An Improper Deal(60)

I watch her go. I’m tempted to drive her to the new school anyway, but I merely tighten my grip on my mug instead. It’s her choice, and I should respect that. She hasn’t had much control in her life. I want her to start learning to be assertive and confident about her wants and decisions…while making sure she isn’t being reckless, of course.

Cradling the coffee in both hands, I wander around until I find Elliot’s office. It’s the fourth room with an en suite bathroom. The place is spacious, with a huge desk and an executive chair by the window and a couple of pale leather couches long enough for him to stretch out on if he wants to catch a quick nap or something. The walls are barren, and there isn’t any other furniture. The desk is also empty of everything except a desktop computer and a laptop.

“No, absolutely not. They’ve got the causation mixed up,” he says into his Bluetooth headset. A T-shirt and cargo shorts mold to his frame. The morning sunlight creates a stark silhouette, revealing all the perfect lines of his masterfully honed body.

He turns around as if sensing my presence. “Hold on a minute.” He takes a few steps toward me until he’s standing so close that I can feel his body heat. He raises a hand, as though to touch me, but then drops it. “You okay?” His gaze roams over my face, searching.

“I’m fine,” I say. “I was wondering…” I clear my throat. “I want to get started on the reception slash dinner you were talking about. And…yeah, um, I’m wondering where to begin.” I know nothing about planning stuff like this.

“The menu,” he says. “Decide on a theme. But you could also start with the wine, then go from there.”

I have no idea what that even means. What theme? And wine? What do I know about wine, anyway? I don’t even drink.

“Do you need anything else?” he says.

I want to ask him to explain further, but the green light blinking on his headset catches my eye. He’s probably busy. “No.” I curve my mouth into a smile. “That’s it.”

I leave with the coffee and boot up my ancient computer. Since I’m not sure about the theme, maybe wine really would be a better place to start. How hard can it be? Google is my friend.

Except when it isn’t.

Hundreds of results pop up. Some don’t make sense, some mention wine vintages that are no longer available. And the price tags! Over a thousand dollars? Does the wine sing and dance on the dinner table too?

I tap my fingers on the island. Sure, Elliot’s rich, but it’s unlikely he wants to spend that kind of money on alcohol. On the other hand, anything under fifty dollars a bottle might be too cheap for him and his family.

Even though this marriage is a total sham, I care about making the first event Elliot and I are hosting a success. It isn’t going to be the kind that’s featured in magazines, but I want people to enjoy themselves and feel good when they leave.

I glance at the clock. It’s already almost eleven, but Elliot hasn’t come out of his office.

Finally, at noon, he makes his appearance in the kitchen. He pulls out the leftover pizza from last night and nukes it. “If you want something different, let me know.”

“Pizza’s fine,” I say.

“Drink?”

“Water, please.”

He hands me a glass of water, then pours himself a scotch.

I frown. “It’s only noon,” I point out, unable to help myself.

“Five o’clock somewhere in the world.” He knocks it back with ease and exhales roughly.

“That bad a morning?”

“Nah. Nothing I can’t handle.” He pulls the warmed pizza out, serves it on two plates, and attacks one big slice at the counter while standing. His weight shifts back and forth, balls of his feet to heels, and he drums his fingers.

“You know,” I say after a thoughtful bite. “It would be helpful if you can at least come up with the menu or give me some ideas about what kind of wine you like.”

“I’m flexible, as long as it has alcohol and isn’t too vile.” He munches on the leftover pizza with gusto, as if to prove that he is indeed as flexible as he claims. “And nobody in the family’s allergic to anything.”

My teeth grind together. “That’s nice, but I don’t know what they want, how much you want to spend on the dinner or…anything.”

“Don’t sweat it. They’ll eat whatever’s on the plate in front of them.”

“Veggie pizza?”

“Sure.” He shrugs. “My brothers and sister will love it.”

“But your parents—”

“Will hopefully not show up at all.”