“This isn’t a good time.” Bruce sounded as though he was about to disconnect the call. What had she interrupted? It wasn’t the first time she’d wondered.
“We need to talk.”
Silence dropped on the other end of the line. Her stern tone must have surprised him. Good.
“Hold on.” Muffled voices hissed in the background before he returned to the call. “What is it?” Bruce didn’t sound like a man who’d been separated for five months from the woman he loved.
Peyton drew a breath, filling her lungs before plunging into the deep end. “I’d hoped to have this conversation during Thanksgiving break, but it can’t wait.”
“So I gathered.” Bruce did sarcasm well.
She paced away from her overstuffed silver love seat, past her sterling-silver-and-glass coffee table to her ebony lacquered bookcase. “I can’t marry you.”
“Why not?”
It wasn’t the tortured tone she could have hoped for, but boredom was better than the irritation she’d expected. She paced back to her coffee table. “Do you love me?”
“What does that matter?”
“It matters to me. A lot.” She dropped onto the love seat. “Why would you marry someone if you didn’t love her?”
“We’re well suited.” Finger tapping in the background punctuated Bruce’s words. He had a tendency to keep rhythm to some internal beat with his fingers, a pen, a pencil, anything he could get his hands on. It was annoying.
“In what way?”
“In every way.” The tapping stopped. Bruce’s voice tensed. He was either losing patience or focus. A curious rustling sound came over the line.
“Except the most important one.” Peyton stood to pace across the living room again. “We don’t love each other.”
“Your parents approve of me.” His voice was breathless as he grasped at straws.
“I know they do.” She leaned against her bookcase. “That’s the real reason you want to marry me, isn’t it?”
“Don’t be paranoid, Peyton.”
In the past, Bruce’s belittling tone would trigger her change of topic. Not today. She was stronger, less willing to be brushed aside. Less confrontation averse. Had her time in Trinity Falls done that?
“Am I being paranoid, Bruce?” She returned to her seat on the sofa, crossing her legs. “My father’s a partner in the investment firm in which you want to build your career. My mother’s welcomed in the social circles in which you want to move. Marrying me would help your career a
nd your social standing. What would I get?”
“That’s your paranoia talking again.” He knew all the buttons to push her temper. What he didn’t realize was his tactics no longer worked.
“Paranoia would be my asking you about your relationship with your secretary.”
“What?” Bruce’s tone changed. He sounded almost wary. “My relationship with Leila is strictly professional.”
“Sure and fellatio isn’t really sex.” Peyton sensed his discomfort on the other end of the line. She’d hit a nerve. Being right wasn’t always a good thing.
“We’ll continue this conversation when you return to New York for Thanksgiving.” Bruce’s words carried a bite. “Maybe by then you’ll have come to your senses.”
“Is Leila getting impatient?”
“Peyton—” He choked off her name.
“The engagement is off, Bruce.” Her tone was flat.
“What about Aruba? I’ve put down a deposit for the trip.”