nods and additional questions. But I’ve got no clue what’s being said. Not really. My eyes are darting over to Jennings every chance I get, my mind racing, trying to figure out what his game is.

Finally the interview draws to a close, Elouise laying out the next steps in the interview process. I smile and nod in all the right places between shooting furtive glances at Jennings, wondering why he’s allowing this to continue. When Elouise stands I nearly exhale in relief, one hand on my bag and my rear already half out of my seat before Jennings speaks.

“I’d like a word with Miss Hayden.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Jennings

“I’ll need the room,” I announce without taking my eyes off of Violet. The three associate designers scatter so quickly their chairs spin. My mum isn’t as quick. She stands slowly, with pointed glances between Violet and myself, and announces we’ll talk later as she closes the door behind her.

“Violet.” I say it because I like hearing her name on my lips. It suits her. I laugh, remembering how she tried to sell me on her name being Daisy. It feels like forever ago.

“Hi,” she replies, her face unsure. She’s nervous, her body tensed as if she’s ready to do a runner. She can run as far as she likes. I’ll follow.

“I’m sorry that I missed dinner,” I say, realizing what a prize idiot I sound like the moment the words leave my mouth. “I’m sorry I left, is what I meant.” I push my chair back and stand, moving to the chair beside hers. “Without talking to you. I’m sorry I let you out of my sight for even a moment.”

“Oh,” she says. “So you’re not having me arrested?”

“Arrested? No.” I laugh as I sit. She turns so we’re facing each other. That’s a start. “No. Not unless I can arrange to be locked inside the same cell as you.” Tempting thought, if this doesn’t go the way I’ve planned. “Besides, I didn’t rush here from the airport to chase you off. I did it to catch you. To ask you to stay.”

She blinks at me, the tension easing from her face. It’s quickly replaced with a scowl. “I’m supposed to be telling you off right now.”

“Sorry?”

“You left! You. Left. You made me fall for you and then you just left and broke my heart.” Her voice catches when she says that and I feel like a right prick. “I had all these grandiose ideas of how cleverly I’d tell you off if I ever saw you again.”

“I’m an idiot. I thought…” I trail off, unsure if I’m about to dig myself deeper.

“You thought what?” Her scowl game is strong. A lesser man would likely be intimidated. As it is, I’m apprehensive.

“I thought you’d lied.”

“I did lie. A lot.”

“About George.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “Oh.” Then she’s shaking her head. “I’d never lie about that. I wasn’t with him. Ever. But my sister was and he thought I was her.”

“I know. I figured that out. Eventually.”

“That’s why you left? Instead of talking to me?”

“I fucked up.”

“Agreed.”

I need to touch her. It’s killing me having her this close and not in my arms, but I settle for picking up her hand and she allows it.

“I’m sorry too,” she says. “I’m sorry I told you my name was Daisy. Everything else I told you was true. My feelings were true. You must think I’m crazy.”

She looks at me, and I see the vulnerability in her eyes. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip.

“You’re exactly the kind of crazy I’ve been looking for my entire life.”

She laughs. “Right.”

“I’m quite serious, Violet,” I tell her and she grins.

“Quite serious.” She giggles. “I love how everything sounds so posh when you say it. You could get me to do just about anything when you say words like quite with that British accent.”

“Good. Marry me.”

That wipes the smile right off her face. Not quite what I’d intended. “What?” I’m glad she’s sitting because she looks a little pale.

“Marry me.”

“That’s”—she pauses, sucks in a breath—”insane. We’ve known each other a week.”

“So?” I realize I’ve missed a step of a proper proposal so I grab a paperclip from the conference table and bend it open, twisting it into a wonky circle as I kneel in front of her.

“Are you insane?” Her eyes are wide and she’s shaking her head back and forth. “I wasn’t questioning why you weren’t on your knees. I was questioning how you could ask me to marry you when we barely know each other.”

“I know enough, Violet. I’m asking because I’m sure. I’m sure of what we are when we’re together. I’m sure that I can’t live without you. I’m sure that I’m in love with you.”

She sucks in a breath so I forge on.

“Our lives will be outstanding together, Violet—you and I—because I won’t allow anything less for you. I’m all in. I’m the sure thing, Violet. When it comes to you, I’m the sure thing. You told me once that no one’s ever asked. I’m asking. Marry me.”

She blinks once, then again, and I wonder what she’s thinking. She takes the paperclip ring from my hand and stares at it, rubbing it between her finger and thumb but not putting it on.

“I’ll get you a nicer one. Of course.” God, she can’t be thinking I expect her to wear that, can she? “Whatever you like. We’ll pick it out together. We can be engaged as long as you like.” No, that’s a lie. “A few months,” I clarify, and then when her eyes widen—”A year.”

She doesn’t say anything.

“You’ll work here,” I continue. “Take the job.”

That seems to snap her out of her daze. But when she speaks I don’t like what she has to say.

“No.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Violet

He’s serious.

He’s not messing with me. He’s absolutely, completely serious. And that declaration took some balls.

“No?”

He doesn’t even look bothered by the rejection. Not in a way that implies that he doesn’t care. But in a way that implies he won’t accept no as an answer, so it’s irrelevant. He gets off his knees though and sits, his posture confident. As if this ends how he wants. His elbows are resting on his knees and he’s leaning into me, invading my space. Trampling my thoughts. My heart long since breached.