Marriage of Inconvenience(Knitting in the City Book #7)(174)

Two days later, the media caught wind of Dan’s kidnapping and Caleb’s role. Soon, the whole country was swept up in the twisted tale of Caleb Tyson and his attempts to bring down the pharmaceutical giant, his illegal dealings, and his attempt to kidnap Dan.

Naturally, gossip magazines were paying a premium for pictures of Dan and me, separate or together. But soon, it was everyone. Every news outlet was running the story of the heiress who married the ex-felon from the wrong side of the tracks and how she’d paid his ransom.

Eleanor was harassed on her way to work and dogged outside of her house. She agreed to move in with us—at the Duxbury estate—until things settled down. Even so, all the family and neighbors I’d met during the party were interviewed. The most shocking revelation to come out of the family interviews was that—according to Dan’s Uncle Zip—my Uncle Eugene was a Yankees fan.

The first couple of days at the Duxbury estate had been difficult. It was so big, so ridiculously big, it felt lonely. But after the media became insatiable, the big house grew to be a sanctuary, a place to avoid prying eyes and paparazzi.

And, yes, I took a helicopter into work almost every day. Eleanor also took it, using the helipad at the hospital and cracking herself up whenever anyone asked how her commute had been.

At Caravel, an emergency board meeting was called, Caleb was removed as CEO, and our chief operating officer was asked to step into the position temporarily until we could find a replacement. During the same meeting, I presented my findings related to the division earnings reports and asserted that I would be voting the controlling shares from that point forward.

No one voiced opposition. Apparently, no one wanted to get in my way after what had happened to my cousin.

Today, over two weeks later, was the first day we’d had an opportunity to break away from the craziness. I’d called my therapist in the morning and we’d had a good session, but we both agreed I needed to find a doctor local to Boston. She offered to help me find someone suitable and trustworthy.

I’d also called Steven and made him a job offer. I’d given Quinn a heads-up about my plan and he’d grudgingly given me his blessing to reach out to Steven. Maybe Quinn wouldn’t be too happy with me if Steven accepted, but I needed someone I could trust in charge of finance at Caravel.

After that, I’d called Ms. Opal and offered her a job as well, as my personal executive assistant. She agreed on the spot.

Once all my calls were made, and Dan was finished with his work for the morning, I suggested we visit my mother. Dan hadn’t met her yet and I was overdue for a visit. Work had been stressful. Caravel’s stock was down—way down—but not as low as we’d originally forecasted. With Caleb arraigned and bail withheld, I was breathing easier than I had in months.

And so presently, I turned my thoughts to Dan and his statement about crows. “Are you an Edgar Allan Poe fan?”

His brown eyes slid to mine, narrowing like I’d said something suspicious. “How do you know that?”

“Maybe your assumption that there would be crows has something to do with Edgar Allan Poe’s poem, “The Raven.” A man goes slowly mad while a bird says, ‘Nevermore.’ Classic literature is full of alarming depictions of mental illness. Have you read Jane Eyre?”

“No.” Dan was looking increasingly uncomfortable.

“The villain—or the victim, depending on who you’re talking to—of the story is the main male character’s first wife. She’s ‘mad,’ but he didn’t know that when they married. He keeps her locked away in a tower until she eventually burns it down.”

“Yeah. I’d burn some shit down too if my husband locked me in a tower. That guy sounds like an asshole.” Dan held the door open for me.

I thought about his statement for a minute, then shrugged. “Maybe, but I don’t think so. It’s convenient to judge people—and fictional characters—through the lens of present-day knowledge and values. But, if you think about it, it’s also ridiculous. Do we judge people in the middle ages for not understanding combustion engines until the seventeen hundreds? No. Knowledge about any subject has to build over time.”

“Hmm . . .” Dan marinated in my words and we walked down the bright, sunny hallway. “By that logic, one day people will look back at us, at our generation, and think of us as primitive, unenlightened shit-for-brains.”

I chuckled as we approached my mother’s building. “Probably. On that note, there’s likely plenty of people in our own generation right now who would consider you and I primitive and unenlightened.”