But now… he glanced at the screen again.
DREW: Far be it from me to interfere with Benedict Cumberbatch.
HANNAH: *swoons* You know who Benedict is?
Actually, the only reason he knew of the actor was due to his secretary’s obsession with the show and the fact that Blake gave her a hard time about it. They’d argued about it one day, when neither of them knew he could hear. For whatever reason, his easygoing secretary Ella couldn’t stand Blake.
DREW: Doesn’t everyone?
HANNAH: They should. Okay, I’ll leave you alone. Talk to you tomorrow.
Though he didn’t want to end their conversation, he knew he had to—he had calls to return. Starting with his father. Yes, he would send the paperwork to him, but he wanted to actually speak with the man.
DREW: Goodbye
He scrolled through his contact list, quickly finding the one he wanted, and hit the phone icon. His father answered on the third ring.
“It’s done. I’m married,” he said flatly.
Silence met him for a heartbeat or two… or ten. “Who’s the lucky lady?” Drew knew the question was meant to be playful, but there was an undertone of seriousness to his father’s query.
“Hannah Miller. As soon as I arrive at Chesson House, I’ll scan and email the marriage certificate.”
“Who the hell is that?” his father practically barked.
“My wife.” His father could do what everyone else at their company chose to do when confronted with an unknown—use their vast resources to conduct a background check.
“Andrew—”
“There’s nothing more you need to know. I met your demands, and now I expect you to fulfill your obligations.”
Silence permeated the air again.
His father exhaled. “That you did. As soon as the email comes in, I’ll sign the documents and send you a copy.”
“Thank you.” Drew ended their call, his former good mood completely gone.
His relationship with his dad had been strained for years, and this time, it might have been completely broken. Hell, he felt broken at times with all the pressure that had been put on his shoulders over the years. He’d given and given to Montgomery Industry until there was nothing left.
Until he was hollow inside.
And he was afraid that not even Hannah Miller’s sweet kisses or charming personality could make him whole again.
Chapter Seven
Drew couldn’t stand the thought of being so close to Hannah without actually being with her, so he cancelled his room reservation and boarded MI’s private jet. In a little under an hour, he was back in Charlotte.
By tomorrow morning, his life would return to normal.
Or as normal as his life could be.
None of that mattered as much as securing control of the company, which his father had done while Drew was in flight. For whatever reason, satisfaction hadn’t accompanied that email or the pdf copy of William Montgomery’s signature. Maybe it was because he had no one to share that moment of victory. Certainly, he could have texted Blake or even his brother, but the thought of gloating over this “win” left him cold.
Drew let his head fall back against his seat, closing his eyes against the Charlotte skyline as he thought of Hannah. By now, she would be at home, doing super exciting things.
His little comedienne.
A smile kicked up the corners of his mouth. He could only imagine her curled up on her couch, her fingers covered in Old Bay seasoning as she most likely swooned over the main character while she ate shrimp. Blake had accused Ella of doing that. His secretary hadn’t denied her reaction to the actor. Then again, she ignored Blake most of the time.
His phone buzzed. Opening his eyes, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and read the text from Blake.
Meeting tomorrow morning. Your office.
DREW: 8 AM?
BLAKE: Yes. I’ll bring the champagne to celebrate.
Drew didn’t bother to reply to Blake’s last text. Instead, he pocketed his phone and closed his eyes once more, forcing himself not to text Hannah or check her Facebook status.
Would ‘It’s Complicated’ be an appropriate relationship status?
He thought so, but he would do anything and everything in his power to uncomplicate, for lack of a better word, everything between them.
*
Drew sat at his conference table, answering emails, when his secretary walked in. Honestly, her title should be executive work wife with the way she kept him on task and on time for meetings. He didn’t know what he would do without her.
“Good morning, sir,” Ella Simpson said as she brought in a tray of coffee, tea, and fresh fruit.
“Morning,” he said pleasantly, closing out his emails to bring up his personal calendar. “Thank you for breakfast.”