Cruel Beloved

Your father’s in my office. He told me you didn’t need to know.

“What can I help you with?” I ask as I sit.

He cracks his neck from side to side. “I came to see if you wanted to invest in a charity I’m operating.”

“Invest?” I ask him.

“Sponsorship. We are always on the lookout for people who are willing to help sponsor and make this city a better place. You have the means to do so, so I figured what better person to ask than my future son in law.” When he stops talking, he looks around the office.

“Your father created something very special here, I’m glad to see it didn’t die with him.”

My company runs and owns chains all over America. We sell everything from white goods to phones to guns and everything in between. Anything you need, we have. And it almost died, well, it practically did die, just before I took over. One of our CEO’s was running it into the ground, and there were only three stores left open. When my father had it, we had over a hundred stores open and doing remarkably well. Now I have it, I’ve tripled the business. So, yes, I have the money for whatever it is this man wants, but he’s silly if he thinks he can play me.

“No, it didn’t.” He nods. “If you send me all the paperwork, I’ll be sure to look through it and let you know if I can sponsor, but as you know, I have my own charities as well.”

“Oh, yes, suicide. Well, I know that one is close to the heart, but you should do more.” I do, but he doesn’t need to know where my money goes. That’s none of his fucking business.

Gerald’s phone starts ringing, and he holds up a finger as he goes to answer it. “Hello, Carla.” I sit back waiting to hear what he has to say. “No, I can’t meet now, I’m in a meeting. Let your mother know when she knows my schedule.” Then he hangs up, and immediately my phone beeps.

Is he still there?

I reply straight away.

Yes.

“You sure you know who you’re marrying,” he says, joking as he stands from his chair.

“Do you know her?” I ask, making him pause.

“Carla has a rebellious streak, so watch her closely. She’s trainable, if you do it right.”

“Thanks for that advice. Though, I don’t want to tame her,” I say, standing with him.

“Are you sure about that?” he asks, as if he can’t believe what I’ve said.

“Yes, I like her just the way she is.”

“Only like.” He taps his phone. “I see.”

Fuck! I’ve fucked that one up, didn’t I?

“I like the way she is. I love her as a person.”

A simple nod to my lie is all I get in return as he turns and walks off. When he gets to the door, he stops before he pulls it open. “You know, privately investing in a charity is good for publicity. Our other sponsors have great connections as well. International too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell him as he walks out.

My phone starts ringing and her name flashes across the screen. Rich girl.

“He just left.”

“What did he want?” she asks, not even caring to say hello.

“Wants me to become a sponsor for one of his charities.”

“Of course he does, because then that makes him look good.” I can practically feel the eye roll I know she’s giving.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask her, sitting back in my chair, waiting for her to respond.

“You want my opinion?” she asks, sounding almost shocked.

“Yes, rich girl, tell me. You will be my wife soon, or have you forgotten?”

“That’s a hard thing to forget when your ring sits on my finger every day,” she says back with more sass than she started the conversation off with.

“That’s not answering my question. Do you want me to give your father money?”

She doesn’t speak straight away. I can hear her breathing on the phone, though. “No.”

“Okay then, I will decline his offer.”

“Whiskey.”

“Yes, rich girl.”

“You’re using me, aren’t you?”

I could deny it, but it wouldn’t be the smart thing to do. “Yes.”

“At least you didn’t lie about it. Now I don’t feel so bad for buying the most expensive dress there was in the designer store.”

Carla hangs up, and I can’t help the smile that sits on my face.

18

Carla

I didn’t lie to Whiskey, I did buy the most expensive dress. Though, I didn’t know that until the lady rang it up behind the counter. The dress is a designer’s dream. It would have been something I would have picked for my very own wedding, if it were real. I guess it is, in a way. Just that the ceremony will be missing that ‘in love’ part.

Whiskey isn’t home when I arrive, but my dress has already been delivered, and Emma has gone home, to our home, well, no, just hers now, I guess. Going into the kitchen, I start preparing a meal. We haven’t actually eaten together. No dinners, just sex and drinks.