Beck tipped his head back and gazed at the canopy above, and she imagined a young boy doing whatever it took to survive, hanging onto the dreams of one day exploring the open spaces.
“You must think I’m a sad case, using a fake marriage to get ahead in business, but I had a gutful of people looking down on me growing up, people judging me, forming wrong opinions.” He hugged her tighter, like a kid with a security blanket. “I won’t tolerate it now, which is why I need to make this deal happen using whatever means at my disposal.”
She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed he’d refocused on what he did best: business. “It’s that important to you?”
“I dragged you into this mess, didn’t I?” His bark of laughter was devoid of humor. “That’ll tell you how far I’d go.”
“Hey, we all have our motivations for doing what we do.”
“Your sister?” He eased off on the hug, sliding a hand up her back to stroke her hair.
“Yeah, she’s a mess. Her husband”—Poppy made air quotes—“fell out of love, apparently, and walked out on her. She had no idea it was coming. The jerk bought a red sports car and cruises around Provost like he has a new lease on life, while Sara…”
“What?”
“She spiraled into a deep depression. Been on heavy meds, and she’s in a rehab clinic trying to recover. She’s improving, but the business is all she has left, and if anything happened to it—”
“It’s why you started the divorce diva, isn’t it? Inject new life into her business?”
“Yeah, but that’s the irony. Sara would have a fit if she knew I was doing it. She said as much when I went to tell her we were getting married. She despises the idea, probably because she’ll be going through it shortly, hence the anonymity.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” He kissed her on the top of her head and she sighed.
“She practically raised me. My folks were too caught up in their careers and each other to care about us.”
“Makes you wonder why parents like ours have kids in the first place, huh?”
“Damned straight.”
Silence stretched between them, but this time it was comfortable, not awkward.
In sharing their private thoughts, they’d bonded far beyond any ring. For the first time ever, Poppy had let a guy get close enough to form a real connection. And shockingly, it didn’t send her into a tailspin.
As he held her tight, his silent strength so appealing, she had to admit she liked it.
Chapter Twelve
Divorce Diva Daily recommends:
Playlist: “Beat It” by Michael Jackson
Movie: Broadcast News
Cocktail: Pick-Me-Up
Beck put his game face on, the same one he’d used to great effect growing up.
Every time his folks promised him a Christmas gift and forgot. Every time they missed his birthday. Every time he came home to find no food on the table and welfare shot up their arms.
Then there were the countless times at school when he pretended every jibe, every putdown, every taunt didn’t hurt. Yeah, he’d become an expert of the game face from an early age and it had served him well in business. He didn’t play poker, but if he did, he’d win a squillion.
He squared his shoulders and strode into the boardroom, ready to kick some corporate ass.
This deal was his.
He’d used whatever means necessary, including marrying a woman he was fast developing feelings for. A woman with the potential to undermine him far better than any business rival.
As eight assessing stares swung his way, he quit thinking about Poppy. Time enough to contemplate his complicated personal life later.
“Thanks for coming, gentlemen.”
A few nodded, while Stan, the unofficial spokesperson, stood and shook his hand. “Looking forward to hearing what you have to say, Blackwood.”
Beck nodded and Stan resumed his seat.
The irony wasn’t lost on Beck. The investors had already heard what he had to say, basically salivated at the deal he’d put forward. If it hadn’t been for his site manager’s indiscretion and the investors’ old-school mentality, he wouldn’t have to go through any of this. But he would. He’d jump through their metaphorical hoops and add a cartwheel for good measure to secure this deal.
He jabbed at a few buttons on his laptop and brought up a new PowerPoint presentation, a rehashing of the old with some minor adjustments. For the next thirty minutes he used his game face to great effect, adding animation when needed, producing the right enthusiasm to wow.
Judging by the enthusiastic applause and general backslapping by the end of his presentation, he’d succeeded. There were no questions. He hadn’t expected any. They’d all been asked last time. When the group collectively looked toward Stan for guidance, Beck inadvertently held his breath.